|Make it Larger than you|
Thursday, December 15, 2016
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Mary, Mother of God
Mother of Sorrows, Ora Pro Nobis!
They say that suffering expands the soul to receive God. I found that hard to take.
Suffering by itself can drown the soul, deep into bitterness and spoil clear light of idealism into the vinegar of cynicism. We are fallen and half-blind; which is worse than complete blindness. The blind man believed the Messiah in faith; the rich young man, half seeing, not perceiving left his Lord and walked away sad.
Maybe if he had known that his soul's sorrow came not from the bitter choice but from leaving the Beloved; he might have tarried. Perhaps.
Aye, a little knowledge and an ill-instructed spirituality is a dangerous thing.
But this post is about hope. The strength to believe against all disbelief and unbelief.
What does Mary tell us about the night of her soul? That it's hope that expands the soul to grow big enough to carry the Cross and not lose sight of eternity.
Suffering without hope is a withered tree in the desert; hope without suffering is a cloud grasped in the fist of one's hand.
As Mary believed, so Mary hoped.
A mustard seed of Faith. A little phial of Hope. That is enough.
I like to contemplate her sorrows not through a dark well of tears but rather through her resilience to hope against all hope hopen.
At the prophesy of Simeon, she hoped.
During her harried journey into Egypt, she hoped.
At the loss of her child, through each excruciating day, she hoped.
Under the excruciating weight of the Cross, she hoped.
At the foot of the Cross, she hoped.
As she looked upon the face of her cold still child, she hoped.
When they took him away for the last time...she still hoped.
And Hope did not fail.
Mary, Mother of Sorrows
Mary, Mother of Hope. Ora Pro Nobis
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Forgiveness...a state of letting go.
What about forgiving, God?
The Lord confronted me with this challenge and I found it hard to accept. He showed me the story of Martha, Mary and Lazarus.
When word was sent to Jesus, friend and wonder-worker to come quickly, for the 'one he loved' was sick. He delayed, so long that the 'one he loved' was dead three days.
What could possibly have gone through the hearts and spirits of the bereaved sisters? Anger. Disappointment. Abandonment...
'If you were here, Lord, my brother would not have died'
You said you loved him, but came not when we called.
You said call to me and I will hear you in heaven...but answered not. For days. Weeks. Months. Years.
I will protect you, you said but here I am still broken by life...
The same refrain and sorrow.
When Martha met the Lord, she was in need of forgiving the Lord. It was the only way she could have received the Lord's blessings and allowed his power to raise Lazarus.
Is it possible to forgive God? Can a good, merciful, gracious God have erred us so bad to be needing forgiveness.
No. But in our minute humanity and brokenness, we need to forgive God and let go of our bitterness to allow him to make a miracle out of our dead hopes.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
The thawing of a frozen heart requires the furnace of love. Tough love. The dross of doubt, fear and complacency all rise to the surface during this purification of the soul. It's excruciating and there is no respite.
When there is a cross, there follows also the joy of the resurrection. A new life.
The month following the breakthrough was a time of keeping low. A time of recovering and restoration. Our Father is a God of Love. He is a pursuant lover and he never gives up (1 Cor 13:7).
The breakthrough was a time where he taught me the meaning of faith without sight, hope without proof and even patience in the midst of clamour. It all rests on the bedrock of a single truth- God is Love.
40 years in the desert to learn one truth. God is faithful.
The desert, the cross, the sorrow- and then the revelation. My Almighty Father loves me.
It's seems like a paradox but the Lord never forgets his own. The Songs proclaim- Who is this coming up from the desert leaning on her Beloved?
It is I...
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Monday, December 23, 2013
By G.K. Chesterton
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost - how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home