Just a brief note, dear readers.

I have decided to blog the book I mentioned earlier, Father Arseny, 1893-1973: Priest, Prisoner, Spiritual Father, as well as the second volume, Father Arseny: A Cloud of Witnesses.

(By “blogging the book”, I mean that I have created a blog site where I will post a series of reflections and invite others to do so as well.)

The site address for this new blog is: https://heretopray2.wordpress.com/ and the first post has been posted.

I realize that many of my Orthodox readers may have already read these books. Please feel free to break out the old volumes and reread any parts that especially moved you. Since the books include many memoirs, these can be reflected upon again and again without rereading the entire book. (Not that there is anything wrong with rereading the entire book!)

I will not be blogging in a chapter-by-chapter fashion as I did with our first book. At least as far as I know. Never know how the Spirit will lead me. 🙂

Although I have finished posting on the first book blog, any who wish to read and comment on Orthodox Prayer Life: The Interior Way, by Matthew the Poor (Fr. Matta El-Meskeen), that blog remains available at https://heretopray.wordpress.com/. I will receive notice of any comments posted there and will gladly respond to them.

All of the books mentioned in this post are extraordinary books that I believe will help us grow together spiritually. If this seems like a good time for you to read, please join me…

I did not know until a few years ago that I had been living in schism all my life. No one told me.

You may think that I am joking but I am not. It is rather hard to believe, given that I am 61 years old and not generally an ignorant person.

I grew up in a largely Roman Catholic world and, as a child, was taught that the Catholic Church was the One True Faith. While I came to gradually learn a bit about other religions, Christian and otherwise, I did not know that there was another Church that laid hold to this same claim.

There was the girl down the alley that I sometimes played with when we lived in Minneapolis. I knew that she was Lutheran. I also knew that I wasn’t to ever attend any of her church services because I might unwittingly learn some false teachings.

I had no idea what those false teachings were – but I was not about to risk finding out. I felt a bit bad for my friend, that she was under the influence of this unknown error, but she and her family seemed to be nice enough people. And I was raised to be accepting of diversity, even though we didn’t have a buzzword for it back then.

When I began high school (Catholic, of course), our insular way of life was challenged by change. Within the Church, Vatican II had  launched its modifications to our familiar rituals and practices. It was an exciting time for me. Words that I had learned to rattle off in Latin now had meaning for me. And I liked the meaning.

My school encouraged us to question and examine our faith – to really make it our own. As part of a special interim time in the school year, I joined an instructor and a few other students in a study of Judaism. It was fascinating to attend a Bat Mitzvah and learn what it meant to keep Kosher.

In the outside world, change was also rampant. I was a bit oblivious during those early years of high school but, having an older brother, I soon learned about things like the Vietnam War. In 1973, the legalization of abortion cut through me like a knife. High school religion classes began to include the discussion of social and political issues in the context of our faith.

However, in one high school religion class, we learned about other religions. I do not recall just which ones – but I do remember the Mormons. They scared me because, on the surface, I thought it just might be true. I felt strongly about the plight of Native Americans and it seemed to me quite plausible that Christ might have visited these noble people after His Resurrection.

If this really did happen, would it mean that I had to change my religion? I did not like the idea of leaving the familiar – but the truth was important to me. However, further reading revealed some beliefs that did not ring true to the Gospel I knew. Hence, I was not put to the test and could, in good conscience, remain Catholic.

There was no discussion in this class of the Orthodox Church – at least that I can recall. In fact, I am embarrassed to admit that I probably didn’t even know there was such a faith. I vaguely recall asking my mother why the cross on a particular church looked different from ours when we drove past it. Whatever response she gave must have satisfied my curiosity. I had no reason to think about it further.

While my relative ignorance may seem appalling, it must be noted that, in those days, we did not have the Internet. Computers were huge machines that took up entire rooms and most of us had little or no access to one. Hence, our interests were piqued only by those things we saw in our daily lives or heard about on the television or radio.

And even if my interest was piqued on a topic, my information sources were limited to the Webster’s dictionary and the Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedia my mother had purchased, one volume at a time, from the local grocery.

There was, of course, the library. But that required being driven by a parent and such excursions were typically reserved for times when homework assignments required more than what the Funk & Wagnalls could offer. The library had the Encyclopedia Britannica!

Naturally, one would expect that I would have learned more when I went away to college, especially given that theology classes were required at my Catholic institution. But, alas, no courses on Church history to cue me in on the “other Church” and the existence of the schism.

I would not want my Orthodox friends to be offended by my ignorance of their existence and our sad division. Truth be told, I never really understood the Reformation either. Despite my deep interest in Christianity, all of the details of history, religious or secular, well…kind of bored me. To this day, I’m not sure which side of the “faith vs. works” controversy I am supposed to be on. It has always seemed obvious to me that we need both, so why all the fuss?

In 1977, I moved to Cleveland to be part of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, a spiritual journey into living simply in community, with a focus on social justice and service.

And it was in 1977 that I had my first notable contact with Orthodoxy.

My volunteer job was working with ex-offenders in a program that was founded by Lutherans and administered by an Interfaith (largely Protestant) organization. My spiritual horizons were expanding and I learned a profound respect for the faithful lives of those who worshiped in ways other than my own.

But the Orthodox were not, of course, part of this.

However, just down the street from my office in the inner city, an Orthodox priest was founding a monastery which soon became a shelter for homeless men. I was intrigued by this because I had never heard of a monastery performing such a service – but we were very grateful for it. Extra food was always brought to their kitchen as they fed many of the poor of the neighborhood as well as their homeless guests.

I did not see many monks in this monastery but I did not really expect to. Their notices in local publications always included an invitation to attend Divine Liturgy. I considered going, having shed the old dictum about being led astray, but I was a bit shy. I didn’t know what to expect and was reluctant to just appear at the door for liturgy. Where amidst the throngs of homeless men would this liturgy take place?

However, having had a passing and pleasant acquaintance with the founder, Fr. Gregory Reynolds, I went to St. George’s Orthodox Church to pay my respects when he reposed. I did not attend the services, assuming that such were for those who shared his faith and life more intimately than me.

When, in 1999, I moved into my house in the Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland, I discovered a wealth of churches. There were (and still are) three Orthodox Churches within walking distance of my house and at least three Roman Catholic Churches (not to mention the Ukrainian Catholic and Byzantine Catholic Churches). We were also graced with the United Church of Christ, an Evangelical Lutheran Church and some Hispanic Pentecostal churches and storefronts.

We all seemed to live peaceably together in this small, once highly ethnic enclave to the south of downtown. Still, no one informed me that I was in schism. And yet, realistically, how and when could this have been brought to my attention?

+++

I have told the story elsewhere of how, in July of 2012, God directed me to Fr. Stephen’s blog Glory to God for All Things.

In short, following a deep meditation while having an MRI of my brain, I felt compelled to search the Internet for an understanding of some words that had come to me. It had to do with God singing. I had never read before that God or even Jesus sang – yet this had entered my prayerful meditation while in the tube.

When Google did not immediately come up with anything significant, I recalled Aslan singing in C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia. So I entered “Aslan singing” into my search engine. And I found myself reading a text that didn’t seem to have much to do with God singing – but it caught my attention nonetheless.

“Wow, I really agree with this!” I thought to myself. “What is this website?” That initial reading wasn’t so much imparting any new information to me about Christianity (that would come later), but it was just so well explained that I had to continue reading.

It took a little while for me to get a grasp on the discussion, but not terribly long. The Internet was at my fingertips and I could learn the basic facts I needed. I had also had a patient some years before who had converted to Orthodoxy, debunking the old assumption that Orthodoxy was probably “just an ethnic thing”.

As I read more and more at Fr. Stephen’s, I found myself joining in the community of commenters and feeling quite at home. Most of the time. Every now and then someone made a comment that suggested some rather strong negative feelings about Catholicism. Fr. Stephen himself seemed to me to be “angry” when discussing our separation.

I even wrote a comment to him once, asking forgiveness for whatever my Church had done to his Church. I didn’t get it. Yet when his posts turned too historical for my poor history-challenged mind, I simply scanned them and waited for another.

While things that happened so many years ago might interest some, they didn’t appeal to me. This side says this, the other side says that. There is no unbiased account of history – how can I make sense of it?

We all believe in the Gospel, in the death and resurrection of Jesus, the source of our salvation. We all know the real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. We honor His Virgin Mother and celebrate the communion of saints. As for “the filioque”, frankly, I had never heard of it.

When I learned what it meant, I was again scratching my head. I could not imagine that any of us know or understand the inner workings of the Holy Trinity. What is important is that we believe that there is a Holy Trinity. And Catholics and Orthodox alike hold this fundamental belief.

Now I understood that this wasn’t the only trouble that led to this schism-thing. I’m sure more historical research would have led me to more facts. But I was searching with my heart, not my mind. Why was I separated from my brothers and sisters in Christ?

+++

Fast-forwarding into the present stage of my faith journey, it seems to me that the heart of the trouble lies in our sinfulness. How can it not? God gave us one Church and we broke it in two.

Of course, it is very typical of us human beings to point to the other guy and say, “He’s the one who did it, not me!” or “I wouldn’t have had to do this if she hadn’t done that!”

And so, whether it be the schism or the Reformation (about which I remain in historically ignorance to this day), our natural tendency is to view things in black-and-white terms. It becomes as much about blame in these historical conflicts as it does in marital conflicts.

Which, I believe, reflects our lack of repentance.

Whenever people interact, a system is created – a system that is something different from just the two or more individuals (or nations or church bodies) involved. Even when one party commits an egregious wrong, the response of the other party becomes an important part of the dynamic. More actions and reactions come forth that would not have occurred were it not for the interaction. And on it goes, one reaction provoking another which provokes another…

In other words, none of us are innocent. We have all inherited sin and we all partake, feeding into the vicious cycle of destruction.

Were it not for Christ, I fear that we would never find our way out of this mess. We would be bereft of the glorious union with Him and each other for which we were made. I can imagine no greater tragedy.

+++

Now that I have been told about the schism, certainly I can intellectually grasp the concept. It goes something like this:

There was a rupture in the Church many centuries ago, the history of which is there to be studied by those who wish to study it. As a result of the rupture, separate human ecclesiastical institutions developed, one commonly called “Catholic” and the other “Orthodox”. The Orthodox and the Catholic believe a few things differently. On a practical level, the manner in which these groups worship differs significantly on many details. I say “details” not to minimize their importance to the people who practice them but to distinguish them from the heart of the liturgy: the Word and the Eucharist. Despite their many common beliefs, they remain apart, not sharing the Sacraments with each other, and hence they are not “in communion” with one another. Both consider themselves directly descended from the apostles and thus, “the Church”, with the other ecclesiastical institution being regarded as the one who left the Tradition.

And oversimplified explanation, no doubt, but I’m not going to pretend to explain more than I understand. Nor am I claiming that my understanding is completely accurate.

Having said all of this about the schism, however, I must confess that I still don’t really see it.

I see one Church, the living, mystical Body of Christ on earth. You, my faithful Orthodox readers, I see you in the Body. You, my faithful Catholic readers, I see you in the Body too. And any other readers, genuinely seeking God, longing to know Christ, I see you in the Body too – or at least on your way to finding your home there.

We are one Church, one Body of Christ. In Him, we are being made perfect so as to be brought into perfect union with Him and each other.

Yet, you might ask, how can I say this when the Orthodox and Catholics are not in communion with one another?

My human mind and my earthly eyes can certainly see the rupture. But the eyes of my heart see the Oneness – and I trust the eyes of my heart more than their worldly counterparts.

It is true – the eyes of my heart cannot see it perfectly. I am not perfectly united to Christ. But I see it…if only “as in a mirror”.

Allow me to explain.

What do we imagine that Christ Himself sees? As the Head, when He looks upon His Body, does He see the broken or the whole?

Because we have broken what He gave us, is He then compelled to also see it as broken? For all eternity?

I cannot imagine that He is compelled to do anything, much less see through the eyes of sinful humanity. In His eternal Being, He sees all things as they are in the fullness of timeless Truth. How could we imagine that He would see our sinfulness, the lies of the evil one, rather than Truth?

This is not to say that He does not know that the lies and sins and evil are all still at work in our world. But He, in His eternity, sees the antidote. For He Himself is the antidote.

His Body, once broken and raised, cannot be broken again.

Just as in the Gospel the Lord Jesus looked upon the man with a withered hand and made him whole, so He looks upon our brokenness and we are made whole. He looked upon the blind, the lame and the deaf; if they believed, they too were made whole.

To be healed, they needed only a flicker of faith, not a lengthy creed. And those who were possessed did not even need to express belief. He saw that they were caught in an impossible trap and He set them free.

Yet even greater than this is what He has done for us. Before surrendering Himself to death, He gave us His Body and His Blood – that we might know that He chose to sacrifice Himself out of love.

Then, taking into Himself all of our weakness, our sin, our strife, He allowed His Body to be beaten, broken, spat upon.

Though He had done nothing to merit death, He entered death in utter humility, sacrificing everything. Death could not hold Him captive as it did us – for the prince of death could not endure His selfless love.

Triumphant in battle, He was raised up on the third day. Not into this life or into His old Body but into the New Life and the new Body. The Body which we are, the Church, through the outpouring of the Spirit upon us.

His Body, once broken and raised, cannot be broken again.

Human institutions we can pervert, divide or even destroy with our sins. But we cannot break the Body – we cannot divide it.

We are One Body.

We are the Church.

+++

(Please note that these ramblings are simply my ramblings and do not represent the teachings of the Catholic Church. I do not know enough to undertake a task of that magnitude. May God forgive me in my sinful folly.)

+

divine love is humble

pouring itself out completely

as it forgives, restores, heals.

it has no end,

emptying itself

yet never running dry.

it is personal, intimate,

drenching the body, the mind, the soul

with all they ever longed for

but knew not how to desire.

divine love caresses, enlightens, fulfills,

drawing the other into communion

until there is no difference

between Lover and beloved –

and the beloved too is humble,

pouring itself out completely

as it forgives, restores, heals.

it has no end,

emptying itself,

yet never running dry.

o holy Divinity, God, Creator of all –

my Beloved, my hope, my joy!

there is no end – only beginning,

as You create and love and create anew,

o holy Love, my love, My Love.

*

o holy Love, can i allow myself to receive You?

(refrain repeats and repeats)

*

hush…just receive…

just receive…

receive…

…

Greetings, faithful readers,

Just a brief announcement. On the Here to Pray blog (which few if any still read), I promised a new book.

Having taken just over a year to pray and blog the book, Orthodox Prayer Life: The Interior Way, by Matthew the Poor, I’m sure that everyone is just waiting on the edge of their seats to see what I have selected for the next round.

Actually, the new book chose me. I had been planning to read/blog a completely different book that also sat in a pile of spiritual works waiting to be read – but it is not to be. Or at least not yet.

For in a particularly deep time of prayer, experienced only by grace, I found myself simply getting up, going to my bookcase and pulling out an entirely different book.

The new book, begun this holy season of Lent, is Father Arseny 1893-1973: Priest, Prisoner, Spiritual Father.

However, a problem has arisen. I cannot put it down.

And I do not feel worthy to write a word about Father Arseny. Some things are simply too sacred to be commented upon.

And so, for now, I will continue absorbing the book and leave its half-prepared blog site untouched.

Perhaps something will be written about it in the future. That is up to God.

In the meantime, I must read. And read. And have my faith renewed at a level that I did not know was possible.

You are welcome to read with me, even if I remain silent. (I suspect that, if you have already read the book, you will understand.)

+++

For those who may be curious, I will provide a brief excerpt from the cover description:

Father Arseny, former scholar of church art, became Prisoner No. 18376 in the brutal “special sector” of the Soviet prison camp system. In the darkness of systematic degradation of body and soul, he shone with the light of Christ’s peace and compassion. His sights set on God and his life grounded in the Church, Father Arseny lived by the injunction to “bear one another’s burden, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Gal. 6:2)

However, having read the first 76 pages, I can say that this description only scratches the surface of what lies inside this book. Yes, there are narratives compiled by “servant of God Alexander concerning his spiritual father” – but what they reveal are not simply the details of a man’s life, but the action of God amidst some of the most devastating evil one can imagine.

If I am meant to write, I will share more at a future time. In the meantime, blessed Lent to all.

I’ve decided to come out of the closet at last about it.

Yes, it is something we all do, especially at this time of year, though we don’t readily admit it to others. But I am willing to step forward publicly and acknowledge it, finally.

I paint my kitchen windows.

I know it is shocking to see it in print. It’s one of those things we tend to keep to ourselves, not wanting others to know the shameful truth. But I believe it is time to step forward.

I suppose there are a lot of reasons why we do it. Psychologists such as myself could have a field day analyzing the reasons for such bizarre behavior. And the artists would claim that it is for the sake of art alone, as though that were sufficient justification.

But I think the fundamental reason we do it is that we want to see something fresh and new and beautiful, rather than the drabness of late winter grey. We long for messages of hope that winter will  soon release its grip on us and spring will emerge…

Yes, it is time to reveal all…I will bare my soul and allow you to view my foolish fantasies.

(Of course, the text was added electronically, not that that makes it any better…)

+++

The season of Lent begins. We tend to think of this as a somber time, since repenting is perhaps not our favorite thing to do.

Can I not just fast-forward to Paschal joy, to experience the risen Lord amidst the fresh spring flowers?

Of course, I can. People do it all the time. They don their suits and bonnets, decorating their children like Easter eggs, and proceed on with their semi-annual visit to church. Then, they come home to a lavish meal and return to life as usual.

The only problem is that they have missed a true encounter with the risen Lord – for they have not stayed awake with Him in His agony, nor have they carried the cross with Him on the path toward crucifixion.

I say this, not to sit in judgment, but rather with sorrow and compassion. And empathy.

For I know – though typically only in retrospect – that I too often paint myself as I want to see myself, not as I really am.

I want to see myself as a beautiful person, full of color like the paintings on my windows, rather than looking more deeply within where I might discover some ugliness. I most certainly discover sin inside, if I am willing to look, but also a good deal of a drabness not unlike what truly lies outside my kitchen windows now.

This drabness is my laziness, my indifference, my willingness to be content with myself the way I am.

I see in my backyard the old, dead leaves that didn’t get raked up last fall with the rest. Perhaps we had a cold snap and it no longer seemed worth the time and effort. So I let them lie there. “I’ll take care of them in the spring…”, I told myself.

How much I am willing to “let lie” in my spiritual life! “I’ll get to it…”, the familiar refrain through many of my days.

But there is a great blessing in this…not because I am good but because God is endless in His love for me, giving me so many ways in which to begin again.

For when I am ready to stop pretending and actually lift those old leaves from my lawn and garden beds, I discover that they have become compost! And little insects and worms are already at work, converting my negligence to a richness that will nourish many new beginnings.

And so we begin the work, pulling up, cutting back, digging deep.

Not for the sake of making ourselves suffer, as though guilty ruminations and self-reproach have an inherent value. But so we can find the treasures buried down deep in our pain and weakness, ready to be transformed by the cross of Christ.

Not long ago, I heard the message: we are not saved by how much Christ suffered but by how much He loved.

So let us give ourselves over to Him and allow His love to sustain us. Living in the depth of that love, we need not be afraid to do the work which unites us to His cross.

And once united to His cross, once we have made His life our life, we are certain to encounter Him risen and glorious – not just on Easter but every day and throughout all eternity.

Come, my dear friends, by His grace let us begin the journey anew…

The Catholic Church in the United States has designated today, January 23, as a special day to pray for the legal protection of the unborn.

There is certainly nothing wrong with this intention. But it is not nearly enough.

Unfortunately, our primary problem is not a legal one. To suggest that it is implies that merely changing the law would set everything right when it comes to our relationship with God and ourselves regarding life issues.

The disease in our culture runs far deeper than this. Our problem is not simply a poorly considered legal decision by the Supreme Court in 1973. Rather, Roe v. Wade is but a symptom of an insidious illness that pervades our society, with roots reaching far back into our history and with tentacles stretching into the future of those not yet conceived.

And it is a cultural disease, a community disease, not simply the sin of the individual.

Whether we are killing our wartime enemies, our unborn, our criminals or our elders, we are of a race that kills its own kind. While some of the lower creatures may do this on occasion, none do it to the extent that we humans do – nor do they do it for such varied reasons.

We are so “advanced” in this area that we are quite adept at denying that that is what we do. We convince ourselves that we are killing what is evil (in our wars and executions) so that we do not have to look at the evil in ourselves. We convince ourselves that we are being merciful when ending the lives of those we cannot afford or whose suffering we cannot endure (the unborn, ill and elderly).

Or even worse, we convince ourselves that our actions do not involve killing at all. What we have eliminated is not really a life. Euphemisms take over…a clump of cells; a potential life; an embryo; a pregnancy.

We convince ourselves that ending human life is not really ending a human life.

+++

I do not find it difficult to feel compassion for women who consider or have abortions.

If I found myself in hell and, after looking around, saw a door marked “Exit”, would I not go running to open it? Even if I were in hell as a result of my own misdeeds?

Quite naturally I would. Hopefully, once out, I would beg for mercy. But I cannot say that I would resist opening that door.

In one sense, it might be argued that Roe v. Wade constructed this door marked “Exit”, the escape for the woman or family that does not want, cannot afford or fears having a child. Yet, our culture was slowly building this and other “escapes” long before 1973.

Rather than review all of the wars, lynchings and executions permitted in our history, allow me instead to address the root cause of our disease.

Though we may never articulate it, we have a fundamental belief that we should not have to suffer.

Now this might seem like an odd way to tie together all of the symptoms of our disease. But I believe it is so.

If we examine the course of “progress” in our nation, it is not difficult to see how we have built an economy that revolves around products and services that are designed to make life more comfortable, more convenient and more fun than ever before.

This is not the economy of a culture that accepts suffering. Rather, its subliminal message is clear and constant: I must prevent, avoid and stop anything that might lead to my suffering, that might lead to my death.

And what is origin of our hidden belief?

It is, of course, fear.

And fear is one of the strongest weapons (and greatest lies) that the enemy uses to lead us down the path to believing that it not only acceptable but even necessary to destroy the gift of life given to us by our Creator.

Hence, if I fear that I might suffer, I might die, it becomes necessary – to lynch the black man in the south, to execute the criminal on death row, to kill the enemy before he kills me or my family.

Similarly, if I fear witnessing the suffering of someone I love – for it makes me fear my own suffering – ending it becomes an act of “mercy”.

As a society, we have built “exits” all over to escape our fear of suffering, our fear of death – and we have been doing it for a very long time.

Hence, it should be no surprise that we eventually built one to escape the untimely pregnancy – with all of its accompanying fears of ruined futures, destroyed family relationships or overwhelming responsibility with no support.

+++

Has it become apparent yet how abortion is a cultural sin that we all share in? That it is but one facet of a much broader disease that pervades our lives at every turn?

This does not make it right, of course, or even excusable.

What I intend with this perspective is to broaden our vision, to help us see our need to repent together and resist the enemy, instead of making enemies of those who have fallen.

No change of law can do this for us.

Rather, we must pray for and reach down to lift up the fallen. But even before we do this, we must face our own fallen state – our fear of suffering, our fear of death.

How can we hope to pray for or lift up another if we ourselves are running from our own fear, if we believe the enemy’s lies more than we believe the truth of Christ?

While this might seem like a harsh charge, it is only because we are so accustomed to the ways of sin that have been passed down to us from generation to generation. Can any of us deny that to follow Christ means to follow Him into suffering until we arrive at the Cross?

As long as fear rules, we are not following Him.

This does not mean, of course, that we are never to feel fear. Fear is hard-wired into us, as is the pursuit of pleasure and avoidance of pain.

We shall never be held accountable for having felt the wrong thing. No, we will likely be afraid many times during our human journey.

But we can decide. We can choose the life of Christ, living for the sake of love rather than comfort, for truth rather than lies.

In so choosing, our lives thus become lives of repentance rather than judgment. We are ready to join the suffering and so lift them up with the same grace that we have received.

And if we do, hearts will begin to change. More will “look to Him and be radiant” (Psalm 34:5) and the laws of darkness will cease to have meaning.

This is what we must pray for. This is how we must live.

May it be so.

“I have a dream today … I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low. The rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight. And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.”

 – Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.                                                                                          

(I’m sure you have heard it before – but it is always worth listening again. Every time I listen, I weep. And tonight was no exception. Let us keep this faith, this hope, this dream alive in our hearts.)

In the deserts of Egypt, early Christian monastics lived deeply the lives of prayer and asceticism that developed the heart of the Church. Theirs was largely an oral tradition, having little or no printed word. Even the Scriptures were often committed to memory.

Among these hidden souls, some were regarded as “Abbas” (fathers) or “Ammas” (mothers) to whom others from both the world and the desert would come for spiritual guidance.

“Give me a word”, was often what the pilgrim would say. They could not expect to be given lengthy spiritual counsel by those who lived in silence. The word or phrase given often became a focus of prayer and reflection for many months, years or even for a lifetime.

This tradition was shared with me several years ago and it has become my practice to listen for a word as we transition from one calendar year to the next. While I could choose a word, most often I find that a word chooses me.

It is an interesting experience to have a word choose you. Often it has not been a word I would have “liked”, i.e. most of my words have not been comforting or inspiring but rather challenging – and challenging in the ways I most needed and least liked.

How do I know that a word has chosen me? Well, it enters my mind unbidden and takes up residence. One of them even came to me in a dream. But, however it arrives, it makes it clear that it is not going to go away.

Let’s see now…first there was “obedience”, followed the next year by “humility”. Then came “chasten”, a truly frightening word that, like the others, I became quite fond of once I saw it at work in me. This last past year was “mercy”.

Now another word has found me and will not let me go.

Purify.

An interesting little word is this one. Of course, at the beginning of the year, I cannot know what God has in mind for me. But this word has some interesting potentials – not all of which can be considered pleasant from the human perspective.

Particularly noteworthy is the fact that it is a verb. This suggests that something is going to happen or be done with me. I am not going to be allowed to bask in a noun, like “purity” or an adjective such as “pure”.

And, of course, I know that that is what I need. This is not a time for basking.

As I begin my reflections on my word, I am struck by the nuances it has in different contexts.

For example, in the Old Testament, we hear a lot about the need to “purify” in the sense of ritual purity. Various rituals are spelled out in Mosaic law to purify those who voluntarily or incidentally became impure because of disease, menstruation or other bodily discharges, corpse contacts and so on.

Often these rituals for the “unclean” included a temporary isolation from the community where there might be actual washing of the body and clothing, sometimes in special basins. Hair might need to be shaved off. Frequently, animal sacrifices were made at the Temple as part of ritual purification.

In these very tangible examples, I begin to glimpse that to purify is not simply an abstract, spiritual notion. Being purified involves all of me, body and mind, heart and soul.

Viewing more secular definitions and contexts, to purify involves removal or neutralization of contaminants, potentially dangerous substances – such as in the purification systems we build for water treatment.

But the idea remains the same. What is unclean, even dangerous, needs to be removed. What has gone bad needs to be made right.

While the cleansing of purification may sound refreshing if I imagine it as shower, Scripture gives me other images, “silver tried in a furnace…refined seven times” (Psalms 12: 6) and “the fuller’s lye” (e.g. Malachi 3:2).

So I view my word with some trepidation, with an awareness that God’s work in me may be uncomfortable, even quite painful. For there is a great deal in me that needs purifying, cleansing, removing, if I am ever to be open to the fullness of His presence.

But, deep in my heart, this is what I long for – the forfeiting of me to make room for the fullness of Him. And it cannot take place without sacrifice.

Thankfully, I am not in charge. Undoubtedly, I would want to take the easy route – step under the shower and call it finished.

But, knowing this cannot and should be the case, I place my trust in Him.

Let His will be my will and may I have no will but His.

A priceless thing indeed.

***

(Is there a word seeking you out this year? Feel free to share it here… Let us pray for one another, as always.)

O come, Holy Fire

all-consuming Love!

Burn Thou within me

till my weary heart

can hold Thee in

  no more.

Continue reading →

Even before the day began, I began wondering, tentatively asking. “May I write for You? I would like to write for You.”

All day, this 24th day of December, the heavens were still and my heart cold and lifeless.

I would remind Him, “I would like to write for You, but only if You want me to.”

In years past, God has allowed me to write some wonderful stories and reflections for the feast of His Son’s birth. In more recent months, it seems that whenever I ask Him, “May I write?” He gives me something – some gift that I can share here.

Tonight, a couple of ideas started to form but I was suspicious of them. No, not that, not now. Not on the Feast of His birth.

Then, my computer because to act strangely, getting stuck in airplane mode – though I had never set it in airplane mode. I tried to restart and it got stuck in restarting.

“Perhaps He is trying to tell me No”, I considered, a bit surprised.

When God is so very generous with me, showering gifts upon me whenever I ask, I too easily to begin to assume that He will never say “No”. I want to write for Him – so certainly He will give me what I want, won’t He?

But tonight – tonight I hear something else within.

“Just become small,” He whispers inside of me. “That is what I did.”

And I realize that this is His gift to me this Christmas Eve. He is leading me. “Do not spend the night writing of Me but follow Me. Empty yourself and become small.”

And so I will leave you now, my friends, to prepare my heart to follow Him. To let go of me and all of my perceptions of self-importance. To allow Him to draw me into His humility as He pours Himself out in Incarnation.

All glory to Him.

+Alleluia   +Alleluia   +Alleluia.