The Return of the Eldest Son

 “There was once a man who had two sons." 

I had read the story of the prodigal son a very many time and heard beautiful homilies from the pulpit a thousand times over... but the story never sang to me.

One was the elder and one was the younger.

There was the obedient and there was the rebel.

Even after my heart's conversion; I knew I had walked the prodigal son's broken path and came home after much barrenness... but even then the story never spoke to me.

My selfishness and arrogance, I was aware. I still remember the times I told the Father, the ancient curse behind my demand for independence- I wish you were dead.

But the Love of God rescued me and I felt the soft mantle of the Father's robe as I pressed my heart into His. Then I heard his agonizing cry...

"My heart won't let me do it, my Love for you is too strong" 

I continued my journey with God till I finally saw the Eldest Son was I. 

"but this son of yours..."

I am the eldest in my family and I know better than others the heavy responsibility to care for the younger while young myself. I knew better than others the pain of being favoured under and disciplined harsher. In my minds eye,  I saw it run through out the Bible, I saw younger being greatly loved. Jacob over Esau, Joseph apart from his 11 brothers, David ahead his brothers,  Mary before Martha and John, beloved of the Lord. 

The Eldest Son, did all things right and true to his father, so much so he despised his brother for having made the foolish choice. Deep in his heart, it was not the property but laud he gave himself for adhering to his father's rule. Such self-discipline is truly admirable but it made him proud. It gave him a seat of judgement, a throne. His brother's disobedience, heightened his obedience. He never waited with his father for his brother's return.

And many were the times, I judged others. Not consciously but in my attitude. Protestants with dodgy theology, homosexuals, casanovas and weak-willed politicians... my brothers who I despised. My own who I could not acknowledge as mine. Who I begrudged the Father's patience and his mercy.

But the Father loved them both

This is where the parable began to make sense to me. The Father asks for one thing and one thing alone- Love. 

The father in the parable was already old and infirm,nearly blind, he had already died a thousand deaths and waited for his lost son to return. To a man who has seen death face to face, the past and hoary remembrances do not matter. Only the beloved does. The light of his eyes was gone, but the light of his spirit had grown acute. In his very spirit, he sensed his son's return.  With this light, he saw his youngest from afar. 

I only saw the erring and the fallen. Coming into the Light helps you recognise the obvious which those who are steeped in sin do not. My calling was to love them into return. My calling was to love the wounded who did not how how to return. My calling was to rejoice with the Father when my lost brother returned. But for that I needed to love into dying to myself. Like the Father who loved man so much as to give up his greatest Love, his only Son to redeem us. 

It is the paradox of love, when you have lost everything, you have everything to give. When one is nothing, then one can love truly those who are nothing. 

When I understood this, I returned to the banquet to celebrate my brother's return.

Suffer little children

I read this article about a man named Ken, who was conceived in an act of rape. 

His mother was 15, unmarried and alone.

This is his story... 

Ken explained that he was adopted as an infant, and at age 30, located his birth mother and learned the circumstances of his conception.

“Her story was that she was hit over the head with a baseball bat and was raped at 15. So she went away to Catholic Charities, had me, made the brave decision to keep me — and, well, keep me alive. And then I was adopted and I have three beautiful children now, have been married for 15 years – and I would just like to speak up for those [voice breaks] who have no voice.” 

Ken defended both women who are the victims of rape, and their innocent children who are conceived in violence: “It really eats me up when I hear people talk about rape, because it is horrible. My mother won’t tell me who my father’s name is because he threatened to kill her if she ever said anything. So she has not told me his name, but if I was ever to meet him, the first thing I would probably do is punch him. I think rape is horrible, but what I want to say to women out there is: you can take something that was terribly done to you, and make something good out of it. And that’s, [voice breaks] that’s me.”

Ken talked about growing up in a loving adoptive home – his parents had just celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary — and how he shares a relationship with his birth mother, her husband, and their children (his half-siblings). He expressed gratitude for his birth mother’s going through so much to give him life. He admired how she rebuilt her life after her assault, pregnancy, and adoption placement, saying: “That was a hard time in her life. She sacrificed a lot….But she moved on in her life, and she was able to overcome the shame that was put on her.”

He urged people to see that children conceived in rape are just as human, just as “real”, as everyone else.

“It’s an emotional topic because I just get tired of people treating these unborn children like they’re, like they’re nothing. And they can be born, and they can grow up, and they can have a great life.”

Most of all, they are human beings...

More than 2000 years ago, there was another girl, maybe younger who found herself with a child and chose to have him. 

His name was Jesus and his mother was, Mary. 

"I have called you by name; you are mine!" Is 43:1

He was still a toddler when He and his parents had to flee from their town. The ruler of that land gave the order to massacre all male chidren, 2 years and under.

Strange! The blindness of not recognising the humanity of a child within the womb can well extend into their early years. The rage of a tyrant wiped out an entire generation in his state. 

I was born in the 80's. Many of my generation never lived to be born because they were considered less-than-human. They called it choice then, now it's some sort of 'right'.

How come no one ever recognises the unborn for what they truly are- a Gift, a Blessing, a Ray of Hope?

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...

Presenting.....

Caution: the below image and content may result in severe disruption of your system's performance due to hydration of the circuitboard by human saliva!

 

JRR Tolkien's 'The Hobbit' in Latin

 

Yes, my dear people, one of the greatet literary wonders of the 20th century by one of the greatest Catholic writers of the 20th century in the language of the Church.

Need I say more?

I wonder if they have a chant to go with it...

Cry, the little people!

I confess, I purloined this post title from one of my favourite books, 'Cry, the Beloved Country' by Alan Paton. I love this book because of the humanity that binds the two protagonists and Christian spirit that unites them beyond grief, race and situation. It is truly a Spirit-filled novel!

But this post, is not about a novella, a character or even a story. It is about human experience...

Have you ever found yourselves floundering in a huge cauldron of boiling emotions and nobody around you seems to understand what you are going through? 

It is this nameless, faceless, fear and hopelessness. It stretches it's fingers like a dark menace above your soul, a silent oppression. You cannot describe it nor define it. It seeps into your existence so that the days on end seem to meld into each other and there seems to be no escape. 

I had suffered this malady for nearly a month on end...till at last, the merciful Father broke through the night. He sent a dream to a friend who woke up at 3 AM to my screaming in her dreams. Agony in the night! Sorrow in the morning! She prayed for my solace and called me the next morning to tell me of it and comfort me that help was at hand.

That weekend I attended a convention for Christian working professionals only because I was a part of the gospel band invited to lead worship there. One of the key speakers spoke of Spiritual Warfare at the workplace. He spoke of heaviness in his spirit and inside his head. And if that was not all, everything at work seemed to be going asunder.

Then it all came home to me. I understood where the Devil had taken a tiny foothold and then moved to wreck havoc into my place of calling (if the Lord has placed you in the corporate world then he has done it because it is a part of your calling.) It was the simplest of lapses and yet it was enough...

Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

- 1 Peter 5:8

My work is cut out for me now. To be alert and to hold captive every thought, no matter how innocent but every thought which does not bring Glory to my God and surrender it to him (2 Cor 10:5). It took an small, innocuous beginning to bring me to this brokenness. But I believe, that the Redeemer will turn even this to his purpose and for my salvation.

So, cry, ye little people and the Lord will surely answer your plea. His ears are turned to the helpless and the orphaned, to those whom understand has bereft alone. 

Cry, unto to him who feeds the hungry ravens as they call. Will he not answer thee? How can he not answer thee? His soul beats for his own.

Cry, O beloved ones, the Lord has his loving ear turned towards you. 
Cry, to him with heart rending and hope. He does not abandon! 
Cry, to him from the pits of your darkness, he has heard your voice even before you had opened your mouth. 
Cry, to Him little people, the Lord has not forgotten thee. He will answer, He will come.

 But for you who obey me, my saving power will rise on you like the sun and bring healing like the sun's rays.- Malachi 4:2 

The Saint-maker

I found this amazing story of Elizabeth Leseur, the wife of one Dr. Felix Leseur, who was the spiritual guide of another Peter John Sheen, who was called 'Servant of God'...

Elisabeth was born in Paris to a wealthy bourgeois French family of Corsican descent. She met Félix Leseur, also from an affluent, Catholic family in 1887. Shortly before they married on July 31, 1889, Elisabeth discovered that Félix was no longer a practicing Catholic. Though he continued to practice medicine, Dr. Félix Leseur soon became well known as the editor of an anti-clerical, atheistic newspaper in Paris.

 Elisabeth and Felix Leseur during happier times

Despite his pledge to respect Elisabeth's religious beliefs, as his hatred of the Catholic faith grew he soon began to question, undermine, and ridicule Elisabeth's faith. In his memoirs, Félix describes how his efforts to "enlighten" Elisabeth nearly succeeded. He had persuaded Elisabeth to read Ernest Renan's Life of Jesus with the expectation that it would finally shatter her last remaining loyalties to Catholicism. Instead, he records that she was "struck by the poverty of substance" on which the arguments were based and was inspired to devote herself to her own religious education. Soon, their home was filled with two libraries. One, a library devoted to the justifications of atheism and the second to the lives of the saints and the intellectual arguments in favor of Christ and Catholic Church. Félix was frustrated to discover that his challenges to her faith had actually led her to become not only more grounded in her beliefs, but more fervent and determined to become holy.

In 1905, she was taken ill and tossed on a bed of constant pain until August 1914. When she was dying, she said to her husband, "Felix, when I am dead, you will become a Catholic and a Dominican priest." To this he responded: "Elizabeth, you know my sentiments. I've sworn hatred of God, I shall live in the hatred and I shall die in it."

She repeated her words and passed away. She died in her husband's arms at the early age of 47. Rummaging through her papers, Felix found her will. She wrote: "In 1905, I asked almighty God to send me sufficient sufferings to purchase your soul. On the day that I die, the price will have been paid. Greater love than this no woman has than she who lay down her life for her husband." Dr. Leseur, the atheist, dismissed her will as the fancies of a pious woman.

He decided to write a book against Lourdes. When he went down to Lourdes however and he looked up into the face of the statue of Mary, he received the great gift of faith. He saw it all. At once.

In the year 1924, during Lent, Fulton J. Sheen (born Peter John Sheen), made a retreat in the Dominican monastery in Belgium under the spiritual guidance of Father Felix Leseur of the Order of Preachers, Catholic Dominican priest, who told him this story.

Saints are never made in isolation. 


Remember your place in God's plan.

It is true that you may never meet the person you helped become a saint, but you may be sure you will be blessed for it.

Elisabeth Leseur's cause for canonization is under consideration. Her current status in the process of canonization is that of a 'Servant of God'.