When Jesus wept, the falling tear
in mercy flowed beyond all bound;
when Jesus groaned, a trembling fear
seized all the guilty world around.
~William Billings
To be known for who we are
by a God who weeps for us
and groans with pain we caused~
we will know
no greater love.
O Deus, ego amo te,
O God I love Thee for Thyself
Nec amo te ut salves me,
and not that I may heaven gain
Nec quod qui te non diligent,
nor yet that they who love Thee not
Æterno igne pereunt.
must suffer hell’s eternal pain.
Ex cruces lingo germinat,
Out of the bud of the wood of the Cross
Qui pectus amor occupant,
wherefore hearts’ love embraces
Ex pansis unde brachiis,
whence out of extended arms
Ad te amandum arripes. Amen.
you lovingly take us. Amen.
~Prayer of St. Francis Xavier “O Deus Ego Amo Te” 18th Century Traditional
Suddenly, in the last week, buds are forming everywhere.
From seemingly dead wood, standing cold and dormant,
there springs new life.
What could be more lifeless than a cross piece of timbers
built specifically for execution?
Yet life sprung from that death tree,
an unexpected and glorious bud,
ready to burst into most fragrant blossom.
I said to my mind, be still, and wait without hope
Today we are flattened,
dried like chaff,
ground to pulp,
our destiny with death sealed.
Yet he shall be forsaken,
And yielded up to die;
The sky shall groan and darken,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
For stony hearts of men:
God’s blood upon the spearhead,
God’s love refused again.
But now, as at the ending,
The low is lifted high;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
In praises of the child,
By whose descent among us,
The worlds are reconciled.
~Richard Wilbur from “A Christmas Hymn”
Reading the news from around the world, I could be convinced we’re all mute and dull as rocks, inconsequential and immobile, trod upon and paved over, forgettable and forgotten. I could believe there exists no pulse in our stony hearts. I could believe we are incapable of love as we turn away from a God descending to lie with us on the ground where we lay.
Yet even the low are lifted high by His descent– every stone, yes even the dumb and lifeless, shall cry out in community with Him, even the silent will find a voice to praise. Even my own voice, meager and anemic, shall be heard.
No longer forgotten. In fact, we never were.
So hard to reconcile but if the stones have known it all along, so should we.
Now the green blade rises from the buried grain,
Wheat that in the dark earth many years has lain;
Love lives again, that with the dead has been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.
When our hearts are saddened, grieving or in pain,
By Your touch You call us back to life again;
Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.
~John Crum from The Oxford Book of Carols
Over the last several weeks, roots have become shoots and their green blades are rising chaotically, uneven and awkward like a bad haircut. And like a bad haircut, another two weeks will make all the difference — sprouts will cover all the bare earth, breaking through crusted mud to create a smooth carpet of green.
There is nothing more hopeful than the barren made fruitful, the ugly made beautiful, the dead made alive.
The fields of our broken hearts recover; love is come again.
Every moment and every event of every man’s life on earth plants something in his soul. For just as the wind carries thousands of winged seeds, so each moment brings with it germs of spiritual vitality that come to rest imperceptibly in the minds and wills of men. Most of these unnumbered seeds perish and are lost, because men are not prepared to receive them: for such seeds as these cannot spring up anywhere except in the soil of freedom, spontaneity and love.
— Thomas Merton from “New Seeds of Contemplation”
May I be receptive soil.
May I become garden and nursery.
May roots reach deep within me.
May I bloom and fruit in God’s time.
The present is holy ground.
— Alfred North Whitehead
It matters less what has happened or what will happen. What matters is happening right this very moment.
We are sentient creatures with a proclivity to bypass the present to dwell on the past or fret about the future. This has been true of humans since our creation. Those observing Buddhist tradition and New Age believers of the “Eternal Now” call our attention to the present moment through the teaching of “mindfulness” to bring a sense of peacefulness and fulfillment.
Yet I don’t believe the present is about our minds, or how well we dwell in the moment. It is not about us at all.
The present is holy ground where we are allowed to tread. We are asked to remove our shoes in an attitude of respect to a loving God who gives us life, as we approach each sacred moment with humility.
There will be no other just like this one. There may be no other beyond this one. Right now, this moment barefoot, I am simply grateful to be here.
It is in these afflictions, which succeed one another each moment, that God, veiled and obscured, reveals himself, mysteriously bestowing his grace in a manner quite unrecognized by the souls who feel only weakness in bearing their cross…
Jean Pierre du Caussade from The Sacrament of the Present Moment
The past few mornings have unveiled in mist and fog, tentative spring dawns of freezing air and warming soil trying to break loose from the vise grip of a tired and dying winter.
I am struggling under the load of 14 hour work days in addition to keeping a barn clean and animals and humans fed. Even sleep is not restful when there is so little time to quiet myself in reflection and gratitude.
I am keenly reminded of my weakness as my strength wanes at the end of a long day, having slipped in the mud while trying to gain traction unloading a couple hundred pounds of manure from the wheelbarrow. Landing on my backside, my pants soaking through, I can choose to laugh or cry.
I choose to see the baptism of mud as a sacrament of the present moment, reminding me of my need for a cleansing grace.
I laugh and cry.
Though obscured from view, God is nevertheless revealed in these moments of being covered in the soil of earth and the waste of its creatures.
He knows I need reminding that I too am dust and to dust shall return.
He knows I am too often wasteful and a failed steward, so need reminding by landing me amidst it.
He knows I need to laugh at myself, so puts me right on my backside.
He knows I need to cry, so sends me those with the saddest stories and greatest needs.
He knows I need Him, always and ever more, to restore a sacrament of grace evident in the present moment and every moment to come.
The sacred moments, the moments of miracle, are often the everyday moments, the moments which, if we do not look with more than our eyes or listen with more than our ears reveal only…a gardener, a stranger coming down the road behind us, a meal like any other meal. But if we look with our hearts, if we listen with all our being and imagination.. what we may see is Jesus himself.
~Frederick Buechner
We can be blinded by the everyday-ness of it. A simple loaf of bread is only that. A gardener crouches in a row of weeds, trying to restore order in chaos. A wanderer along the road engages in conversation.
Every day contains millions of everyday moments that are lost and forgotten, seemingly meaningless.
We would see Jesus if we only opened our eyes and listened with our ears. At the table, on the road, in the garden.
There is nothing everyday about the miracle of Him abiding with us.
I saw that a yellow crocus bud had pierced
a dead oak leaf, then opened wide. How strong
its appetite for the luxury of the sun!
~Jane Kenyon from Otherwise: New and Selected Poems
Our appetite is strong for light and warmth. Our desire is to defeat death, to pierce through the decay and flourish among the living, opening wide our face to the luxury of grace freely given.
We need only follow the pathway out of darkness. We need only follow the Son as he leads the way.
Barnstorming 