An Unrelenting God

There is this lovely skit by the Skit Guys called God's Chisel. It is a beautiful analogy of how we respond to God's pruning and most of the time not very well. 

The part I like is where the main protagonist begs God to leave it off him for a while, take a break, come back later, resume the work, whenever that may be. 

God sighs...

That's a problem with me. As much as I love the Lord and truly desire his will in my life, it is hard to toe the line when the going gets tough. Like the time he asked me to  forgive this really nasty person at the workplace or graciously accept a time of desolation to thaw my frozen heart. I find myself so broken that I wish (and pray) that God gives me a break. And hopefully a long break, at that. 

But this is what I have understood about the Lord. One he puts his hands to the anvil, he doesn't let go till he has fulfilled his purpose. 

The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; thy steadfast love, O LORD, endures for ever.

- Psalm 138:8

An Unrelenting God. A Stubborn Saviour. Where would we be without him? Undone, half-done, without... 

I don't trust myself to hold on to Christ. But this I know. I can trust Christ to hold on to me, no mater what. No matter how many times I tell him to leave me alone. He won't give up on me.

Maybe it's a litany to the One I love.

No matter how many times I tell him to leave me be.
Christ won't give up on me

No matter how many times I tell him I am tired of his hand
Christ won't give up on me

No matter how many times I have given up on myself
Christ won't give up on me

For the times I have cheated, bribed, counselled and coerced Him to do my will as His
Christ won't give up on me

For the times I have fallen and couldn't forgive myself
Christ won't give up on me

For the times I have wounded his Sacred Heart 
Christ won't give up on me

For the times I have wounded and maligned his people
Christ won't give up on me

For the times I had an opportunity to proclaim his name, speak of his goodness and spread his love; and did not
Christ won't give up on me

When I gave away my time in far cheaper pursuits than knowing his command and heeding his call
Christ won't give up on me

When I am in sin and my pride prevents me from hearing the Master's call
Christ won't give up on me

To the Lord who took on torn humanity to save me
Christ won't give up on me

To the Lord who humble himself to the pits of death and hell, that I may not suffer either
Christ won't give up on me

To the unquenchable fire of his love waiting to renew me
Christ won't give up on me

Christ won't give up on me. Christ won't give up on me. Not just yet. Not ever. 

Sacred Heart of Jesus, pierced with a lance. Have mercy on us.

Autumn and Lent

I like a bird's eye view... I like to see the whole picture. The distant past and a cloudy glimpse of the future with Today and Now, in retrospect.

It gives me comfort. To understand how the world comes to be and how it finally knits itself together. Like a puzzle. All is awry till the final piece falls in. I think that is why God instituted the Second Coming, when all things are unveiled as they truly are. I look forward to it...

But that is not what this post is about. This is post is about recognizing the seasons in your journey with Jesus. Reading signs from your life, your circle of friends and the Church.

For me, it seems like it is autumn again. When the old gives way to the new. I been through it once before, so I recognize it again. This time, it started with a death. My grandmother who suffered many years with Demensia, passed away in her sleep. She had become a child towards the end but the Good Lord remembered her faithfulness and took her home gently and kindly. It was a peaceful, good death. It was followed by another death. Sudden and unexpected of a missionary's father. In midst of it came Pope Benedict's announcement to step down (I grieved that it had to be). Then, there was also a sudden resignation by the head of my department. 

It feels like autumn again...Change is in the air. Spring is coming, it surely will not delay.

And to welcome Spring, is the time of Lent for preparation. This time, I thought of forgoing my favourite soap but I got smarter... no more my plans for Lent. I asked Jesus what were his plans for me. Jesus said, 'Humility.' 

I cringed... a little. 

Accepting suffering has always been hard for me and humility comes by the way of brokenness. But Lent is also that time when we rest from our crosses and look up to Jesus and ask him for our restoration. That's the whole point- 'Come away with me to a lonely place and rest awhile' (Mar 6:31). When we seek Jesus, we are in it for the long haul. Even those of us who are weighed down by daily worries of the world, this is a time of rest. A time to put down our burdens and anxieties, hopes and fear and spend time with Jesus. This is the Jesus who prepares you for the good fight. Reminds you of your Baptismal Promises. Fills you with his Love. And strengthens you for the everyday, ordinary life's Way of the Cross.

We need that rest. Autumn is the time of letting go and letting God. Then, Spring arrives. With it come joy, hope and solace.

I have been there before and I know the time is nearly here.

That is why I like the Bird's eye view. I start to have expectant faith. I know Spring is coming... 

A Time for Consolation

St.Ignatius wrote at length about spiritual consolation and desolation.

While, consolation is the easy part. It's the season where the soul is enveloped in peace, a sure sense of God's presence, great interior joy and hopefulness. It is manifested as one's personal prayer life becomes deeply satisfying, scripture reading becomes more meaningful and one's vocation, blossoms.

Desolation, is just the opposite and also afforded by God. St. Ignatius described it,'I call desolation what is entirely the opposite of (consolation), as darkness of soul, torment of spirit, inclination to what is low and earthly, restlessness rising from many disturbances and temptations which lead to want of faith, want of hope, want of love. The soul is wholly slothful, tepid, sad, and separated, as it were, from its Creator and Lord.'

Unspeakable sadness...

The last 6 months have been a trying time for me at every level. Reading some of my earlier posts, I realise now that I was slowly entering a dark hole, from whence the light slowly dimmed and finally went out.  

My work related stress kept building up till it got really bad in December and I mean...Bad. So much so, I think my low BP and the general lethargy and sickness came as an off-shoot of all that. To say that I was broken within would be an understatement. During that time, I even began to doubt God's love and lost hope that he would intervene for me. A lot of what I was going through was not just because of the work. It was crazy, but what made things worse was that for the longest time my personal prayer life was dry, the Bible was no longer speaking to me, sharing with my spiritual elder made no difference and nothing seemed to be breaking through. 

At least earlier on, I had the 'lights' of God's presence. Even when I couldn't sense his presence, I knew he was near when suddenly things miraculously fell into place, difficult situations suddenly became simpler, people relented or at least I had confidence in God's word when things looked hopeless but here there was no comfort, no solace and no sense of God's presence and then, the stress. Many people came and told me that God wanted them to affirm me - 'God loves you' but those words, which earlier used to thrill my heart seemed empty and dead.

There was no hope and none seemed to be coming. Last year, Christmas was not really a feast of old and New Years was just plain depressing! That was the lowest point. I just broke down during mass in Church and even then, there came no help from above.

There was one discipline I following during this time- I spent a lot of time in front of the Blessed Sacrament. Hours together, just sitting there. I did not try to force myself to pray or try to discern anything. I guess, by that time, I was fed-up and tired. If God wanted to reach me, then he had to come. 

It was during this time, I came across this thin book called 'Miracles Do Happen: God can do the impossible' by Sister Briege. I thought the title of the book pretty clichéd and there was nothing really to attract me but I just picked it up and started reading from the middle. She speaks about a 'torn tent' where the Lord sits waiting for us. She says that we get so hassled with the state of our souls and the demands of out lives that we forget that the Lord will repair the 'battered tent' and sort everything else if only we sit before him in silence. 

At the same time, I received several 'Words' from my online intercessory group about holding on and God working through my suffering. Finally, after New Year's, Mother Mary came to my rescue. I really don't know how or when but one day during the rosary, she inspired me to tell the Lord how much I loved him. It was hard! In the middle of the mess of my life, to focus on Love is very hard. But with her, I manage to tell Jesus- 'I love you, Lord'. It was like breaking through the waters for a breadth of fresh air. Saying it over and over again with Mary, I suddenly got perspective. The most important thing in life is to remember- God loves you and you love him too. It's as if, the troubles and the sufferings are just ancillary because what matters is that you love the Lord. (The strength to love him comes from God so to tell Jesus that you love him is impossible without his grace)

My work troubles did not magically go away but I have received new strength. I am no longer fearful or as fearful as I was, though I still get panic attacks but going to Mary and asking her to take me to that lonely place where the Lord is found, telling him again and again that I love him, is healing in itself.

As the light keeps growing brighter, I have to come understand why this period of desolation is so important. It is to purify the spirit. To look to Jesus even when it seems that you receive nothing from him ('Lord, to whom can we go to? You have the words of eternal life.') That is the love that he desires and the fruit of desolation.

Tis the night the Saviour was born...

There came upon a starlight

When the Saviour of man

Chose to be born

When hope, joy and peace

Came to us in a babe of swaddling cloth

The angels rejoiced, Shepards thrilled, wise men searched and one, yes one seeked to kill

But in the cold opulence and crass consumerism of open malls and red nosed reindeers

Did you hear the babe cry?

Did you see the heavens rent open and angels come down?

Did you hear the heralds? Did you see the star in the East? Did you wait for the Father's promise come true?

Our God with Us is fulfilled this very night again.

Christmas is not about us or even about others but it is about the Christ child and his humility and the unfathomable Love of the Father.

A Happy and Holy Death

This week saw the death of a much beloved nana. She lived to 93 and witnessed the marriage of many of her grandchildren. She was blessed with Hannah's heart when she gave up her only son to become a full-time lay missionary. Nana continued to live with him surrounded by his missionary community, in the same house where she raised her 8 children till she breathed her last, peacefully in her sleep.

She lived a full life in the midst of her loved ones and close to her Lord and saviour. 

It was a good death indeed...

I believe that a good peaceful death is a gift from God. One that we must ardently pray for irrespective of one's age. Some of us may be elevated to die as martyrs but for those of us who are elected to not to, a peaceful death must be our aim. A good death is also the fruit of a long and perilous journey, it requires life-long preparation... like a successful marriage.

Here is an excerpt from a beautiful article on MercatorNet which describes a death that I would love to have ...

...the phone rang. It was from my niece in Ireland, to tell me that my older brother, Johnny, who had been taken into hospital a few days earlier with what they thought was a problematic lung infection, was not responding to treatment; he was now in a very critical condition. I instantly dropped what I was doing and caught the next plane to Cork. I arrived late the same night. Early the next morning, All Souls Day, I went to the Bon Secours hospital where he was lying in the intensive care unit. There was my dear brother, only a year older than me, who had stayed with me only a fortnight before and with whom I shared so many memories of the past, now lying helpless and struggling to breathe, with an oxygen helmet on his head and surrounded by bleeping and flashing machines.

But he was also entirely conscious and completely at peace. The first thing he said to me (he had been an army officer for thirty years and had always described himself as a “bluff soldier”) was, “I think courage and dignity are required right now”, with a wry smile. The second was, “Do you remember Churchill’s last words?” I quoted them. We had both shared a great interest in Churchill’s life and I was always looking out for memorabilia relating to him to give to Johnny. I reminded him now that my best find had been a 1940s biscuit tin at our local waste disposal dump, decorated with the key quotes from Churchill’s wartime speeches.

The third thing he said was, “A friar in sockless sandals came round earlier and, to use an old-fashioned word, he has shriven me.” He then told me the hymns he wanted at his funeral, the simple inscription for his grave – no mention of honours or army rank – and the words for a memorial card. They were from St Thomas More, and Johnny recalled his own father, to whom he had been very close, telling them to him: “Do thou pray for me and I will pray for thee, that we may meet merrily in heaven.” The word “merrily” particularly mattered to him. He always had a great, if sometimes mordant, sense of humour, and heaven had to be a merry place. When someone placed a blanket over his feet so they wouldn’t be cold, he said with a characteristic smile, “Don’t worry, they will be the first to burn”.

These little conversations and remarks went on for most of the day. Johnny’s children never left his side. My brother and sister joined us. A palliative care doctor came by and gently indicated that his lung capacity was decreasing and that his oxygen levels were dropping. A nurse quietly and sensitively monitored the situation, explaining to us that they would only give him morphine when his breathing had clearly become very distressed. A young lay pastor came and prayed a decade of the Rosary with us. A huge plate of sandwiches materialised from nowhere in the relatives’ waiting room. The sockless friar (a Capuchin) came back with Communion, the nurse opened a small aperture in Johnny’s “helmet” and he received a fragment of the Host with great reverence and recollection. He called for a sip of cordial and managed to suck a tiny amount with a straw. He also had a spoonful of ice cream. He made it clear that he didn’t need any more food.

At four in the afternoon he was asked if he would like some morphine to ease his, by now, very laboured breathing. He said “Yes” quite firmly. The doctor explained that the oxygen helmet was no longer of any use and it was gently removed. The machines were then unplugged and Johnny was made comfortable. He fell asleep. We all stayed with him, talked to him, sang to him, held his hands and stroked his head until, an hour later, he drew his last breath. My younger brother turned to me and said in a voice of awe, “What a mystery death is!” I thought of a favourite remark of Johnny’s, which he had repeated to me only a couple of hours before: “There are no pockets in a shroud.”The Capuchin returned and reminded us that All Souls Day was a wonderful day to die on. The palliative care nurse wept along with us all. I remembered that Johnny had chosen St Joseph, patron of a happy death, as his Confirmation saint and had always had a special love for him. In fact he had named a succession of his boyhood tortoises “Joseph” in the saint’s honour. In his last hours St Joseph had not deserted him.

I have described Johnny’s dying in this detail – and what a privilege it was to have witnessed such a death, his last loving legacy to his family – to show the kind of experience we would all wish for: sensitive and attentive care, spiritual and medical, by all the staff and the vital opportunity for Johnny to make his own inimitable farewells. It is a memory that his children and the rest of us will carry until our own dying day...Johnny died, as he said, in the country he loved and surrounded by the people he loved; “My faith, my family and my friends are what matter to me” he told us in his soldierly fashion. In the intensive care unit of the Bon Secours hospital, with its Catholic ethos and atmosphere – a crucifix on the wall and a statue of Our Lady in the corridor – patients are treated as children of God: “Johnny is in God’s hands” the nurse said as she monitored him. It makes all the difference – in life and in death.

And Johnny’s own last words, before he slipped into unconsciousness?

“I am very happy now.” 

To die a holy death, at peace with one's neighbour and God  is a blessing indeed. 

O to die in the arms of Mary and Jesus...

St.Joseph, patron of happy and holy death

Ora pro nobis

Song of Hope...

"To the pure, all things are pure, but to those who are corrupted and do not believe, nothing is pure. In fact, both their minds and consciences are corrupted." - Titus 1:15

 I found this true, time and again; especially when exposed to secular media, films and music. Numerous were the times I heard the Lord sing and coo to me through the din. Numerous too, were the times my mind was dulled from perceiving the evil therein. 

I like to believe that I am protected and my Father sings songs of gladness over me. 

Some of the most beautiful lessons I learnt were from sources far, far from religious or spiritual.

The most distant memory that comes to me (considering that my memory is like a sieve) is of my watching the undeniably morbid movie, The English Patient. Lust, adultery, fornication and lies abound in that love-in-the-time-of-WWII film. But this is what I remember most- the scene where the lady-much-desired and her (cuckold) husband were flying their two-seater propeller jet to their dug-out site in the North African wasteland, where the lady's lover was waiting to be picked up. The affair was broken off by then and the husband knew that he was cheated upon, though he did not reveal it to his wife or the friend/lover. As the plane descended, the husband's feral rage took over and he tried to drive the jet into the lover, hoping to kill all of them together. Instead, the husband dies instantly, the wife gets mortally wounded and perishes in the desert and the lover dies much later, a victim of euthanasia, broken-hearted, burnt beyond recognition and a traitor. The film treated the entire story very romantically... but all I heard, was a still soft voice saying- The wages of sin is death.

God did not need to meet out their punishment. Their own flawed decision set into motion the wheels of fate which they could not stop and led to their untimely destruction, and that of others as well. I felt sorry for them... I really did; but it brought home to me the truth that death was not just metaphorical; it was real and concrete. 

Then there was Avatar. Who can forget the memorable Na'vi greeting- 'I see you.', which is to see into another, to truly look into their souls. How poignantly it reminded me of Psalm 139 ...

Then there is the other side of the spectrum. When evil warps the imagination, nothing then can remains innocent. Before predators became, there was the thought, the fantasy that foreshadowed it. There are those who after encountering the Light, now practice extreme abstinence, not out penance but out the desire for protection. It doesn't  take much to awake the old demons...

The Lord often does deliver them but sometimes he desires to strengthen their will by asking of strong measures.

St. Augustine knew of it. St Paul remarked of it when he spoke of the thorn in his flesh . 

But take heart, in the end, Grace and one's love of Jesus will see one through...

A Mustard seed of Faith

 God does not make mistakes!

That is the Truth and Truth it is. The catch is whether we believe it or not. Not believe it being the Truth but believe Truth (who is God) about Himself. 

So, we all believe in God and as Jesus so poignantly said- Even the demons believe in God. 

They just don't trust Him.

And so, when one does introspect, "Do I believe that God does not make mistakes?", it is the simplified version of, "Do I trust God never to mess up even after all the mess I created for myself?"

This 'Parent' question spawns numerous off-springs like, why does God allow children to suffer from cancer? Why are there so many wars? Or closer home- Why me, Lord?

...a dim echo of, 'Could God have made a mistake?' 

Your really don't have to search your memory to recall instances of people asking you this question in retrospection  They pose it as a rhetoric and they really don't expect an answer. There isn't one, they think; seeing the situation they are locked in. 

And what about the many times we have whispered it to ourselves in the secret recesses of our soul? 

My times-of-distress teaser was a simple- Lord, where are you?

I never expected an answer... because I believed He did NOT have an answer.

Then something happened that made me wonder...

The week that was, was a roller-coaster. A high and a low and a low. It was a difficult, difficult time, especially for a person like me who does not like change or a disturbance in my daily rhythm. I don't remember if I threw one of my posers at God but I definitely was wondering what on earth was happening. Somewhere in the middle of the week, I received a card from a close friend in Canada. It was posted weeks ago to a common friend and was waiting to be received. I just didn't have the time to collect it. It finally found its way to my hands through a fellow choir member and I opened it...

It was small-ish, simple card, with a caricature on the cover. On the inside was my pals' neat, tidy handwriting on the two facing sides. Then there, right at the bottom of card was this printed verse from Daniel...

"God loves you very much."

I nearly wept...

In all the Bible, that was my favourite verse. I never told it to anyone. I loved that verse before I even knew how to read the Bible. It called to me as no other verse ever did. My favourite Bible meditation was to imagine myself in Daniel's shoes and hear the salutation, 'Daniel! God loves you' over and over and over again.

Fear not! God loves you...

He knew my soul even before that week arrived. He timed it to reach my hands at the opportune time. He sent his Spirit to remind me... He does not make mistakes.

Though it is not quite the correct response to my, 'Lord, where are you?' cry; it is the best One. 

What I am going through, is well and foreseen. Even in the midst of the chaos I created for myself and for others, He does not make mistakes. There are no wrong judgement calls and there is disaster-recovery for Him. 

The Light has shone in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.