Hope and Expanding the Soul

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

Remembrance

God in the Old Testament was one who constantly commiserated his people to Remember.

'Tell it to your children and do not forget how the Lord delivered you from the Egyptians...'

'Remember the Lord's commands that I entrust to you today...

'Remember when your fathers forgot me in the dessert...'

Remember... Remember... Remember...

When one goes through the Night of the Senses, memories of the Lord's faithfulness and mercy can give hope even in the darkest night.

'I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.'

- Ps 27: 13

It is the confidence of one who has tasted the Lord and found him true. 

Then there is another kind of reminiscence and it has nothing to do with one's memories or experience. It is a remembrance of the nature of God, who he is and how faithful he yet remains in the face of man's faithlessness. 

There is a brokenness that comes with this remembrance. Like Mary at the foot of the cross. A place of 'hoping against hope' in a God who remains silent. Nothing made sense during that dark night of her soul. There was no silver lining on Golgotha, no comfort in her loneliness. I doubt if she remembered the words of her Son about his death and resurrection; and even if she did, I wonder if it brought her any comfort while watching her firstborn torn on the cross.

And Christ, ripped from his Father's bosom, bereft of all imaginable hope and yet he said ...

'Father, into your hands I commend my spirit'

Faith shines through.

This faith is born of hope. 

'Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see'

- Heb 11:1 

Sometimes, I do believe it translates into- Faith is being sure of Who we hope in and certain of Him who we do not see. 

A Season of Waiting

There is a season of waiting...

The Good Book makes much of this season. It begins with the waiting for the Messiah just after the Fall and it end with the waiting for the return of The King.

Abraham waiting a hundred years for Isaac to be, is lot of time. But 40 years of wandering about in a desert to reach the Promised Land is enough to make one cry. 

And yes, the desert. Why does it always have to be in the desert?

The strange thing about this desert is that it's not necessarily geographical. Jonah's desert was a the belly of a whale. A Whale! Have any of you ever got a chance to sniff the breadth of a blue whale!
Jesus had his desert in a garden.
The Mother of God had her's for three days in the house of John, son of Zebedee, before she saw her Son after she laid him in the tomb. 
And some of us find this desert in our very souls. A dryness that companionship and prayer does nothing to elevate.

Even the Saviour was alone in his waiting

And then there is the waiting... 

I personally dislike having to wait- whether be it in queues or for websites to load or for promises to unfold. Most of all, I dislike ambiguous waiting-in-the-dark type of situations! The kind where you do not know what is expected at the end of the wait. The wait would become a little bit less painful if at least you know what is expected, is to be. But strangely, that is not the hope that is promised to us.

"But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it." - Rom 8:25 

 When I cannot see, it is to walk with eyes of faith. Blessed are those whose eyes are turned towards the Lord of Hosts and believe that good things await the righteous.

Sometimes, with waiting in the desert comes doubt and hopelessness. The death of hope where hope once was, only makes the darkness darker. This cynicism made Sarah laugh inside the tent. A defeatism that made Nathaniel wonder if even God could bring good out of Nazareth. Then there is regret, which caused the Israelites to murmur against Moses.

But in the waiting is purification. A deadening of the senses and awakening of the Spirit. A fullness that the saints speak of, in the midst of poverty. God loves the desert. He knows that there can be no distractions and no other who can penetrate your soul as He could. There he will make you wait till your thirst for him is cleaned of every unworthy intention but to have him alone. In the desert you will learn the depth of your love for the Lord. You will understand hope, in no other way as from Hope himself. In the desert...

...he will come, like the bridegroom in the night, softly calling your name. You will not see him but you know that the Master is near. 

When the waiting is done and your cup is full, then will you understand, why the waiting, why the desert?

Give me hope, Lord

I am tired, tired, tired...

It's 8:30 in the night and I am still in my office hole. I must have put in more than 10 hours of work at no extra charge and I am famished...

That's not all. I was also caught up in the biggest downpour of the year, in a city that's nearing drought estimates in precipitation and when I finally reached home nearing 11 PM, I was too tired to sleep. I was up at an unearthly hour next morning thanks to my insomnia.

But strangely enough, I am also grateful that it gives me an opportunity to offer my suffering for a greater good. It makes it almost sweet...my suffering that is, though it does not make it any easier. 

It certainly hasn't dimmed my ardent desire to run away from this place. It is so hard to look up and acknowledge something beautiful is at work already. 

Grant me hope for tomorrow, Lord

So, I pray for hope and I pray for fortitude. I cannot have one without the other, for without hope, fortitude calls for ruthlessness, a hard stone-man; and without fortitude, hope has no substance.

 St. Teresa of Avila's Bookmark

Let nothing disturb you,

Let nothing frighten you,

All things are passing

God never changes.

Patience obtains all things.

He who has God

finds he lacks nothing;

God alone suffices.

And the end of all things, GOD ALONE SUFFICES...

On the Virtue of Gratitude...and Simplicity

 The World is Mine

Today, upon a bus, I saw a very beautiful woman
And wished I were as beautiful.
When suddenly she rose to leave,
I saw her hobble down the aisle.
She had one leg and wore a crutch.
But as she passed, she passed a smile.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine.
I have two legs; the world is mine.

I stopped to buy some candy.
The lad who sold it had such charm.
I talked with him, he seemed so glad.
If I were late, it'd do no harm.
And as I left, he said to me,
"I thank you,
you've been so kind.
It's nice to talk with folks like you.
You see," he said, "I'm blind."
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine.
I have two eyes; the world is mine.

Later while walking down the street,
I saw a child I knew.
He stood and watched the others play,
but he did not know what to do.
I stopped a moment and then I said,
"Why don't you join them dear?"
He looked ahead without a word.
I forgot, he couldn't hear.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine.
I have two ears; the world is mine.

With feet to take me where I'd go..
With eyes to see the sunset's glow.
With ears to hear what I'd know.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine.
I've been blessed indeed, the world is mine.

I received this poem by mail this morning and strangely enough it brought to my mind the need for simplicity in our faith and virtues. 

By faith, I mean one's personal relationship in God; not The Faith which is Catholic and the Truth. A simplicity which doesn't require proof or dissertation but a humble acceptance that the Father would not lie. 

I often wondered if Mother Mary really knew what she was getting into when she said her "Fiat". She was only a young girl then and illiterate at that too. Her faith would have been the simple faith of her forefathers; that God would always know best. A child-like trust and a simpleton's hope that pain and suffering would not be naught; troubled times would give way to a new day would arrive. 

To give you an exquisite example, watch the below video of Garvin Bryne, who had a rare condition of the bone marrow and died at the tender age of 11. He speaks of his faith and oncoming death. 

I tell you, he is a Saint!

I think God knew that the intellectuals among us would be terribly seduced by the wealth of knowledge in the Church and sentimental would wallow in the 'experience' of God's presence. Not that any of this is bad, but how many of us can claim to possess the Garvin's faith in his Saviour (Matt 18:4). Such grace and candour in the face of such a terrible fate!

Let's try this litmus test, shall we? Imagine you get to know that you have been slowly dying of a rare disease and you didn't even know about it. Now, time is short and you have passed the window where medical science could help. Would you at that point of time find yourself grateful for all the time God has blessed you with? Would you, as Garvin put it, look forward to the great adventure of seeing Jesus? Would you JUST KNOW that things, though terribly wrong and awry, will just work themselves out for the good of you, your family and all those you love and loved you because God is in control?