Tag Archives: Saint Luke

11 January: Little Flowers of Saint Francis XLV: The Temptations of Brother Ruffino, 2.

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Yesterday we read how Francis was made aware of Ruffino’s belief that he was damned, and his subsequent misery. We take up the story when Brother Masseo has called Ruffino to visit Francis. Francis emulates the father of the prodigal son and then gives some very earthy advice!

Saint Francis seeing Brother Ruffino coming from afar off, began to cry out: “O thou miserable Brother Ruffino, in whom hast thou believed?” And when Brother Ruffino was come up to him, Saint Francis recounted to him in order all the temptation that he had had of the devil within and without, and showed him clearly that what had appeared to him was the devil and not Christ, and that he ought in no wise to consent unto his promptings. But when the devil should say to thee again: “Thou art damned! do thou answer : Open thy mouth, for I fain would void on thee! and this shall be to thee the sign that he is the devil and not Christ; for as soon as thou shalt give him this answer, he will flee away incontinent.

Moreover by this token shouldst thou have known that he was the devil and not Christ, in that he hardened thy heart to all goodness, the which thing is his own proper office; but Christ, the blessed One, never hardeneth the heart of the faithful, nay, rather he softeneth it, as he saith by the mouth of the prophet: I will take away the stony heart and I will give you a heart of flesh”. (Ezekiel 36:26) Then Brother Ruffino, seeing that Saint Francis told him in order all the manner of his temptation, touched to the heart by his words, began to weep bitterly, and fell down before Saint Francis and humbly confessed his fault in having kept his temptation hidden. And thus he abode altogether consoled and comforted by the admonishments of the holy father, and wholly changed for the better.

Then at the last Saint Francis said unto him: “Go, my little son, and shrive1 thee, and relax not the zeal of thy wonted prayers: and know of a surety that this temptation will bring to thee great profit and consolation, and very shortly shalt thou prove it.” So Brother Ruffino returned to his cell in the wood, and continuing in prayer with many tears, behold the enemy came to him in the form 0f Christ, as to outward semblance, and said to him: “O Brother Ruffino, have I not told thee that thou shouldest not believe the son of Peter Bernardoni, nor shouldest weary thyself in tears and prayers, seeing that thou art damned? What doth it profit thee to afflict thyself while yet alive, and then when thou shalt die thou wilt be damned?” And straightway Brother Ruffino made answer to the devil: “Open thy mouth, for I fain would void on thee.”

1Confess your sins to a priest
End Paper of The Little Flowers of Saint Francis.
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January 6: Pope Francis visits the Franciscans.

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While he was in Dublin Pope Francis visited the Capuchin Franciscans at their centre for homeless families and spoke to the friars as well as the people who turn to them for help. This seems an appropriate reading for the Epiphany, when the Wise Men visited the baby born in a stable, and destined, like so many before and since, to flee into Egypt.

Dear Capuchin brothers, and all of you, my brothers and sisters!

You have the grace of contemplating the wounds of Jesus in those in need, those who suffer, those who are unfortunate or destitute, or full of vices and defects. For you this is the flesh of Christ. This is your witness and the Church needs it. Thank you.

It is Jesus who comes [in the poor]. You ask no questions. You accept life as it comes, you give comfort and, if need be, you forgive. This makes me think – as a reproof – of those priests who instead live by asking questions about other people’s lives and who in confession dig, dig, dig into consciences. Your witness teaches priests to listen, to be close, to forgive and not to ask too many questions. To be simple, as Jesus said that father did who, when his son returned, full of sins and vices. That father did not sit in a confessional and start asking question after question. He accepted the son’s repentance and embraced him. May your witness to the people of God, and this heart capable of forgiving without causing pain, reach all priests. Thank you!

And you, dear brothers and sisters, I thank you for the love and the trust that you have for the Capuchin brothers. Thank you because you come here with trust! Let me say one thing to you. Do you know why you come here with trust? Because they help you without detracting from your dignity. For them, each of you is Jesus Christ. Thank you for the trust that you give us. You are the Church, you are God’s people. Jesus is with you. They will give you the things you need, but listen to the advice they give you; they will always give you good advice. And if you have something, some doubt, some hurt, talk to them and they will give you good advice. You know that they love you: otherwise, this Centre would not exist. Thank you for your trust. And one last thing. Pray! Pray for the Church. Pray for priests. Pray for the Capuchins. Pray for the bishops, for your bishop. Pray for me too … I allow myself to ask all this. Pray for priests, don’t forget.

God bless you all, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

 

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6 December: T is for Truro

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I’m sorry that the A-Z Tour of Britain has got a bit lost. Yesterday’s post about the local pilgrim must have scratched at the door of my conscience! I was looking for a photo for my piece on Truro in Cornwall when I came across this in a blog called ‘Ship of Fools’. It is part of a report by a mystery worshipper, describing the sermon s/he heard at Truro cathedral, given by the composer James Macmillan on 10/10/10. Forget my effort and read on! WT.

On a scale of 1-10, how good was the preacher?

9 – James Macmillan is a Roman Catholic, a lay Dominican, a musician and composer of note, not a preacher by trade, but he spoke very well and he was talking about the subject that is his passion. It was a privilege to hear him (and his music!). He had been there to deliver a lecture the previous evening, but sadly I didn’t know that. He had, incidentally, composed some of the music used at services during the recent papal visit.

In a nutshell, what was the sermon about?

The gospel reading was Luke 17:11-19 (Jesus heals ten lepers, instructing them to show themselves to the priests). The ten lepers had to show themselves to the priests because the priest could authorise their readmission to the society from which they had been ostracised. But one (a Samaritan, no less) comes back and gives thanks and praise to Jesus on the surface a useless thing to do but Jesus lets him know that it was the right thing to do and wonders why the other nine didn’t bother. The one who gave thanks was more concerned with praising God than with following the prescribed ritual for readmission. Giving praise may baffle the contemporary world because it is perceived to be useless, but when we raise our voices in song it is not about the consequences. The parting of the Red Sea is the prime event in the Old Testament and Jewish history, and out of it comes the Song of Moses. The Song of Songs is the ultimate love song. Sometimes words are not enough. It is love that moves us to sing. The psalms were sung in Old Testament times and the psalter is the original prayer book. Pope Benedict has called music “the sober inebriation of faith”.

Image by Simon Lewis via wikipedia

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21 November: The Road to Emmaus, IV; they do not know they are praying.

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The disciples on the road to Emmaus do not recognise Jesus. But, as always, Jesus does not seem to be at a loss – I doubt he was surprised in the least. He knew who he was dealing with, knew what they needed. He therefore draws them out to begin with. He asks them what they had been talking about: ‘What are all these things that you are discussing as you walk along? They stopped, their faces downcast’ (Luke. 24:17). How poignant this is for me. The One who knows all things, delicately asks these two dull-eyed, dreary men to tell him what they had been discussing. Surely, Jesus knows that in asking that question, he is asking not only for an account of recent events; he is also saying covertly, Tell me what is making you so downcast. He is giving them another opportunity to hash everything through. But this time, it will be different. Cleopas and the other disciple do tell Jesus all about their experience. But they are not merely talking to each other now, pooling their bewilderment and sorrow. They are talking to the Risen Lord.

This, perhaps, is the first prayer to the Risen Jesus that any of the disciples had made. The two here don’t know it at the time, but they are praying, telling Jesus all about it, placing their hurts and disappointments before him – and not, incidentally, without a little dig: “Then one of them, called Cleopas, answered him, ‘You must be the only person staying in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have been happening there these last few days.”

Yes, haven’t there been such times in my life? Haven’t I often said something similar to the Lord – and I do not even have the excuse of not recognising him. Haven’t I said something like, “What are you about, Lord? You don’t seem to see what is going on!” I can just hear the incredulity in Cleopas’s voice, the tones of bitterness:

You must be the only person staying in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have been happening there these last few days.’ He asked, ‘What things?’ They answered, ‘All about Jesus of Nazareth, who showed himself a prophet powerful in actions and speech before God and the whole people; and how our chief priests and our leaders handed him over to be sentenced to death, and had him crucified. Our own hope had been that he would be the one to set Israel free.

There it is, the monumental wrongheadedness: ‘Our own hope had been that he would be the one to set Israel free.’ Whatever the disciples had managed to learn from Jesus during his earthly life, all the gospels bring out that there was one thing they never seemed to grasp: that Jesus’ kingdom was not of this world, and his power would never be exercised after the manner of earthly rulers and politicians. On the contrary, his kingdom was within, and the revolution he would bring about would change us as individuals on the level of our hearts. These interior changes would draw us into a community of believers, united by faith and hope in Jesus, and in love of him. In this community each person would strive to be the servant of the others. Power games or displays of domination would have no place whatever in his kingdom.

Why didn’t they get that? The same reason I don’t get it, I suppose. Oh, I might not be so silly as to think that Jesus will snap his heavenly fingers and change world-scale politics. But, what about the petty politics I have experienced in my own little world? Haven’t I fumed about them? Don’t I find myself secretly hoping that Jesus will ‘fix’ all that? And when he doesn’t, don’t I struggle with dismay and anger? We are slow learners.

SJC

 

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20 November: The Road to Emmaus III.

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And it happened that as they were talking together and discussing it, Jesus himself came up and walked by their side; but their eyes were prevented from recognising him. He said to them, ‘What are all these things that you are discussing as you walk along?’ They stopped, their faces downcast (Luke. 24:15-17).

This is something new. Someone comes along and walks ‘by their side’. We know, because the gospel tells us immediately, that the stranger was Jesus, but the two disciples are clueless as to the identity of this person. Why don’t they recognise their dearest friend? Why don’t they fall all over themselves embracing him? This is a question I find impossible to answer. But it is certainly another of those experiences I have had any number of times in my life.

As I muddle along through the difficulties in my life, trying to understand what seems incomprehensible, someone, or something unexpected enters my life. At times, the unexpected has come in the form of a person – a new relationship is formed. At other times, the unexpected has taken the form of a new responsibility, or set of obligations that cause me to refocus my energies and open myself to new ideas. Do I always recognise Jesus himself walking by my side in these experiences? Well, no. Not immediately.

Many times, something new is mediated through the liturgy of the Church. I am a Catholic Benedictine nun. As such, I am in church at least seven times a day for the liturgy or private prayer. This is a real encounter with the living God. But am I always sufficiently alive to this experience? Again, I must confess that I’m not. Instead, I can be preoccupied by my own thoughts, my own version of my experiences, my own hopes and disappointments.

But rather than berating myself for having missed the obvious so often, perhaps this story teaches that this is a fairly typical experience for disciples to have. It happened to Cleopas and the other disciple on the road to Emmaus. It happens to me. I am not alone here. Furthermore, the Lord knows what we are like, and does not leave us in our wrongheadedness any longer than necessary. We can be hopeful in a way that the two disciples couldn’t be, for we can remember that in this story, Jesus takes the initiative and helps the disciples. He came up and walked by their side. He comes up to walk with us, too. We will explore this further tomorrow.

 

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19 November: the Road to Emmaus, II.

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Continuing Sister Johanna’s reflections on Luke 24.

We are looking at the story of the Road to Emmaus, told in Luke’s gospel. Yesterday we began looking at the story’s context. It might be good to scroll back to it if you weren’t here yesterday.

The story starts out with the words, ‘That same day….’ What happened that day? First, early in the morning of the day the two disciples decide to go to Emmaus, Jesus’ tomb had been found empty by the women who went to it intending to anoint the body of Jesus (Luke. 24:3). Well, not quite empty. Two beings ‘in brilliant clothes’ were in the tomb, and they gave astonishing news to the women: ‘He is risen’, they said (Luke 24:7). But, secondly, the Eleven don’t believe the story when the women return and tell it. Then, thirdly, only Peter seems willing to suspend judgement. He visits the tomb himself (Luke 24:12), but from Luke’s account, it is hard to know what Peter is thinking, or whether this takes him any further forward. “That very same day” surprising things are happening, but still, the day can only be described as a day of deepest grief, perplexity, and fear for the Eleven.

I am there. I am Peter. Like him, I see, but do not know what to think. I am still attached to my plans – my plans, all seemingly based on a valid interpretation of God’s will for me, and which have all been rubbished by circumstances beyond my control. And a new understanding of his will is found neither easily nor immediately.

But, oh the relief that can come of talking about my perplexity and pain with someone who understands! That same day, two disciples are walking to the village of Emmaus, seven miles away from Jerusalem, and are taking comfort in the emotional release of talking: ‘…and they were talking together about all that had happened’ (Luke.24:13).

Their walk is a long one, probably taking several hours, and giving them plenty of time to talk. I see them walking and talking, rehearsing, probably somewhat compulsively, what had happened to Jesus, to them, to their friends over the previous few days. I see them revisiting their feelings about those who decided that Jesus would be crucified. They are talking, probably, about his mother, the other disciples, about the story told by the women who went to the tomb. They are talking about Jesus himself, and about the hopes they had had. They are trying to work out why it all happened, trying to make sense of something that makes no sense to them at all. This talking and talking and talking seems to help on one level. Each time a new insight surfaces, the hope arises briefly that maybe from this angle they will somehow be able to make sense of the whole shattering thing. So the entire experience is gone through again, with this new idea in place. But, no. Nothing really helps. No insight makes the mess of their experience turn into something coherent and meaningful. They trudge onward down the road. They can barely hold their heads up. They are depressed, ‘downcast’, as the gospel tells us.

Readers familiar with this story know that the situation will soon improve for the disciples. But, for the moment, let’s not anticipate that. Let’s remember that these two disciples are like us: they don’t see into the future. They are wrestling with an intense sense of failure on many levels: their failure in courage, their failure to understand, the apparent failure of Jesus, whom they trusted. Like these two, I can sometimes feel that my discipleship has been a waste of time, a big mistake, and all I can do is to trudge on down whatever path I have taken.

 

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18 November: The Road to Emmaus – Seeing Salvation, I.

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Greetings again to Sister Johanna, who has been reading Saint Luke and letting the Word speak to her. Thank you, Johanna, for sharing with us! 

The complete story of the Road to Emmaus is told only in the Gospel of Luke (Lk 24:13-32). It is a well known account of two disciples making a journey on foot from Jerusalem to the village of Emmaus. One of the disciples has a name. Cleopas. The other is forever unnamed. A man whom they do not recognise finds them and walks with them. Because of this man, they have an experience that changes everything, that re-orients them vocationally, humanly – on every level. I love this story. Yet, whenever I read it, I feel a strange ache inside. I feel that I am there, with Cleopas – I am the other one, the unnamed one; I am walking down that dreary, hot and dusty road.

As a Catholic, I am accustomed to hearing this story proclaimed in the liturgy during the Easter Octave; then, later in the Easter season, it comes again, this time on a Sunday. It is an important story. It is one of the stories about Jesus appearing after his death. It tells us that the Lord is Lord, and that he is risen from death. But this story has many levels, and teaches things in addition to the glorious fact of Jesus’ resurrection. It has a lot to say about what discipleship can feel like not only at Easter time, but all the time. It deserves to be revisited outside the liturgical season of Easter in order to appreciate just how many aspects of the ordinary Christian life it addresses. It is a lengthy story, but I would like to look at it a bit at a time in a series of posts.

It begins like this:

Now that very same day, the two of them were on their way to a village called Emmaus, seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking together about all that had happened (Luke 24:13).

Now that very same day….’ The same day as what? It’s the day that is three days after Jesus’ death on Friday – three days after a shattering Friday that no one had yet learned to call “good”. This third day is the one we now know as Easter Sunday, but in this gospel passage no one had learned to use that designation either. For Jesus’ disciples, that ‘same day’ is just the next day in a series of tragic days. Jesus, their master, their beloved rabbi, their dearest friend, had been crucified like a criminal on the Friday before. And now, he was dead. His ignominious death seemed to augur only one thing: that no one would ever take any of his teachings seriously or believe any of his claims. His kingdom would simply never be established. The disciples were confronted now with death’s finality, its apparently locked and barricaded door. There is no bargaining with death. The dead are irretrievable. The grieving have no choice but to accept the loss of the deceased person, as well as the unique world that person represents. That is what the disciples were struggling with on that day.

How often has discipleship been like that to me? How often has Jesus seemed to be, well, “dead” and lost to me? Yet, I can also say that this state, although I know it well and truly, has never been a permanent one for me. Jesus is full of surprises – as the disciples will soon re-discover.

That same day, surprising things began to happen that the disciples did not know what to make of. Tomorrow we will begin look at them.

SJC.

Franciscan friends on the road to Canterbury.

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November 4: Praying to – or through – the Saints

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We Catholics say the words at every Mass: ‘Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof.’ We know the Centurion of the lakeside garrison at Capernaum addressed them to Jesus, and they are a timely reminder of our unworthiness and sinfulness. But when Father Anthony read the passage from Luke 7 recently, I heard a subplot that I found interesting.

A certain centurion’s servant, who was dear to him, was sick and ready to die. So when he heard about Jesus, he sent elders of the Jews to Him, pleading with Him to come and heal his servant.

The Centurion does not address Jesus directly, but trusts his Jewish friends to present his plea, which they do, earnestly. The Centurion sends a second group of friends with the message:

I am not worthy that You should enter under my roof. Therefore I did not even think myself worthy to come to You. But say the word, and my servant will be healed.

It is not clear that Jesus ever entered the Centurion’s house, or met him outside. But the intercession of the Centurion’s friends to Jesus was prayer enough. The servant was healed.

At All Saints’ tide I take three lessons I take from this story: firstly, to pray for others, as the Centurion’s friends do; secondly, to be open to praying to the saints, and thirdly, to put this text before any evangelical friends who shy away from doing so as ‘un-Biblical’.

You don’t have to pray to the saints ( although the standard prayer in the Litany is ‘Saint N., pray for us’) – but it may help!

MMB

 

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October 29: Shoulder to shoulder

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Natasha Devon MBE is a writer on mental health issues.

I rather liked this tip for teachers:

“Practise shoulder to  shoulder communication

“Some people find eye contact too intense. If there is someone who you suspect is struggling with their mental health, but who finds it difficult to open up, try asking them to help you with carrying text books or clearing out a cupboard. They may begin to confide in you when the pressure of eye contact is removed.” *

Of course, it need not be a mental health issue, just a problem or traumatic event that someone might need to resolve.

I am reminded of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, walking shoulder to shoulder with the Answer to their problems and trauma. Their eyes were opened when he broke bread while sharing a meal with them. (Luke 24:13-35)

The meal table can be, should be, a place of peace where our eyes can be opened to each other. But physically walking alongside someone, even for a few steps, can be a moment of solidarity. Let’s be aware of opportunities as they come our way.

  • Report magazine, September 2018 p21.

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30 August: Gardeners’ Union

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I think most gardeners would line up with the one in Christ’s parable of the barren fig tree:

A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came and sought fruit thereon, and found none. Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and find none: cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground? And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung itAnd if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down. 

Luke 13: 6-9

Four years ago that  I rescued this bench from being demolished by a willow tree falling across it.

Now, the bench would be sittable-on, were it not for the weeds, and the willow is doing its job as part of an informal hedge against the field behind and above it. A change of crop in the field beyond, and fewer rainstorms,  may both have contributed to its not being further undermined, but those vertical shoots are still vertical and almost thick enough to become fence posts if needed.

A good spot to curl up with a book, especially if you bring a scythe along with you!

And a job well done, if I say so myself.

But what happened to the fig tree, I wonder? I can’t help feeling that a few vigorous shoots would spring up from the base – as happened when I had to take out a fig some years back – and it would be inspired to fruit again. Maybe I could use some summer pruning before I enter my autumnal years?

WT

 

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