The Feast of the Transfiguration is deeply meaningful to me, though I am not sure that I can explain just why. As with many things of Faith, by God’s grace, my understanding develops and changes over time. In a sense, it is “transfigured”.

I read somewhere the idea that Christ Himself did not change when He, Peter, James and John went up the mountain. Rather, it was the disciples’ vision that changed. In that moment we call the Transfiguration, they were able to see who Jesus was in His fullness and who He had always been. All at once, their eyes had been opened.

I do not know if that is true – but I can relate to the idea. As I have written here more than once, I often find myself suddenly seeing something that seems to have always been right there. I did not know I had been going about with my eyes closed, but apparently I had.

Sometimes it seems that I have to bump into things and feel pain before I realize that this is what I am doing. Otherwise it is simply too easy to keep wandering through life with closed eyes.

Were the disciples like me in this sense, thinking they knew who Jesus was but needing to have their eyes opened? Or did God plan a special revelation to these three for some other reason?

Perhaps such a distinction does not matter. God is continuously revealing Himself to us. For Him, “a moment” is as nothing – or it is eternal. He need not start or stop anything. But we, we who are stuck in time and blinded by sin, we often cannot see what is always being shown to us.

On that mountain, a great revealing occurred. Indeed, a revealing of such extraordinary proportions that, aside from the Resurrection itself, little more is of greater significance in the tide of human history.

As I may have mentioned before, one of the things I sometimes struggle with as a lifelong Catholic Christian is that over-familiarity with certain Scriptures results in my no longer responding with amazement to what is truly astounding.

And so this evening, I was grateful to have experienced a bit of Scripture freshly, despite having undoubtedly heard it many times before. Apparently, while walking about with my eyes closed, I often have my ears closed as well.

Before reading and reprinting this short passage for you, I might add that I just completed my reading of, When the Church Was Young: Voices of the Early Fathers, by Marcellino D’Ambrosio Ph.D. (I hope to eventually write a review of the book on Amazon – 5 stars without a doubt.) As I read of the people and dilemmas of the early Church, I discovered that my relationship with the Church was being transformed.

Now, when I read or hear a passage written by one of the Apostles or Church Fathers, I am impacted in a manner that is notably different. Somehow, it feels as though I have received a communication about the Faith from a old friend whom I trust. Characters who had been two-dimensional to me before have now become three-dimensional – and alive.

And so today, I heard from Peter, one of the three who was on the mountain with the Lord:

 
Text: (2 Peter 1: 16-19)

It was not any cleverly invented myths that we were repeating when we brought you the knowledge of the power and the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ; we had seen his majesty for ourselves. He was honored and glorified by God the Father, when the Sublime Glory itself spoke to him and said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favor.” We heard this ourselves, spoken from heaven, when we were with him on the holy mountain. 

So we have confirmation of what was said in the prophecies; and you will be right to depend on prophecy and take it as a lamp for lighting a way through the dark until the dawn comes and the morning star rises in your minds.
 
My friend, Peter, tells me that he was there, on the holy mountain, and he saw this with his own eyes. No doubt he did not fully understand what it meant at the time and surely he was still weak and afraid.

But his life was changed. How could it not be?

And so my life too is changed. Seeing through his eyes, my own eyes become just a little more open.

Longing to see, longing to hear, I await the Lord’s word: “Ephphatha” (“Be opened.”)

May it be so.

“Prayer is nothing else than union with God.” (St. John Vianney)

I do not know how to pray. Sometimes I like to think that I do but that is only because I am prone to the sin of pride.

This sin of pride is not so much that I strut around thinking that I am holy and wise. I know to be on the watch for such obvious foolishness.

Where I get taken in is when God, in His great love and generosity, pours out a wondrous gift upon me. At first I am grateful and full of joy. But after a little time passes, it starts to feel like the gift is mine, that I brought it about by something I did.

Hence, if God in His great mercy allows me even a little taste of the glorious sense of union with Him of which St. John Vianney speaks, at the moment, I know it is a gift. How could it be anything else?

But I am a sinner and so I imagine myself better than I am. After a while, I imagine that I was sitting the right way, breathing correctly, saying the right words (or not saying words at all) – that I had through my years of practice learned how to pray.

So, knowing your author to be such a fool, you may be wise to quit reading now. However, I will continue to write, on the chance that God might use me tonight to communicate some blessing He wishes to offer you, despite my flaws.

Because I don’t know how to pray, if there is to be any hope for me, I must ask God to help me. It is natural that I turn to the Holy Spirit because of Jesus’ promise about the Paraclete, “He will teach you everything…” (John 14: 26)

It is comforting for us to know that the Spirit intercedes for us “with inexpressible groanings”… “when we do not know how to pray as we ought” (Romans 8: 26). When I don’t know how to pray or I cannot express myself before God, the Spirit is there as my helper.

And yet there is something puzzling about this teaching. I can understand the Spirit teaching me. But interceding? Does God (the Spirit) need to intervene with God (the Father) on my behalf?

This seems much like the perplexing question of Jesus needing to pray in private while on earth. Why would God (the Son) need to talk to God (the Father), except for our benefit? Do they not share all in common?

This is, of course, part of the great Mystery of God that is beyond fathoming.

Yet there is one aspect of this Mystery that strengthens me and helps me stay the course while on the often confusing path of prayer.

The words of St. John Vianney remind me that, in prayer, I am invited to receive the gift of union with God, an experience he further describes as “a most beautiful thing” and “a happiness that we cannot understand”.

In my very feeble understanding of the Holy Trinity, I see the union of love I am invited into. I do not mean, of course, that I will “become God” in His uncreated Essence. But I am invited to share fully in His life.

As I think of Jesus communing with His Father in a lonely spot, I get a glimpse of this Union as an outpouring of love that is dynamic – for there is no such thing as static love. Similarly, the Spirit who has been given to me, is loving the Father and Son in a fully personal way as He teaches, guides and intercedes for me. The relationship within Trinity is fully alive, fully loving and thus perfectly One.

How does this rudimentary understanding help me?

It helps me because I do not know how to pray.

Most often, I suspect, you and I would not define prayer as union with God. We would define it as the effort we make to bring ourselves to attention so that we can talk to God or praise Him or listen for Him. We think of it as something we do.

It is not wrong for us to be conscious of the work we must do. Of course, our effort is always necessary. But it is also true that our effort is never sufficient of itself. (Remember my sin of pride…)

In contemplating the Union of God in Trinity, God inviting me into union and God dwelling in me in the Spirit, suddenly prayer does not seem so hard.

I am not saying I know how to pray. But I trust that the Spirit will pray in me and with me if I ask Him to. I trust He will teach my heart to always be at prayer if I so ask. It is not for me to know how or at what rate He is teaching me. I simply trust that He does.

Much of my work, as I wrote in my previous post The new life, is to empty myself to make room for the Spirit to fully occupy my life. And, of course, not knowing how to do this either, I pray again for His help.

If I might, I will say a word or two about the Jesus Prayer as well. Before doing so, however, I would first add that I do not believe that there is any “method” of prayer that is right for all people at every stage of their lives. The way I pray at 60 years old is necessarily different than how I prayed at 6 – and not automatically better. Thus, my reflection is only what I see at this moment in my life and may mean nothing more.

I began saying the Jesus Prayer with my breath, without any particular guidance – although I am sure that God must have been protecting from the serious errors that I have since read can occur. It was almost like a “mantra” for me at first, a place to come “home” to when my mind inevitably wandered while at prayer.

Of course, it had to become more than a mantra. Even the weakest Christian cannot call on the name of Jesus and have it mean nothing. Over time, my wandering or troubled mind increasingly learned to return to this special “home” when it needed safe harbor, learning most likely because of sheer repetition – and sheer grace.

“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” As these words move with my breath, they slow me. I suppose they slow me much as any breathing exercise would, except that Jesus is there. Sometimes the words slip into the background, as the mind yields to the heart.

The words are my effort. The loss of the words in the Presence is the gift.

I do not know how to pray. But the Spirit within me is always “praying” in loving Union.

Oh that I might stay with the work of emptying myself to make room for Him!

Please pray for me, a sinner.

 

Three years ago this month, a very curious thing happened to me while in an MRI machine having my brain scanned. It was the opening of one of those doors I wrote about in the prayer of my last post.

The MRI was routine because of migraine. But the experience of a brain MRI is itself anything but routine. The head is immobilized, earplugs are put in place and one’s entire body is inserted into a long tube where one must lie completely still while random sounds (resembling jackhammers) come from all directions.

And so I was prepared and inserted into the tube in July of 2012.

To move through the experience, I had planned to prayerfully meditate. I began the meditation by being on a mountain and soon learned that it was a Holy Mountain. The Lord was there with me. I do not recall making an effort to imagine this nor was it a dramatic mystical experience; I was simply there and He was with me.

As the noise of the MRI grew intense, we climbed further up the Mountain, leaving the commotion down below so that it was not so loud or bothersome. Little by little, we moved higher and higher up the Mountain. It was a peaceful and beautiful time with my Lord.

Then came the words that I have never forgotten:

“And He sang to my heart.”

I was taken aback – indeed, overcome with both the tenderness of these words and my unworthiness to receive them. What did they mean?

After the test was over and I had returned home, I continued to ponder these words. It occurred to me that I didn’t recall ever hearing a reference to God singing.

Reflecting further, I did recall that Aslan, the mighty Lion of the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, sang as He was bringing a new world into being.

I decided to Google “Aslan singing”. What resulted from that online search was a door opening, a life-changing movement of God in my soul.

Through Google, God led me to an article by Fr. Stephen Freeman, an Orthodox priest I had never heard of – I had barely heard of Orthodoxy – and his blog glory2Godforallthings.

As I started reading, I was intrigued. It was not so much that what I was reading was new or different but that it was true. This is not to say that what I had learned about Christianity up to that point had not seemed true. Rather, it was that the words before me expressed the Truth with such clarity that I could not stop reading them.

At that same time, I “met” through comments on Fr. Stephen’s 7/12/12 article, Fr. Aidan and Christine Kimel, who had just lost their dear son, Aaron, to suicide. Though I knew nothing about them, I felt compelled to share with them the words given to me on the Holy Mountain of my meditation. The words were intended for them.

This moment of sharing was so blessed that it seemed to transcend time and space. I could feel a door opening in my soul but, at that point, I had no idea where it was leading. I only knew that I had to step over the threshold to the other side.

For the next two or more years, I became a regular reader of Fr. Stephen’s blog, frequently commenting as I struggled to integrate into my soul what I was learning about the Christianity that I thought I knew.

Further, I became consumed with reading the Orthodox books suggested by members of this online community, thus becoming acquainted with contemporary elders and saints that won my soul to Christianity all over again. Reading the words and biographies of such great souls as Sts. Silouan, Porphyrios and Paisios of Mt. Athos, I discovered that what I had thought was a solid faith in my soul was but a tiny flicker.

This door-opening had another dimension as well, one so beautiful that it almost defies words. I will attempt to write of it a bit later…

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I am back and will try to write again. May God help me.

One of my earliest readings in Orthodoxy was Christ the Eternal Tao, by Hiermonk Damascene. My first attempt to read this book was slow and I ended up becoming distracted and set it down, something that often happens with spiritual books I am not ready to read.

However, I was moved to pick it up again later and then could not put it down. One of the many gifts this book gave me was a broader understanding of God’s movement across human history and cultures, an understanding derived from the work of Fr. Seraphim Rose. This is something I’m sure I do not understand adequately nor can I summarize it – but I have a reason for citing it here.

It seems as though approximately five thousand years before the birth of Christ, there were two great thinkers in two different ancient cultures who could not have had any knowledge of one another.

Heraclitus, one of the earliest philosophers of ancient Greece, wrote of the “Logos” (a word meaning the “Word”) which he described as “…the first principle of existence, that unity of the world process that sustains it as a process.”*

At approximately same time, in ancient China, Lao Tzu wrote of the Tao (a word meaning the “Way”) which is “the Pattern of Heaven, the Course that all things follow.” He admitted, “I do not know its name.”*

It occurred to me, as I read this, that God saw all of the people of the world as His own – and they were lost because of the ancestral sin. He wanted them to know Him again and so He revealed Himself. He did not reveal Himself in just one time or place. It was as though He was laying a sort of groundwork throughout the world.

However, it seems that the most that even the wisest of us humans were ready to accept at this early point in history was an Idea. There was some sort of pattern, principle or order to life.

Much more time passed before God’s revelation found a readiness in humanity for something more: an openness to understanding Him not just an idea or pattern but as Person. Moses heard God speak and he asked His name. One does not talk to an Idea – only to a Person.

And God confirmed His Personal nature to Moses, “This is what you will tell the Israelites: I AM has sent me to you” (Exodus 3:14). “I AM” is a statement of Being, of Personal Being.

While this exchange still left a great deal unknown about God, who will always be mystery beyond our knowing, it began an era of understanding God as wanting a relationship with His people. He was not a distant or indifferent Being. On the other hand, with the exception of holy leaders like Moses, the relationship was with His people as a community rather than as individuals.

With the Incarnation of Christ, the ultimate revelation occurs. The Word (the “Logos”), written of so long ago is made flesh to live among us. The man, Jesus, now declares, “I am the Way” (the “Tao”). All that was foreshadowed across cultures is now fulfilled in human history.

As incredible as this is, still something more has happened with this development. God is now more than just Presence guiding His chosen people. He is Being with and among us. He may, in fact, be sitting right next to me, eating, drinking and conversing with me as one person to another.

Even though He now has billions of people on the earth, through the human personhood of Jesus, the God-man, He might choose to converse with me as an individual.

He can look at me, touch me, call me by name. He can look into my eyes and tell me my sins are forgiven. He can heal the diseases of my body, my mind, my soul with a word or a touch.

I write in the present tense because God, having entered human history in Christ, never leaves it. Though historical Jesus has ascended, with Eucharist and the gift of the Spirit, the presence of God remains a Person so personal that there can remain no doubt of His desire to touch me as an individual, personally and intimately.

It is late. I will take another break and return.

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I have returned, to edit and write some more, by the grace of God…

Jesus knows He is about to be betrayed and killed. His disciples do not fully understand this but they know that He is in danger and that this Passover is different from all of the others. Jesus is sharing deeply with them – washing their feet, breaking the bread – it is His body? And now this…

“I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.” (John 15: 15, NIV)

He has always made it clear that He loved them. He was Master and Teacher. But mostly they could not resist following Him because of His love. Yet these words – these words were the ones that bound their hearts to Him and one another like nothing before.

He called them friends and was speaking to them plainly. He was revealing the Father in  and through Himself:

“Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me…” (John 14:11)

Not long ago, I published a post about being God’s servant, with a recording from St. Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians (To be God’s servant). I ended by proclaiming, “Yes, I want to be His servant…”

And, of course, I do. But I entitled this post “Servants no more” because we are invited to so much more. We are not like those those compelled or employed to do a duty. We are like those in love.

As God revealed Himself to His lost children, at first He was perceived to be an Idea, then an Almighty Deity who wanted to lead His disobedient people back to the Truth. And these perceptions were not wrong so much as they were incomplete.

In Christ, He has revealed Himself as Lover, intimate Lover of our souls.

It is the way of lovers that they find joy in serving one another. And He taught us this while in the flesh.

For He did not demand to be served but delighted in serving each and every individual He encountered, no matter how damaged he or she was by sin or disease.

And He invites us all to be lovers as well. Lovers of Him, lovers of each other. There cannot be one without the other… Lovers whose hearts overflow with an abundance of Divine love.

Once again, it is late and I must rest. I believe there is a bit more to be written…

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Once again, I return, asking God to help me write of things I know not how to write of…

Up till now, I have been writing more in generalities than is my usual way. Perhaps I have needed to tell some of what I have learned in ideas first. How else can I explain it?

I will try, knowing my words will be most inadequate.

I have come to know – I am just beginning to understand – that the Lord does indeed sing to my heart.

The God who was taught to me as a little girl, first as an idea, gradually becoming known to me as Creator, as good God…that God has now revealed Himself as the intimate Lover of my unworthy soul.

I hesitate to write this, for fear that I give the impression that God has singled me out for some special experience that others do not have.

The reality is that God has been revealing this continually, to every one of us, from the beginning of time. It is only that now, by His grace and mercy, my eyes are starting to open to get a glimpse of how great is His love.

How great is His love for my small, broken and disobedient soul. I cannot fathom it. That He should call me by name and take me, me as an individual to be His love – it is almost too much to bear…

Please pray for me. I am so unworthy.

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I will conclude with a recording (and reprint) of the words of St. Catherine of Genoa, one who knew far better than me what it meant to enter into the Love of Christ. (In the Catholic tradition, when we are confirmed, we choose a saint to be our guide and protector. St. Catherine of Genoa is my saint.) **

 

 
Text from Spiritual Dialogues 1, 8 **, by St. Catherine of Genoa:

When God wills to purify a soul from self-love, he first sends her his divine light, that by it she may discern a spark of that pure love wherewith he loves her, and how much he has done and still does by means of this love.

[…] He also reveals to her that our sins can never excite his anger so far that he ceases to do us good while we are in this world.

Rather does it seem that the more our sins remove us from him, so much the more does he seek to draw us toward himself by many incentives and inspirations, in order that his continued love and his benefits may keep us still in his love.

The better to effect this, he uses countless ways and means, so that every soul, beholding what he has done for her, may exclaim, full of admiration:

“What am I that God seems truly to have no care for anyone but me?”

And, among other things, he reveals to her that pure love with which he created us;

and how he requires nothing of us but that we should love him with that same love wherewith he has loved us;

and that we should remain ever with him, expecting no return except that he may unite himself to us.

[…] God, moreover, made known to this soul that he had created man for the highest good, namely, that with soul and body he might enter into his heavenly home.

He also showed her how great an evil is sin, into which she had herself fallen, and for which there was no remedy but another manifestation of his love….

And he further instructed her in that ardent love for us of which our Lord Jesus Christ gave such proof on the earth.

[…] He allowed her to see the great patience with which he had waited for her, and borne with so many of her sins, in which, if she had died, she would have been lost forever.

[…] He also reminded her of the many inspirations he had given her to save her from sin.

Although she had not only disregarded, but even gone contrary to his will, yet in his goodness, he did not cease to send them, now in one way, now in another.

He allured her free-will in such a way that he had, as it were, forced her to do that which in his goodness he required.

And this, too, he did so gently and patiently, that no example of human love was ever known on earth, which could compare with it.

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* Quotes and information about the work of Fr. Seraphim Rose were found in Christ the Eternal Tao, by Hiermonk Damascene. Citations for original texts are available there.

** Thanks to Mark Armitage and his blog, enlargingtheheart, for helping me find this particular text from St. Catherine of Genoa.

How do I begin?

If I try to start at the beginning, I must admit that I don’t even know where the beginning is. I only know that You have always been there.

Long before I have any conscious memory, You began Your work in me, with the waters of salvation poured upon my head when I was but ten days old. In the arms of my parents, You claimed me.

As I ponder the decades of my life, I see so much that, at first glance, seems to make so little sense. One moment, You were there and the next, it seemed that You were not.

Or was it me? Was I not praying enough or believing enough during those times You seemed so absent?

So I wondered at the time. But now I see differently.

You allowed me such beautiful moments in childhood: learning to pray, receiving You in Eucharist for the first time when I was 7, being confirmed in the Faith with the Holy Chrism when I was 8.

But you also allowed me many dull and ordinary moments, even difficult moments, in which irritability and fears and annoyances crowded out all of the good You had instilled within me. And I felt discouraged.

But greater perhaps than anything, You implanted in my soul a relentless hunger for You – a desire to know You and to know the truth about You. I wanted You to exist but You gave me a mind that would not accept merely believing what it wanted to believe.

And You allowed this hunger to both delight me with its holy promise and torment me with the possibility of a horrifying and inescapable emptiness. Sometimes both in the same day.

Your generosity with me in many ways seems boundless. You have allowed me so much opportunity in life, so much ability (none of which I have earned or deserved). You have sent me innumerable helps and guides and blessings through every phase of my life, in books and dreams and teachers and friends, all to instruct me and guide me that I might know You.

At the same time, at points in my life, You allowed me to undergo great mental suffering – and some physical as well – some of which endured for decades with little or no relief. Sometimes I could barely hold on. Sometimes I didn’t want to hold on, it hurt and frightened me so much.

Yet You never left me alone or without help. And afflictions that I thought would never leave me were lifted. All by Your grace.

There were times when working for You exhausted me so much that I became angry, though I did not recognize it at the time. I saw so many injustices that I could not remain quiet. I heard so many sorrows that I could not stop crying. But in each one, I was sustained in hope because of You.

And then You began opening new doors for me, leading me to unexpected places. Each new door led me through the same maze of challenge and growth, pain and joy, always with You leading and beckoning me to come in a bit further, to enter more deeply into Your promise.

With the openings, You allowed me to see more clearly my sinfulness, the total destitution of my soul when it ventures away from You, even for a moment. You taught me what it means to live a life of repentance. You planted in my heart a longing to pray without ceasing.

At the same time, You flooded my soul like an artist’s palette, with colors that long to be painted, images that call out to be received and words waiting to find form that they might praise You.

Certainly I have not fulfilled all that You have given me. Not even close. Yet I see now that You have been shaping me through each step, through each experience.

In Your presence, I have found joy and consolation. In Your “absence”, I have come to understand how deep is my need for You.

In the many gifts You have given me, I have learned that what I have to give others is not my own but Yours. In my challenges and suffering, I have discovered a compassion and humility that can only be learned through raw need.

For all of this, O God, for all of this – the joys and the sorrows, the suffering and the celebrations – I praise Your great glory. For all of it has led me to be where I am right now, standing before You in worshipful awe…

Yes, I want to be His servant. I want to join the community of those who serve Him. All I can say is “Yes, yes, yes – please teach me, tell me all you know of who He was and who He is – that I too might follow…”  (from the end of my last post)

With all of these “yeses” pouring out of me, I had thought. for a moment, that I was making a choice.

Wasn’t I choosing God? Proclaiming my desire to follow Him and be part of the community that serves?

I can be so silly at times.

“It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you…” (John 15:16)

These words of Jesus to His disciples in the Last Supper discourse began to echo in my memory not long after the post, having been awakened by the wise words of a friend.

I have to stop and wonder: why is it that I so often think that I am the one making the choice?

It is as though my soul is envisioning God hidden in the clouds at the top of a mountain I have just climbed. Though not consciously, on some level, I am imagining that I have done the work, that I have done the searching and the choosing and the giving of myself.

Have I searched for God – or has God searched for me? Have I poured out myself and completely given myself to God – or has He poured out Himself for me, giving without reserve? Have I chosen Him – or has He chosen me?

In reality, He is the one seeking and giving and choosing. In truth, I have barely said “yes”.

It is hard to say He has chosen me. On one level, it sounds so vain, as though I think that I am someone of great importance that God would choose me.

But I know that is just a smoke screen for the real issue. The real issue is that I don’t know why He would choose someone like me.

Having peaked beneath the layers of pride and willfulness and vanity, I now know that under it all lies a child, quivering in shame for all that she is not. One who knows that she truly has sinned, who knows that she is unworthy.

When I imagine that I am making the choice, I remain proud and in control. But when He chooses me, I must meet His gaze and can no longer hide from the reality of my disobedience and brokenness.

“I am afraid. I don’t want to meet that gaze – it is too much,” the shamed child within cries out, the previous “yeses” dissolving in the shadows of fear.

But He who has searched so long and so far, who has given everything to have me, will not let the enemy trap me in his net of fear. He stands by His choice.

He has chosen me. (And He has chosen you as well.)

Once again, I say it: yes…

 

As I noted in a comment to my last post, I have begun a new journey into learning more about the early Church and the Fathers who through their lives and writings brought it into focus.

I’m only on page 29 of When the Church Was Young: Voices of the Early Fathers, by Marcellino D’Ambrosio and already I am awestruck, discovering in the author’s enthralling narrative how much I don’t know.

Again, I ask myself, “How can this be?” How can it be that, after 16 years of Catholic education and nearly 60 years of active participation in the Church, I have failed to learn and understand so much?

I do not say this with any anger toward my educators nor am I being hard on myself. It is more like having, yet again, opened my eyes and discovered that there is a whole landscape before me that I am only seeing for the first time, despite it always having been there. So amazing…

I particularly thank my Orthodox friends in the Faith for helping to pry my eyes open regarding the importance of the Church Fathers. While I encountered their writings in the Liturgy of the Hours, I confess I did not know much about who they were and therefore did not pay enough attention.

Now, I am reading of Clement, who knew Peter and Paul before they died. I learn of the Didache, (the popular name given to “The Teaching of the Lord According to the Twelve Apostles”) a ancient document that was discovered in 1873 after being missing for a thousand years. I, of course, had never heard of it. And then there is beloved Ignatius, second successor to St. Peter as bishop of Antioch, who left us letters as he traveled to Rome to be martyred for the Faith.

I am discovering that, as I enter the world of the early Church, the words of Scripture take on new life as well. How could the words of Paul ever sound the same to me again, now that I have become acquainted with some of his spiritual children and grandchildren?

Let me share with you a recorded reading from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, today’s Scripture from the Roman calendar of readings. What could be more perfect for my newly opened eyes to see and my awakened heart to ponder?
 

 
Yes, I want to be His servant. I want to join the community of those who serve Him. All I can say is “Yes, yes, yes – please teach me, tell me all you know of who He was and who He is – that I too might follow…”

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(The reading is 2 Corinthians 6: 1-10. I realize that this is perhaps not the most common translation for most readers but is appears in the Collins Liturgical Weekday Missal, given to me by a friend years ago. I generally use it in my evening meditation and often find the slight wording differences captivating.)

I was driving home from work this evening and I told God that I would like to write for Him, if He would give me something. I truly wanted to but it seemed unlikely, given the circumstances.

All day, I have felt “under the weather”, so to speak. Here in Cleveland, after having had some delightfully warm and sunny days, strong thunderstorms pummeled the area over weekend as a cold front moved in. Today, we were left with temperatures so chilly that we sought out our winter sweaters and, though dry, dark clouds hung heavy over the city from dawn till dusk.

A good day for one of those migraines that is not so severe as to keep me in bed but just enough to leave my body longing for sleep and my senses dulled. Yet I wanted to write for Him, devoid as I was of energy and inspiration.

I struggled to keep focused on Evening Prayer, a prayer I typically enjoy as I follow the familiar route home at the end of the day (Roman Liturgy of the Hours, see http://divineoffice.org/ for app availability). I confess that my heart was not feeling moved even by the prayers that usually stir me to life.

Then I heard a voice say, “Suddenly my soul caught fire…”

Although I have prayed the Liturgy of the Hours for years, I have never come close to praying all of them every day. Still, I was taken aback that I had never heard anything remotely resembling these words before in my prayer. They seemed to be part of an antiphon… What were these words doing here in the middle of “Ordinary time”? What did they mean?

However, even more important than that was my realization that this was what I wanted to happen to me. In all of my dullness of body, mind and spirit, I wanted that experience… “Suddenly my soul caught fire…”

From other readings of the day, I had vaguely been aware that today was the feast of St. Justin, philosopher and martyr of the early Church. Yet I knew little about him and I did not recognize these words as his.

How good and appropriate that I should encounter St. Justin now. May he pray for my sorry soul.

As mentioned in my last post, I was blessed last weekend with the opportunity to prepare for Pentecost at a hermitage. While the stay was brief, it was beautiful on many levels and marked a deepening of my soul’s bond to my God.

Not surprisingly, such deepenings do not go unnoticed in a world at war. Thankfully, I have learned to accept that “trouble” may follow such blessed times, anything from an intense migraine to onslaughts of thoughts questioning the existence of God. Such challenges are unpleasant, of course, but part of the commitment to follow the Lord.

Reading and learning a bit about St. Justin this evening gave me much encouragement. It is an odd but inevitable side effect, I suppose, of having attended Catholic schools throughout childhood that martyrdom seems almost easy.

Someone is challenged to worship an idol. They refuse and are killed for the Faith. The stories, as told at a child’s level, make it sound so simple, as though anyone could be courageous in that one grand gesture and thereby enter heaven triumphantly. The whole thing is over in about 5-10 minutes, maybe 20 at most.

This, of course, is ridiculous. But without a broader picture of the lives of these witnesses to the Faith and the times in which they lived, we often associate their martyrdom with the one ultimate, public declaration they made. In reality, their martyrdom was most certainly composed of many choices and many struggles and sacrifices, both internal and external, seen and unseen.

Reading of St. Justin this evening, I was struck by how he was a philosopher before a Christian, educated in the philosophical thinking of his time. Yet he discovered Truth in the teachings of Christianity as witnessed by the early Church and underwent conversion, writing the words:

“Straightway a flame was kindled in my soul; and a love of the prophets, and of those men who are friends of Christ, possessed me; and whilst revolving his words in my mind, I found this philosophy alone to be safe and profitable.”

                                                                                         – Saint Justin

And so, a man named Justin, born in Palestine, studying philosophy to understand meaning (and undoubtedly to question the nature of being and God), found his soul catching fire with the Truth.

No longer could he hide within the safety of a scholarly existence, debating this question or that. He was on fire with Truth. So much so that nothing else made sense to him anymore but that. So much so that he would endure any torment for that Truth, even to the point of forfeiting his life. 

Suddenly, the little skirmishes I endure in this world at war seem as nothing.

I am thankful. Thankful that Christ has drawn me close and allowed me to give the little bit I am able to give in this world of darkness. Thankful for the Spirit who gives me strength and hope.

+++

(I was blessed to receive the image above while at the hermitage…it is my joy to share it with you now.)

I set the box on the counter, paid the clerk and exited the post office as though it were any other transaction. Once in my car, however, my heart felt unbearably heavy and my eyes welled up with tears.

“Good-bye, little camera,” I whispered into the emptiness. “I’m so sorry.”

(One week earlier…)

The new one had been so excited about the adventure (see past post, New beginnings) that she hardly minded the long day of being jostled about and stuffed under seats in her camera bag. Her camera bag, she thought with contentment. She realized that the bag had once belonged to the old camera but she no longer felt threatened by her predecessor. She understood now. Her person was grieving for her old friend but welcomed and accepted her without reservation.

It was dark when the last of the three airplanes they had boarded that day landed in the tiny airport in central California. The new one listened with interest as her person greeted her old friend, Rodger, whom she hadn’t seen in decades. She could not see anything from within the camera bag, of course, but she was intrigued and anxious to view the outside world that awaited her. Things were different here. She could feel it in the air.

The next morning was bright and sunny. Accompanied by Rodger, the new one and her person emerged into cool morning air and were immediately greeted by a collage of colors and shapes, light and shadows. Click! Click! The new one began playing and exploring with a studied excitement.

With her zoom lens on, she could see the ocean waves at the end of the street. Yet along the way, there were so many flowers! She didn’t know what to do first – it was all so very beautiful. Click!

As much as she wanted to pause and absorb the colorful blooms, the ocean drew her inexorably. The flowers would wait. She and her person had to see the ocean.

Although she had imagined this moment many times while waiting in the dark, the new one was utterly unprepared for what awaited them at the end of the road. In a vast expanse of blue, the sky and the sea seemed to kiss lightly at the horizon, while crashing waves belied the true power of ocean as it beat itself against the rocky shoreline.

Click! Click! Click! In quick succession, the new one received images of waves, crashing and splashing resplendently. To her delight, she also discovered a thick carpet of flowers at their feet and a variety of seabirds soaring overhead. Click! Click!

Massive rock structures rivaled the sea in their breathtaking beauty, while each moment seemed to bring new angles of light and shadow.

The sea turned from blue to green to gray and back again, sharp lines blurring into hazy fog that soon blew their way back into focus. The new one framed and focused and clicked to her heart’s content.

The day was still very young and the new one could not have imagined being happier. She felt so alive, so joyful, as the three of them walked through fields of flowers while never losing sight of the glorious dome of sky and basin of roaring sea.

Next it was time to explore the smaller inhabitants of this vast and seemingly endless world. After her person and Rodger had climbed down to a somewhat lower vantage point, the new one began zooming in on the tiny creatures dwelling in the little tide pools formed here and there among the rocks. A hermit crab. Click! A sea anemone. Click!

The colors and textures fascinated her and there was so much to see. She wanted to study each and every detail closely…

Suddenly, from the secure spot where she was strapped around her person’s neck, the new one felt something very odd. Her person’s feet were stepping strangely out of control. What was happening?

There was a splash. Cold water quickly invaded all the new one’s hidden places, the sting of salt burning her most sensitive surfaces in seconds. With that, she knew no more.

The new one had received a life total of only 132 images when she died on that very first day of her great adventure.

+++

It was a glorious morning. I had not seen my spiritual brother, Rodger, in over 30 years and yet it felt so natural to follow his lead as he took the new one and me from one breathtaking beauty to the next.

Never having been to the coast before, my soul felt as though it had entered a living cathedral where everything gave glory to God together in a perfect synchrony of movement and color. I couldn’t stop smiling.

The vastness of the sky and sea seemed to call me to enlarge my heart so I could absorb its God-ness. Yet, amateur photographer that I am, I have always had a special love for closer looks at the tiny, hidden creatures of nature that a only a camera lens can provide.

Hence, when Rodger led us to the tide pools, I welcomed the shift to a smaller world. After some introductions to the different species, we each wandered in different directions and the new one and I received some images. The air was still cool but the sun was shining warm. What could be more delightful?

What happened next is hard to explain. The new one and I were gazing at some interesting plant growth when it seemed as though my feet started to move. I cannot say how or why. I found one foot moving to a large stone in front of me but I could not stop it. The other foot moved reflexively to the next stone to try to gain footing but I still could not stop.

And the next thing I knew, I was suddenly immersed cold salt water – just deep enough to drench everything but my head. Stunned, I immediately stood up, dripping and heavy from all of the sea my clothes and shoes could absorb in those few seconds.

I looked down at the new one, still hanging faithfully from her strap around my neck. A yellow light I had never seen before was blinking. Knowing this could not be good, I turned her power switch to the “off” position and accepted the extra sweatshirt that a concerned Rodger was now offering.

Strangely, I still couldn’t stop smiling. It seemed as though I should be upset but I wasn’t. I was chilly. Wet. Definitely wet. But I was very much in the moment I was in and nowhere else. I was still in the living cathedral and nothing else really mattered.

There was a vague sadness about what had happened to the new one. But it was simply something that had happened and could not be undone. It was just reality. And so I moved forward, placing one squishy foot in front of the other, my faithful brother at my side.

When I emerged from the warm shower in dry clothes, I was greeted by a cup of warm ginger tea. Judy, Rodger’s wife, was on the phone with Canon, trying to determine what, if anything we could do for the new one.

When it was evident that I would need to mail my drowned friend back to her maker, Judy immediately offered to lend me one of her digital cameras for the remainder of my stay. I would buy a memory card to hold the images so that I could take them home with me.

I had only met Judy for the first time the night before. In that moment, I knew she was my sister.

+++

It did not take long to realize that what I had lightly written of as an “adventure” was so much more. Literally hundreds of images were received. Many cups of ginger tea were drunk. Meals were eaten, naps were taken, books read. Prayers were prayed and thoughts were shared on into the evening.

Oh – and did I mention two very unique and wonderful teenage boys?

But throughout this time, I continued to feel as though I remained in that living cathedral, though at the time I would not have had a name for it. Whether I was indoors or out, alone or with one or all of the others, there was a sense of being in a sacred place.

At one point, Rodger and I talked some about the idea of pilgrimage. He felt some interest stirring in such an undertaking. As I pondered this, I realized that this trip across the country to see him and his family was, for me, a pilgrimage.

We often think of pilgrimage as a journey to a particular holy place, perhaps a place were many people have experienced God’s love in miraculous healing (such as Lourdes, in the Catholic tradition) or where many holy people live together as vessels of God’s grace (such as Mt. Athos, in the Orthodox tradition).

While that is indeed a true meaning, it is true not because one geographical place can claim God’s presence more than another, but because the journey itself disposes our hearts to meet God more deeply.

We take on the journey because we know we need God. We may simultaneously want other things, such as to see a friend or to have a break from work, but what we need is God Himself and nothing more.

When we say to God “I need you” so deeply that we stop everything else in our lives and make a journey for Him, He gives Himself in great abundance. It may not always be what we expect – but He does not ignore our longing.

This was indeed a sacred journey. I cannot express in words all of the dimensions of the holiness that I experienced. But I can say that I came away changed by my encounter with God – God in the ocean and the sky, in the seals and otters, in the flowers, birds, reptiles and butterflies.

…and most of all, God in those whose hearts long for Him through the same moments of light and shadow as mine.

To Him be eternal praise and glory.

 +++

 

(The following video invites you to join in some of the wonders God shared with me during this pilgrimage. Be sure to watch in full screen!)
 

Pilgrimage from Mary Benton on Vimeo.