Tag Archives: fire

18 December: O Adonai, Lord and Leader, Come!

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O Adonai, et Dux domus Israel,
O Lord and Leader of the House of Israel, who appeared to Moses in the flame of a burning bush, come!

Sister Johanna Caton’s second O Antiphon reflection can be found at: Dec 18 – O Adonai

Sister has laid out each of these posts differently to include Latin and English texts of the Antiphons; an image, and not least, her poem in the order that fits best.

 

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17 December: O Sapientia, O Wisdom, come!

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Oh Wisdom come and lead us.

Here is the link to Sister Johanna’s post about Jesus, God’s Wisdom. Dec 17 – O Sapientia

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14 December: On fire with all love’s longing.

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For the Feast of Saint John of the Cross, here is one of his spiritual songs. This is taken from ‘San Juan de la Cruz Seven Spiritual Poems’, translated by A.S. Kline, available through Project Gutenberg. 

Song of the Soul that Delights in Reaching the Supreme State of perfection, that is, the union with God, by the path of spiritual negation.

Upon a darkened night
on fire with all love’s longing
– O joyful flight! –
I left, none noticing,
my house, in silence, resting.

Secure, devoid of light,
by secret stairway, stealing
– O joyful flight! –
in darkness self-concealing,
my house, in silence, resting.

In the joy of night,
in secret so none saw me,
no object in my sight
no other light to guide me,
but what burned here inside me.

Which solely was my guide,
more surely than noon-glow,
to where he does abide,
one whom I deeply know,
a place where none did show.

O night, my guide!
O night, far kinder than the dawn!
O night that tied
the lover to the loved,
the loved in the lover there transformed!

On my flowering breast,
that breast I kept for him alone,
there he took his rest
while I regaled my own,
in lulling breezes from the cedars blown.

The breeze, from off the tower,
as I sieved through its windings,
with calm hands, that hour,
my neck, in wounding,
left all my senses hanging.

Self abandoned, self forgot,
my face inclined to the beloved one:
all ceased, and I was not,
my cares now left behind, and gone:
there among the lilies all forgotten.

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23 November, The Road to Emmaus VI; seeing.

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The two disciples cannot bear to part with this seemingly unknown man, who understands everything.

When they drew near to the village to which they were going, he made as if to go on; but they pressed him to stay with them saying, ’It is nearly evening, and the day is almost over.’ So he went on to stay with them. Now while he was with them at table he took the bread and said the blessing; then he broke it and handed it to them. And their eyes were opened and they recognised him; but he had vanished from their sight (Luke. 24:28-31).

The great artist, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, in 1601, captured this moment in a magnificent painting, and I have reflected on this in the form of a poem. [This painting is on permanent display in the National Gallery of London.]

Seeing Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus

We know the two disciples by their spillage:

flung arms, shocked shoulders, splayed hands.

He found them trudging toward the village –

loveable curmudgeons all wrong.

But who’s the right-hand man – studious, still,

drawn not by Luke but by artist’s skill,

drawn, by intense act of will, like me,

by desire to be with them there, to see.

For see:

not one has closed his eyes for prayer:

for Jesus is being quietly seismic.

And see, his outstreaming inwardness opens their eyes

shaken, graced, surprised beyond all telling,

they see: they marvel: they see.

Ah, yes. He tenderly gives it away. Amen, amen. This is

Him being Him so Him so real that he’s unmissable so alive

with blessing that death cannot take hold anywhere so real

that if they seize him he burns even as their hearts flame

even as they know him so real that even the shadows

cannot shadow even the shadows consecrate.

Now they may hold him only as food is held

for only the food will remain

for this is the moment

before He vanishes

like a

m

o

m

e

n

t

,

SJC

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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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