Tag Archives: fire

June 30: Contrasts.

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A few thoughts scribbled down after a couple of days in the North West last July. The next picture is of Saddleworth in November, but it shows the stepping stones crossed to seek out the bilberries. On this occasion the stones were not passable… but how have your days been?

It took two hours to negotiate the roadworks and rush hour around Stockport on the way into Manchester. And they say the most disruptive roadworks have not yet started!

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Wandering around Saddleworth in the rain, to find a bilberry patch destroyed in favour of a park with lawns, when other parks are reverting to brambles, if not bilberry patches!

A fire in July, and very welcome too.

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Sunshine in Manchester, sipping beer in the open air in Albert Square with live music and interesting sandwiches.

A wren outside the window of a holiday cottage in nearby Derbyshire. But will the farmyard cock waken us in the morning?

O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever. 

O give thanks unto the God of gods: for his mercy endureth for ever. 

O give thanks to the Lord of lords: for his mercy endureth for ever.

To him who alone doeth great wonders: for his mercy endureth for ever.

To him that by wisdom made the heavens: for his mercy endureth for ever.

To him that stretched out the earth above the waters: for his mercy endureth for ever.

To him that made great lights: for his mercy endureth for ever:

The sun to rule by day: for his mercy endureth for ever:

The moon and stars to rule by night: for his mercy endureth for ever.

PS 136

30 June 2018:

Readers in the United Kingdom will know that Saddleworth Moor has been exceptionally dry this summer, with heath fires burning and people forced to leave their homes, ash falling around Manchester. Let us pray for all affected by the fire and for those fighting it, and pray that the lost moorland may be restored.

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7 June: Little Flowers of Saint Francis XXV: How Saint Clare ate with Saint Francis, 2. (Shared Table XIX)

800px-Caravaggio_-_Cena_in_EmmausAnd the hour of breaking bread being come, they set themselves down together, Saint Francis and Saint Clare, and one of the companions of Saint Francis together with the companion of Saint Clare, and all the other companions took each his place at the table with all humility.

And at the first dish, Saint Francis began to speak of God so sweetly, so sublimely, and so wondrously, that the fulness of divine grace came down on them, and they all were rapt in God. And as they were thus rapt, with eyes and hands uplift to heaven, the folk of Assisi and Bettona and the country round about, saw that Saint Mary of the Angels, and all the House, and the wood that was just hard by the House, were burning brightly, and it seemed as it were a great fire that filled the church and the House and the whole wood together : for the which cause the folk of Assisi ran thither in great haste for to quench the flames, believing of a truth that the whole place was all on fire. But coming close up to the House and finding no fire at all, they entered within and found Saint Francis and Saint Clare and all their company in contemplation rapt in God and sitting around that humble board. Whereby of a truth they understood that this had been a heavenly flame and no earthly one at all, which God had let appear miraculously, for to show and signify the fire of love divine wherewith the souls of those holy brothers and holy nuns were all aflame; wherefore they gat them gone with great consolation.

Emmaus: another meal where Christ  was present. 

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June 1: S is for Sligo

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I remember Sligo for one reason especially: hospitality.

Let loose in a bookshop, even on-line, I tend to lose track of time. So it was in Sligo, all those years ago, so that when I paid over my punts, I received with my book and my change an invitation to take tea with the family.

Perhaps it’s my fond imagination, but Irish baking in those days could hit the heights of good taste. I recall a bakery in Ennis –  run by a cousin of a woman we knew up by Sligo – where the fresh brown bread was so very good, two of us had eaten the loaf within a quarter of an hour as we walked across town.

Here in Sligo it was sitting around the peat fire, a tea loaf – an Irish version of bara brith but with more butter within and more spread upon it than in Wales. And it was talk, good interesting talk it was too.

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Good booksellers, like good librarians, listen to the people of the centuries, and if they speak to those of today, have wisdom to share. ‘I think you’ll like this one. You had another book by her a year ago.’ That’s the computer helping out, telling the librarian what I’ve borrowed before, but it’s a useful tool for her and her borrowers.

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3 May: Little Flowers of Saint Francis XX; aflame with love of poverty.

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The city of Gap in what are now the French Alps is proud of this little bridge over the Torrent called the Bonne. Saint Francis walked across it on his way to France. And no doubt on the way back, after today’s episode.

Saint Francis and Brother Masseo drawing nigh unto a church, Saint Francis said to his companion: “ Let us go into the church to pray.” And Saint Francis gat him behind the altar and gave himself to prayer: and in that same prayer he received from the divine visitation fervour so exceeding great, the which inflamed his soul so mightily with the love of holy poverty that, by the colour of his face and the unwonted opening of his lips, it seemed as though he breathed forth flames of love.

And coming thus enkindled to his companion, he bespake him thus: “Ah! Ah! Ah! Brother Masseo, give thyself to me ”; and thus spake he three times; and at the third time Saint Francis with his breath lifted Brother Masseo up into the air, and threw him a great spear’s length in front of him; whereby exceeding great amazement took hold on Brother Masseo. Afterwards he recounted to his companions how that, when as he was uplifted and hurled along by the breath that Saint Francis breathed on him, he tasted such sweetness in his soul, and consolation of the Holy Spirit, that in all his life he ne’er had felt the like.

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April 15: Feeling the Fire: III

stmaurice.pilgrims
Back to Ignatius for a final word:

Thank you Will. I don’t doubt it. Writing this post, I was reminded of all the hidden, inglorious heroes there are. The kingdom of God certainly hasn’t been conquered or even cornered. No, absolutely, “slow burn” is the opposite of lukewarm.

An LED seems to me like a more natural analogy for the false, lifeless light and heat of the world, since it has literally no fire (unless it is broken), but I take your point. The fire is amongst us still.

I think you’re right. Feeding the fire is at least the place to begin.

The funny thing I find is, whenever I face discouragement like this, I quickly get very encouraged. When the world feels coldest, the gospel feels most powerful, and the world suddenly full of the gospel.

Palm Sunday Sussundenga, Mozambique 2015 01

I think I need to revisit my memories of Krakow actually. It sort of jump-started a really awesome period in my life.

Well, if Francis counted as a youth (which he definitely did), I’m sure you do too.

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God bless!

Many thanks to Ignatius for his contribution to Agnellus’ Mirror, and to Christina also.

Do visit https://asalittlechild.wordpress.com/  and maybe share a word or ‘Comment’ with him.

PS Until I can claim to be an elder with a degree of modest wisdom, at least I have learnt, Festina Lente! Which being translated means, Make haste slowly, or ‘Slow burn!’

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14 April: Feeling the Fire: II

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Door of Mercy, Krakow

My reply touched on Ignatius’s account of his pilgrimage to the World Youth Day Pilgrimage to Krakow. We were in the vicinity; we saw Pope Francis’s helicopter and met many pilgrims as we walked through the mountains around Zakopane, a couple of hours from Krakow. But as a greybeard, I felt disqualified for WYD!

Good Evening Ignatius!

I don’t want to disagree with all you say, but there’s a need to be gentle when we observe people. Not everyone is cold inside, however they seem. There is fire and fire. Various friends, myself included, burnt out in younger days, not listening when our bodies and minds needed to rest. People could no longer depend on us, but our places were filled by others, and sometimes checks and balances were introduced to make sure burnout would not happen to them.

Parenting, too, really needs a slow burn, the ability to get up at 3.00 a.m. – yet again – to change a nappy, and such mundane jobs continue for years, for some parents without respite. And children may find themselves reciprocating when parents are frail, again, perhaps for years on end. Slow burn where burn out would not be helpful. But slow burn is not always visible. It’s not the same thing as lukewarm.

Fire gives heat and light: if someone makes you feel warmth or enlightens you – even to the glow of one little LED bulb, there is some fire there, surely. Look how the candles shine from within the Cathedral in the picture above.

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Maybe the best way to bring fire to the earth is to feed the fire that is already there. An email to a friend or grandparent tells them they are loved, even without using the word. And who or what lights your fire? What light shines on your path? What of the highs of your visit to Krakow for World Youth Day? Where does that experience point you? I hope it is more than a misty memory. I guess as a greybeard I’m too ancient to count as youth, though I did manage the mountain paths around Zakopane – at a slower pace than you youngsters!

Do not be tempted to despair, but try to get alongside people and what enlightens or warms them.

Not that I am inspired by every homily that enters my ears!

WT

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April 13: Feeling the Fire: I

We don’t follow many blogs, but Ignatius’s As a Little Child is one I am always glad to see and occasionally reply to. He put this out a few weeks ago, and has graciously allowed me to use it – and my reply – here. Over to Ignatius; a response tomorrow.

Can I honestly say, that when I look at myself or at my Church, locally or universally, that I recognise followers of Jesus, the Body of Christ, or the Kingdom of Heaven?

‘I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!’ [Lk12:49]

Where is this fire?!

I don’t see it in my life. And I rarely hear it in homilies. And I hardly see it in the Church. I start to wonder if we’ve forgotten Jesus.

There are saints amongst us, though. There are holy bishops and priests and religious and lay people, living the gospel. There are orders, and movements and organisations and just people. There are many people out there who sacrifice themselves with Jesus, living the reckless, radical love of the Father.

I just wish it were the rule. I wish that I heard this fire in every homily, and saw it in every Church activity. I wish that we were obviously so much more than a club, or an NGO. I wish that this fire was burning in all my flesh, down to the marrow. But I’ve read that all that’s needed to become a saint, is to will it. God wills it already; we just need to co-operate, accept His grace, obey His gospel.

And the truth is, there’s no real life apart from Jesus’ life. It’s a choice between life and — far worse than death– not-life. I could perhaps call it half-life, but I think not-life better captures the emptiness I’m thinking of. Or being “lukewarm”. 

 

I hope I’m not alone in feeling this way. Please pray with me, that we will together be set on Jesus-fire.

 

 

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2 April: The First Day

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Wounded feet mark the garden,
wound dawn’s dew.

The white morning sky waits,
and for someone –
more than one. Weary and true,
they come, they run:
wide hearts with wide rays ablaze –
out-blaze sun’s rays,
await the earth’s incense.

Snowdrops bow, bearing the weight
of Presence.

SJC

 

[Painting by Eugene Burnand, 1850-1921
Musee d’Orsay, Paris]

 

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25 March, Stations of the Cross VIII: Jesus falls a third time.

welcomefire

Today is Palm Sunday, when Jesus rode triumphant into Jerusalem, yet our station shows him on the way out of town in humiliation. The Feast of the Annunciation has been transferred to Monday 9th April, the first free day after Easter Week.

EIGHTH STATION
JESUS FALLS A THIRD TIME

Many of us in England no longer have a fire at home, and if we do, they are safely confined in a proper hearth. In Jesus’ day, there would have been an open fire, easy to fall into, often with disastrous effect. We hear from the father of the boy who fell into the fire or the lake during his epileptic fits.
(Mark 9:14-29).


I had seen my boy fall time and time again.
He was often badly hurt, burnt or nearly drowned.

He could not hear me or speak to me, it was terrible to see, as if he was taken over by the evil one.

Jesus said that faith could save him.

Lord, I have faith, help the little faith I have!

Yes, Lord, though you are down in the dust, and look as though you can never rise, I still have faith in you.


Let us pray :

Lord, help us always to say, Yes I have faith, help the little faith I have.

Help us to get up every time we fall or are pushed over.

Lord in your mercy.

 

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7 February: Helping and Helping 5, The Lodging House Fire II.

 

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If we read his Autobiography of a Supertramp, we learn that Davies did spend time in the libraries but lacked the energy to get the most out of being there because of sitting in front of the Lodging House Fire. What would he have done with a mobile phone? Played mindless games all day?

I gave myself over to the influence of the coke fire. After going out in the morning for two or three hours, I would return at midday, often earlier, and sit hopelessly before this fire for ten or eleven hours, after which I would retire to my room. What a miserable time was this: the kitchen, foul with the breath of fifty or sixty men, and the fumes of the coke fire, took all the energy out of a man, and it was a hard fight to keep awake. It has taken the play out of the kitten, and this small animal lies stretched out, overcome by its fumes, without the least fear of being trodden on. Sometimes, when I endeavoured to concentrate my mind, with an idea of writing something, it was necessary to feign a sleep, so that these kind hearted fellows might not disturb me with their civilities. On these occasions it was not unusual for me to fall into a real sleep. And, when I awoke, it sickened me to think of this wasted time; for I was spending in bed more hours than were necessary for my health, and it was a most cruel waste of time to be sleeping in the day.

This fire exerted a strange influence over us. In the morning we were loath to leave it, and we all returned to it as soon as possible. Even the books and magazines in the libraries could not seduce me longer than an hour.

There was one seat at the corner of a table, which I have heard called “the dead man’s seat.” It was within two yards of this great fire, which was never allowed to suffer from want of coke. It was impossible to retain this seat long and keep awake. Of course, a man could hardly expect to keep this seat day after day for a long winter, and to be alive in the spring of the year. This was the case with a printer who, unfortunately, had only three days’ work a week. The amount he earned was sufficient for his wants, so, in his four idle days, he would sit on this seat, eating, reading, but more often sleeping, until before the end of the winter, he was carried away a dying man. Some of these lodgers claim to be able to recognise in the public streets any strangers who are suffering from this coke fever.

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