Listening ("week" 1, step 1), session 7

Different versions of Ps 95, 7b-8a:

If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts. Common responsorial version of Ps 95, though I can't find an official translation that uses this text

Oh, that today you would hear his voice: Do not harden your hearts . . .  NABRE

O that today you would hearken to his voice! Harden not your hearts . . . RSV

O that today you would listen to his voice! “Harden not your hearts . . . Revised Grail

Today, if only you would hear his voice, "Do not harden your hearts . . . " NIV

To day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your heart . . . KJV

(I was sure I had a label just for this psalm, as often as I've written about it. I do now.)

I love how the different translations give us different ways of thinking about this: listening vs. hearing him, God specifically telling us not to harden our hearts vs. the psalmist warning us against this. I know there is a version - perhaps the Grail, but I'll have to check on that when I have my breviary at hand - that says " . . . do not grow stubborn . . ." rather than "do not harden your hearts."

All of it comes down to putting aside my agenda and desires in order to heed God's.

I am still not good at this.

I might need to revisit this first step even as I move on in the Exercises.

The one I haven't been using

There are four options for the invitatory psalm in the Liturgy of the Hours. I'm still only using the Office of Readings, but the invitatory is always used with whatever Hour one first prays each day. Usually it is either Morning Prayer or the Office of Readings, the latter of which is still offered up in (at least some) monastic communities during the wee morning hours as Vigils.

Three of these four psalms seem to lend themselves to particular seasons of the year. I most often use Psalm 95, which is the primary recommended one and is particularly well suited for Lent with its second half, including the reminder, If today you hear the voice of the Lord, harden not your hearts. (I know I've reflected in the past on how the different translations of this verse provide different insights into the ways we disregard God's voice, but can't find that post right now. Maybe it's just on paper?)  The other option I use often is Psalm 24, which includes the verse, O gates, lift up your heads. Grow higher ancient portals. Let him enter, the King of Glory!  This is so apropos for Advent, the season in which we pray for God to prepare our hearts to receive our Savior more fully. And Psalm 100 seems to fit the Easter season, beginning with the admonition to Cry out with joy to the Lord, all the earth!

I haven't prayed Psalm 67 as often, though, and this morning I am having a fresh (for me, at least) insight into its last strophe,

The earth has yielded its fruit
for God, our God, has blessed us.
May God still give us his blessing
'til the ends of the earth revere him. 

I'm sure that the people of Israel primarily sang this verse in reference to the physical bounty of the harvest and in remembrance of the ways that God miraculously provided for their needs in ancient times. But it seems to me that the modern believer whose physical needs are already being amply supplied by God (skipping the obvious social justice teaching here) should also strive for another, perhaps more miraculous fruit from God: a more transformed life.

I often get complacent in my walk with God, accepting the habitual choices that I no longer even think about as I am making them: flying off the handle over my frustrations, engaging in impure thoughts, even indulging my penchant for reflection on my own thoughts and circumstances rather than praying. The thing that keeps more people from being drawn to the love of God is that they don't see it in our lives. There is either no transformation to which they might be drawn, or worse, the only transformation they see is the seeming judgment of their way of living. We make the same mistakes they do, tolerate certain behaviors in ourselves while condemning comparable behaviors in others. We say we trust God, but live our lives each day the same way as everyone else, getting wrapped up over our life decisions as if we were our only source of providence and often making them accordingly.

The only fruit which might make those around me revere God is a transformed life, and that means letting people see what he has transformed me from, both in the past and today. God's glory shines through the weaknesses in our lives that are answered in his strength. And we steal his glory, both by suggesting that we have made the changes that are really the result of his grace and by not letting him transform us out of our old selves simply because we have already - to our eyes - changed so much. When we encounter something that we can't change on our own, we too often choose to accept what we shouldn't rather than enter more fully into the painful process of allowing God to overcome and transform our limitations.

I have a feeling I'll be coming back to this thought more during Lent, or perhaps again during the Easter season. After all, as I've been observing, it was at the end of his fast that Jesus was tempted, and that has been when I return to my old ways, as well.

God, it is time I let you really have your way with me.

Resting

Restless is the heart until it rests in God. - St. Augustine of Hippo
So I swore in my anger, "They shall not enter into my rest." - Ps 95
. . . do solemnly swear or affirm . . . - Oath of Enlistment

Praying Psalm 95 this morning, upon which I have reflected several times in the past, I came to consider afresh the last verse.  The end of this Psalm always struck me as harsh compared to the rest of it.

This morning I thought about it in a different way.  Perhaps the original sense of this verse was as I have always understood it, and it is probably important to keep in mind the effect that letting our hearts go astray has on the heart of God.  I believe such straying grieves him greatly.  But this morning I'm considering, perhaps along with St. Paul, who wrote at length about entering into the Sabbath rest, that God's "anger" and "swearing" from this verse are not at all as we tend to understand them.  Just as I believe God's "jealousy" is very different from ours, being jealous on our behalf rather than his own, I believe his anger is the same way.  He is angry for our sake, because we lack the sense and insight to be angry for our own, at least in useful ways.  Oh, we get angry with ourselves often enough, but it is too frequently shrouded in a fear of change that causes that anger to perpetuate itself rather than motivate us to grow. Our inability to enter into his rest may not be because God prevents us from entering into it as a punishment for letting our hearts wander.  Rather, in his anger on our behalf God affirms for us the consequences of letting our hearts wander far from him: we cannot enter into his restful presence so long as we allow our hearts to go astray.

There are many ways we do that, and not all of them are inherently sinful.  In fact, I believe that many of the good and important things that are ours to do may end up leading our hearts astray when we falsely believe that any of them are more important than gifting ourselves with adequate time to enter quietly into God's presence.  It's easy for us to believe we don't have time to spend unproductively, but the greater truth is that the most productive thing we can do each day is spend time resting in God's presence, basking in his great glory and boundless love for us.

Perhaps it is about normal for me to get halfway into the Lenten season "by program" before being able to reach a quiet time in which I can rest a little.  But I'm convinced that this norm is not God's plan for me.  Rather, he'd have me not be so busy, so astray with things that I deem so urgent or which appeal to me more, so that I might receive the gift of his rest to empower my daily walk with him.

Good Friday adoration, 2012

Come, let us worship Christ, the Son of God, who redeemed us by his blood. - Good Friday antiphon for the Invitatory Psalm

[Here are my reflections before the Lord in Eucharistic adoration this Good Friday. Square brackets are added at the time of posting]:

Come. Let us sing to the Lord and shout with joy to the Rock who saves us. Let us approach him with praise and thanksgiving, and sing joyful songs to the Lord." Ps 95, first stanza.

The Rock through whom God delivered us through the Red Sea is the Rock through whom he gave us water in the desert is the Rock of our salvation from sin and death, is now in the Garden [Gethsemani, but also Eden], in agony. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in travail together until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies, (Rom 8, 22-23) the redemption won for us, but it must groan all the more for what we are doing to the One who created us, the Rock of our redemption. How dare we presume to put him to death?

[I know, it isn't quite like that for us, exactly (see stanza 2 reflection). Still, it is good in moments of temptation to remember the connection between our choice and his suffering under the weight of our sin.]

The Lord is God, the mighty God, the great King over all the gods. He holds in his hand the depths of the earth, and the highest mountains as well. He made the sea, it belongs to him; the dry land, too, for it was formed by his hand." Ps 95, second stanza.

What love the Creator has for us, in submitting to our judgment.
It is the judgment we deserve or, at least, the one we have chosen rather than choosing to be the sons and daughters which God has created us to be. God alone knows enough to judge properly - at least about what really matters: the condition of my/our heart and soul - yet chooses instead to take our judgment upon himself, be it our judgment of ourselves, our judgment of one another, or our presumptuous judgment of him. [When we choose sin we choose our own eternal death over the abundant eternal life that our loving God desires for us. But Christ loves us too much to let this decision which we make in our ignorance stand unchallenged, and so chooses to be put to death for our sake.] He is the One who created everything from nothing.  He didn't merely rearrange what was already there, as we do in grabbing materials to build a wondrous, towering, glorious edifice, or a combination of sound frequencies and amplitudes that have never been put together in precisely that way before, or a neural connection that results in a thought over which others might ponder or wonder (ponder or wander?). Yet he who alone can create something out of nothing is in the Garden, in agony over how he is to be reduced to the nothing of our contemptuous judgment of him. [If we trust in God, we know that we are not reduced to nothing by our death; still, we routinely make others, and most especially God himself, as nothing to us. No one is as nothing to Christ, and these hours demonstrate it as nothing else ever has.]

Come, then, let us bow down and worship, bending the knee before the Lord, our maker, for he is our God and we are his people, the flock he shepherds. Ps 95, third stanza.

The angels come to be with you, Lord, to comfort and encourage. I, who am about to judge you, Lord, who has judged you so often, dare to approach you here, as well.  Full of sorrow for how I have dared and will dare to judge you, is there any comfort at all that I can bring to you for what my sin is bringing you to?  If I cannot bring succor to you, Lord, please at least let me worship you and marvel at the depth of your love and your submission.

Our desire to comfort you is like an abusive parent trying to comfort their child by being tender toward him after hurting him terribly. The child's trauma remains, Lord, just as we are told that the marks of our judgment remain upon the Lamb of God for all eternity.  It is how we recognize you [and our place in you. I can't find the scripture reference to this. I'll add it later if I run across it, but the idea is that, like Thomas, we will recognize Jesus in heaven by his scars].

Today, listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not grow stubborn as your fathers did in the wilderness, when at Meribah and Massah they challenged and provoked me, although they had seen all of my works. Ps 95, fourth stanza

[I have written so often about this psalm, and alluded to these in my notes from this morning, yet can't seem to find the place where I observed the insights that are gained when we reflect on the two ways the first verse of this stanza are interpreted: as above, and "If today you hear his voice . . . " They both provide important points of view for our approaching and responding to God's presence.]

The Rule of St. Benedict begins with the words Listen carefully, my child, to your master's precepts.  I've also reflected on a couple occasions about the significance of this psalm verse in calling us to reflect on Christ's words from the cross, three of which we will hear in today's Passion reading. And over these last three Lenten years I have written at exhaustive length as inspired by Fr. Neuhaus' book, Death on a Friday Afternoon. It is valuable for us to listen to what you say, Lord, and reflect on what each word means for us. We have stubbornly judged you, concluding that your will and your evaluation are less applicable than our own to our lives. We will doubtless do so again, determinedly hardening our hearts, trusting ourselves and our judgment rather than yours, trying to remake you and your will and your word according to our own image of you rather than allowing you to remake us in yours.  No matter how much we witness the works born in the extremity of your love, we challenge and provoke you.

Forty years I endured that generation. I said, "They are a people whose hearts go astray, and they do not know my ways." So I swore in my anger, "They shall not enter into my rest." Ps 95, fifth stanza

We cannot enter into our rest in you while we cling to our right to judge in your stead. Do we not see how our judgment leads to agony rather than rest?  The writer of the letter to the Hebrews writes (Heb 4) about our entering into the Lord's sabbath rest. This is the archetype of the eternal "rest" in which we praise and worship you for all eternity!

Pange Lingua Gloriosi!
Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory!
Of his flesh the mystery sing,
and the blood, all price exceeding,
shed by our immortal King! - St. Thomas Aquinas

[I won't quote all of this wonderful ancient hymn. But it has a special meaning on this holy night as I reflect on what the Lord is and will be experiencing for my sake.] Oh, I won't be able to convey all the thoughts which have flooded me in praying this hymn in this eternal moment!

The Eucharist demonstrates for us how every created thing in nature is transformed in you [including ourselves if we allow it]. It is more than a mere archetype, for this mere matter has actually become you, Lord. [Perhaps, in the end, this will be true for all of your creation?] Yet every thing, all of creation, bears you, by your grace and action.  Yet you are uniquely present in these elements Lord, which bear your body and blood, soul and divinity, to and for us.

Why this tumult among the nations, among peoples this useless murmuring? 
They arise, the kings of the earth; princes plot against the Lord and his Anointed . . . 
Now, oh kings, understand. Take warning, rulers of the earth; serve the Lord . . ." Ps 2

As we cast our judgment upon God, are these verses not speaking of us? Though we may feel powerless, how often is that not in response to a course which we ourselves have put into action [as king and ruler over our own life] when we choose what we deem best for ourselves and our loved ones: a career, a hobby, an addiction, a way of life?

Let me instead do you homage, here now in the Garden and later beneath your cross, Lord, so that I might also do so in your glorious presence for all eternity!

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Ps 22

We often feel forsaken.  I've heard it suggested that Jesus may have prayed this entire Psalm from the cross, and the gospel writer used shorthand to convey it to his audience. [Alternately, Jesus may have been invoking the entire Psalm to his hearers, lacking the energy to pray it aloud entire.]

Whatever our emotional state - joy, despair, excitement, abandonment, sadness, longing - we can find its counterpart in the Psalms, and know that we are praying these emotions using the very words which Jesus prayed, too.

The Hebrews reading from today's Office of Readings (also the source for the Psalms on which I've reflected thus far) is especially powerful to spend some time in on Good Friday!  [I didn't record any specific reflections on it this year, but relished it nonetheless. But I wanted to spend some time with Fr. Neuhaus before the Lord in this special time.]

At the entrance of the chapel of Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity in the Bronx are the words, "I THIRST, I QUENCH." These are the same words at the entrance of the community's chapels all over the world . . . In Rome I said Mass for the Missionaries of Charity in their plain little chapel just outside St. Peter's Square. Six sisters, including two from India, one from Indonesia and a formidable Valkyrie, perhaps from Sweden, operate a soup kitchen and refuge for the street people of Rome. The intesity of the sisters' devotion and the simplicity of their lives embarrassed me.  How complex and cluttered with plans and projects is my life compared to theirs. Then it came to me: Their austere attentiveness was a thirsting for the water of life. It was an ecstatic thirsting. In the communion their thirst was quenched and, at the same time, intensified." Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

[Fr. Neuhaus is writing on the fifth word, I thirst. Many (including me) have written on this word extensively, about how Jesus' physical thirst is a sign of the thirst which led the eternal Son to become incarnate knowing we would judge and condemn him.  His thirst for his beloved prodigal sons and daughters is greater.

After reading the passage above, I seemed to sense the following message:]

Enter into my thirst, and allow me to slake it.
You hunger and thirst already, not realizing what you truly need to have your longing satisfied.
I am all you need.  Every other longing of your heart and your life - beyond your physical needs for food and shelter, which I supply - is really your longing for me, which you so often misattribute and misinterpret. You turn to that which can never satisfy your thirst when I am waiting with a fountain of my love and my presence [for they are inseparable]. It is no mere sip of wine on a sponge that I offer you, but a river of grace that leads to an ocean of love. Yet it is true that when you allow me to quench your thirst, you will find yourself sharing instead in my thirst for my people whom I love.  I long for you, my dear one, and you will know when my thirst for you is quenched, because you will thirst for your brothers and sisters. This wholesome thirst would drain you, were I not its source and its fulfillment.
I am thirsty.  I know that you thirst, as well.  Enter in, and discover my true thirst, and find its quenching in me.

[I then continued reading, to encounter this paragraph in the next half page, as if in verification:]

From the cross, "I thirst." And those who kneel at his cross share his thirst, which is both a thirst for him and for all for whom he thirsts. - ibid.

[The final quotes I jotted down prior to leaving the chapel this morning are too disjointed to quite work as posting.  Fr. Neuhaus refers to this event by and in which the world is refounded, and quotes a half dozen scripture passages in which it is clear that these events now fulfilled were planned "from the foundation of the world." To understand this properly we must enter into the mindset of eternity again, not "time without end" but the absence of time, in which our thoughts and actions are not "foreseen" so that we have no choice in them, but seen as we will choose them. It isn't that God had to respond to our fallen condition by sending a Savior who fulfilled all the conditions he had established through prophecy. It is rather that God has seen our need, has seen the choices we are making, and prepared for us the law and the prophets so that we would recognize this Deliverer because of them.  This was his plan in response to us from eternity before there was such a thing as "before," and as it is fulfilled in Christ and in our embracing of Christ, is the plan for eternity when there is no longer any such thing as "after."

Lord, help me to enter more fully into the eternity you have prepared for me.]

Good Friday Adoration reflection

This reflection was written between 3 and 5 a.m. on Good Friday morning, though not really entered here until April 26 & 27.

Surely it seems to me I must have reflected on this last year, having read Fr. Neuhaus' book.  Still, here is where I begin.

The Invitatory: Psalm 95
Today, Listen . . . to the voice of the Lord.


He speaks seven words from the cross today, as well as words in front of Pilate, and the Sanhedrin, and the Father.  They form a song of unfathomable love!

Who is it you want?  - Jn 18, 4
Jesus asks this of those who come to arrest him.  They fall to the ground when he responds to their answer, "Jesus, the Nazorean," by saying, "I AM."  Jesus asks us, as well.  So who is it that I want?  Do I want Jesus, the Nazorean?  Or dare I seek Jesus, the Christ, the King, the Son of God?  And do I want You, Lord, above all else that I might want?  Will I make you ask me again, "Who is it you want?"  Do I hear you tolling me: "If I AM the one you want, let these go"?  You call me to let go of all else but you!

Do I fall on my face in recognition of your holiness and my unworthiness, and then out of gratitude for your love, which has won my victory over sin and death?

"Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?" - Jn 18, 11
The song which Jubilee uses for the 10th station, Thy Will Be Done, says that Jesus drank our cup of darkness and death.  St. John emphasizes the Lord's willing acceptance of this cup, by which he establishes a new covenant.  He omits Jesus' agonized pleading, because what matters to the beloved disciple is the choice Jesus makes, and the choice we make in response to him.

"I have spoken publicly to all who would listen. Ask those who heard me when I spoke.  They will know what I said." - Jn 18, 20-21
Today - Listen.  Then we will know the love which Jesus has spoken.  If we but listen, we will hear him!  The Psalmist pleads with us not to grow stubborn, not to harden our hearts, yet so often we do.  We let our perceptions of reality interfere with hearing what Jesus says.

"If I have spoken wrongly, testify to the wrong.  But if not, why hit me?" - Jn 18, 23
Much wrong has been spoken and done by those who claim to follow Jesus.  Somtimes we allow these failures to obscure, to muddle the perfect love Jesus speaks.  We provide testimony against Jesus' (sometimes alleged) followers, but there is none to be produced against Jesus.

"Do you say this on your own, or have others been telling you about me?" - Jn 18, 34
So often our perceptions of Christ are not from our experience of him, but are from what others tell us about him with their words and actions.  Jesus invites us to listen to him, not to simply take the word of others, but to encounter him personally.

"It is you who say I am a King." - Jn 18, 37a
Jesus would distance himself from our preconceptions of him.  If we see him as less than he is - and we always do; our minds are too little to grasp him fully - he dismisses our limited perceptions, and encourages us to encounter him more closely.

"The reason I came into this world was to testify to the truth.  Anyone who hears the truth hears my voice." - Jn 18, 37b
There's a lot of truth to be heard, and we are rarely willing or able to hear it all.  It seems to us that some injustice we perceive is the whole story, that some liberation we desire for others is what they need most. Jesus provides our ultimate liberation - from the warping of receiving God's gifts to us in any way other than as God intends - in the context of a humble relationship with him.  God reveals his will for us most fully in Jesus, who set aside every right to lay down his life for his beloved.  Yes, he is a king, but one for whom selfless love is more important than his rights, his rightful place.  Only when we become more humbly interested in the truth than in our preconceptions of it will we hear Jesus' voice.

"You would have no power over me whatever unless it were granted from above.  That is why he who handed me over to you is guilty of the greater sin." - Jn 19, 11
It is when we allege to know Jesus in the context of our relationship with him, yet still judge him in some way, still reject him or some aspect of his message of love and holiness, that we are guilty of the greater sin.

Now to the seven last words, three of which are from St. John's gospel.  I need to keep listening to them all:

"Father, forgive them.  They know not what they do." - Lk 23, 34
And we don't.  We judge and condemn Christ - and his body, the Church - convinced that we we know best.  Yet even as we judge and condemn him, he prays for us to be forgiven.
(I will want to expand on this in another post.)


"Today you will be with me in Paradise." - Lk 23, 43
1. No matter our sins or our failings, God's mercy and Christ's sacrifice are greater.  When we acknowledge his rightful place, he delivers us into the place he has prepared for us, which we could never enter on our own.
2. Today.  There is that word today.  It is important for us to remember that the kingdom of God is not just the destination to which we aspire, but our journey as well.  The kingdom of God is at hand, and unless we embrace Christ's kingship now we will be ill prepared to enter it fully.

"Behold your son.  Behold your mother." - Jn 19, 26-27
Jesus brings us into his family.  This includes the responsibility and gift to care for one another's needs, to uplift and support each other, to be committed to one another.  It isn't just that Jesus' mother becomes our mother, which is itself a wonderful thing.  But likewise Jesus' Father, and all his brothers and sisters, become ours as well.  What a gift!  But look at what the Body of Christ does for his family: he lays down his life!  And this is a wonderful gift and privilege for us, as Christ's body, too.

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" - Mk 15, 34
Jesus prays the Psalms for a final time, from the cross.  As a devout Jew, he doubtless prayed them all the time; they were ingrained in his memory.  We pray them, too, usually forgetting that as we do we are praying the very thoughts which Jesus prayed often!
Of the seven last words of Christ, this is the one to which we can most often and most fully relate, and perhaps is the one in which we most fully see Jesus as one of us.  Jesus has fully embraced our humanity.  In our sin, but especially in our pain, we can feel abandoned by God and utterly alone.  Yet we never are.  Jesus is our constant companion.  He bore this sense of isolation for our sake, and we often find ourselves called to bear our own for the sake of others.  When I feel overwhelmed by life, it is my love for those around me that sustains me along my way, just as Jesus' love for the Father and for us sustained him.

"I thirst" - John 19, 28
I've reflected in the past about how Jesus thirsts primarily for us.  At the cross, it is clear that this is not for his own sake, but for ours!  We allow ourselves to thirst after many things.  But the only thirst which is worth our full attention, and which is never denied.  is our thirst for God.  What about a thirst for freedom, for justice?  They become misguided unless rooted in God.  Anyone who hears the truth hears Jesus.  "Freedom" and "justice" easily devolve into license and vengeance; anyone crying out for justice or freedom out of the context of Jesus will easily go astray.

"It is finished" - Jn 19, 30
In Jubilee's Way of the Cross service, we reflect that Jesus life and mission are finished, yet his body on earth is still called to respond to him and live out his life.  We must gird ourselves with the towel and wash others' feet. We must feed the hungry, care for the sick, free those imprisoned - above all, by their own sin.  We must lay down our lives, or more accurately, allow Christ to lay down his life through us.

"Into your hands I commend my spirit." - Lk 23, 46
Oh, do we insist on entrusting ourselves only to ourselves!  It is only when we truly entrust ourselves to God that we are set free - from our sin, our anxiety, our shortcomings - to live the life of peace and love which the Father dreams of for us.  Help me to place myself into your hands, Lord, and trust you to provide for me.

A prophetic word.  These are always to be tested against Scripture and the teachings of the Church:
Today, listen to my voice.  Hear me speak my love for you.  Hear me speak it into existence in you, through you.  You are the Body by which I convey my holy love to the world.  Today, listen to my voice as I proclaim that you are forgiven, you are loved, you are my family.  Do not grow stubborn and put me to the test.  Trust in the word of holy love you hear from me.  Live according to my plan of loving peace, which far exceeds your own plans. Live in my providence, which overflows your life with abundance that you could never provide for yourself.  Live in my forgiveness and love rather than your sin and self-judgment, for I set you free from the bonds that have held you.  You are not slaves to sin - you are my precious son, my beloved daughter, and I rejoice in your return home to me.

My Lent begins in earnest

This morning, I prayed though I didn't feel like it, felt as if I didn't belong in the Lord's presence.  Old stuff, newly scraped open twice yesterday.  I should know better by now.  I do know better.  But in the middle of the assault, it is hard to connect with.  I must find healthy ways to deal with that.  And I must touch base with Teri about it far earlier, rather than let it spiral out of control.  After this one healthy decision - to honor the Lord with my time, at least:

- Letting the words of Psalm 43 (the third section in today's Office of Readings) concuss against me as an accusation was not healthy.

- Hardening my heart against the words of mercy in the subsequent reading from St. Leo, conscious as I was that I was doing so against God's pleading to me in Ps 95, was not healthy.

- Skipping breakfast just because I didn't feel hungry was not healthy, after a fast day yesterday.

- Finally reaching out to someone was probably the second halfway decent decision I made today, but I didn't do that in a healthy way, either.  I should have trusted Teri with this.  Still, it was better than keeping it all in my head, I suppose.

- When that tension finally gave, I nearly passed out.  Literally: room swirling, cold sweat, everything I remember from my freshman year in high school.

For a guy who thought he'd gotten a lot healthier than this, that's a lot of unhealthy decisions for one morning.  I must learn to turn to God's mercy when I start to feel assailed.  I must remember what I have learned of God's (and others'!) love for me.  I must not put myself through the wringer like this anymore.

I must believe that I deserve better.  Perhaps that requires nothing more than Fr. Neuhaus suggests: keeping my eyes on Christ, rather than myself.

A matter of trust

(post title from a Billy Joel song)

In whom do we trust?
Put another way: to whose voice do we listen?

“When he has brought out all his own, the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jn 10

“Today, listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not grow stubborn . . .” (or: "If today you hear His voice, harden not your hearts . . . ") Ps 95 (As I continue to meditate on this psalm, I keep seeing new stuff in it. Until this morning, I never realized how this verse follows "for we are the his people, the flock he shepherds." How directly this ties into the Jn 10 quote!)

We can't help listening to somebody. But to whom do we give heed? Who do we allow to lead us? Who do we trust? Whose will is really in our best interest?

Don’t we tend to trust primarily in our own understanding and follow our own desires? Haven't we exalted our own ability to figure out how the world works above our need to heed something as old-fashioned and outdated as scripture or church teaching? We've concluded that we have the ability to fully understand the world, and we reject anything that doesn't fit into that understanding as primitive superstition.

Oh, what pain we cause and experience when we listen to the wrong voice!

"Favorite" scriptures

I've been reflecting on this idea of committed, even sacrificial love, or loving with the will, as I alluded to in a Holy Week post. First, some more background, as these thoughts have been brewing for a while.

Most Christians have certain scripture passages to which they frequently turn, sometimes different verses for different occasions. For instance, I love praying the Psalms. Each morning I pray the 24^th (Advent/Christmas), 100^th (Easter), or 95^th (most of the rest of the year). The 121^st and (of course) 23^rd are a great encouragement in times of difficulty. And Psalm 51 is a wonderful, humble prayer for forgiveness. One of the things I love about praying the Psalms is knowing that, as a devout Jew, Jesus prayed them daily, too; he's even been quoted as praying them on the cross. Since he was sinless, I imagine him praying Ps 51 and the other penitential psalms on my behalf.

Of course, there are many passages from both the Hebrew and Greek scriptures (a.k.a. Old and New Testaments, respectively) that reveal wondrous things about our loving God. The book of the prophet Hosea, the prophecies of Isaiah, the Pentateuch; Christians believe all of the ancient scriptures were and are intended to help us recognize Christ for who He is. And of course, the Gospels contain so much wisdom and reveal so much. Because of St. Paul's writing style, some of the epistles can be a challenge, but working through them reveals great treasures. The latter part of Romans 8 was, literally, my lifeline for a time.

The treasures of scripture are so vast and deep that we likely do them an injustice trying to single out one, two, or a handful that are our "favorites," as if we'd relegate the rest to a less important place. Still, there is a specific passage that probably I most often try to apply to my life.

That's a topic that deserves its own post.

Good Friday thoughts

It has become a custom for me to spend at least an hour in prayer in the wee hours of Good Friday morning. The concept is that we are keeping watch with the Lord in Gethsemani, though we're not so presumptuous as to think ourselves any more successful at that than the apostles were. The Garden may have represented a time of crisis for them, but we usually find our personal crisis points somewhere other than our unitive and commemorative participation in the events of Holy Thursday night.

I marvel at the insights and blessings that arise out of this prayer time. Sometimes, I'm touched anew by things I know I've reflected on before: how marvelously Ps 95 (the invitatory psalm which may be used to start prayer virtually every day) applies to the context of Christ's passion ("harden not your hearts," indeed!); the sublime insight of St. John Chrysostom, who points out that the water and blood which flowed from Christ's side are the Baptism and Eucharist by which we become transformed in him; a fresh identification with Jesus' utter crushing (part of the meaning of Gethsemani, where the olives were crushed into oil) -- the One who deserved to be adored by all creation was willing to instead be crushed in our place.

Usually, newer insights accompany these. The last couple of days in the car during my (very short) commute, I've been listening to a talk by Fr. Robert Spitzer, president of Gonzaga University. I was there as he delivered this talk a couple years ago, in the course of which he spent some time discussing the practical application of Jesus' prayer, "Thy will be done." Of course, Jesus taught this in what we know as The Lord's Prayer, but then showed us its ultimate application in the Garden.

To what degree am I willing to truly submit: Father, Thy will be done? Will I trust that this really will be for the best? Isn't it usually only insofar as we can see the potential good, and are not too put out? If it means that we're likely to encounter consequences that intimidate us, or which might cause us to suffer loss or embarrassment or shame, we're not so good at living this out. When we know the right thing but fear implications which cow us into (what we rationalize as) pragmatism, it is much more challenging to trust God's will and providence rather than our own vision.

Today, I am given a gift I can never deserve, as my Savior gives his life in my place. I pray my response to my deliverance will be an ever deeper trusting in God, a willingness to truly and fully submit to God's will, especially when it is most challenging.

"Shout with joy to the Rock who saves us"

More from adoration. I'm amazed at how, no matter how much I've prayed, reflected and written on Ps 95, it keeps providing new inspiration, new insight. [I think this is part of why I believe in Scripture: I've enjoyed works of fiction that were well-written, that I've read passages of over and over again. Eventually, they reach a point at which each reading is a reminiscence, and there is no new real discovery. Scripture remains fresh. I know I've prayed this psalm over 100 times, including on previous Tridua, yet there is ever new applicability.]

We are to "shout with joy" to you, O Lord. Yet we need not shout for you to hear us, so why do you tell us to shout? Is it merely so that the assembly may be emotionally uplifted? Or might it be a shout that is to bear witness of your love and glory to the downtrodden, the empty, the seeking, the lost?

"He holds in his hands the depths of the earth, and the highest mountains as well."
The depths and the heights of my own life, as well. They can seem, to me, to be so great, though they are nothing compared to the depth of your love, Lord.

"Come then, let us bow down and worship, bending the knee before the Lord, our maker."
How much more should I humbly worship since our maker has borne the punishment I deserve! O, angels of God, minister to him who bears my burden. (Another eternity moment - the prayer of each believer who offers this is answered in the Garden this night.)

"We are the flock he shepherds." Through the betrayal, judgement, more beatings, taunting, spitting, crowning with thorns, scourging, condemnation, Via Dolorosa, crucifixion, and grave, to Resurrection, you shepherd us Lord! ["I am the good shepherd, who lays down his life for his sheep."]

"Today, listen to the voice of the Lord," and hear him cry out "I Am," "Anyone who is of the truth hears my voice," "I thirst," "Today you will be with me in paradise," "Here is your mother," "Father, forgive them," "Eloi! Eloi lama sabacthani," "Why have you abandoned me," "It is finished."

[Hear him speak one or more of these words into the circumstances of your life. - an experience I was having with each of them, then an approach Fr. Dave mentioned in his Passion homily]

Holy Thursday/Good Friday, March 24/25, 2005

I don't know where I journaled in '04; maybe I'll find it. (In this and the last post, square brackets are editorial additions at the time of posting.) Here are my reflections from last year:

11 pm
A few “eternity” thoughts struck me tonight, along with a few “Body of Christ” thoughts:

- Jesus girds “his Body” with a towel, and washes the disciples’ feet. “If We Are the Body,” then of course Jesus girds us with the towel as we serve in his name [as he serves through us]. He girds himself, not he girt himself [i.e. in the past], for we are eternal!

- “If We Are the Body,” then it is we ourselves we offer to the Father on the altar, not only the historical Christ or the glorified Christ. “We pray that your angel may take this offering to your altar in heaven,” take us there, in our brokenness, and transform us, so that “as we receive from this altar your sacred Body and Blood” we are transformed more fully into the Body [thanks, Fr. Paul and Fr. Dave!]. The offering we must ultimately make is to not hold back any part of ourselves, and we aren’t there yet, but as Grace more and more transforms us, we are more and more able to offer Christ in us to the Father.

4:50 am

“Come, let us worship Christ, the Son of God, who redeemed (redeems) us with (by) his blood.” – response to Invitatory Psalm

O precious Blood, spilled for me. I put you to death, O Lord. It is I who betray you, who abandon (run from) you, who imprison you, who try you, who condemn (condemn!? How dare I? Nonetheless, it is so.) you, who beat you, who spit upon you, who whips you, who crowns you with thorns, who mocks you, who forces you to carry the cross, who treats you and your clothing as sport, who washes my hands of you, who seeks to be merely entertained by you (a la Herod), who cries out against you, who taunts you. All this though under rightful condemnation for my own wrongdoing, who runs from you, who sleeps rather than watch . . .

[Despite this undeniable truth of my sinfulness . . . ] Yet also, this day, if you’ll allow it, Lord, I will: become You, wrapped in a towel washing feet – or serving in the most humble way in our day; watch and pray; keep you company as closely as possible (a la Mary); follow you along your way; carry the cross with you; weep for your broken, abused Body [in the world today] and do all I can to comfort you; wipe your bloody, bruised face; offer you a moment’s relief from your thirst; watch you nailed, call out for your mercy, and offer it; thirst in your broken Body; accept the care of your beloved ones, and the responsibility for caring. I will, by your grace this day, be faithful, as you live in me and your Spirit transforms me. I will offer forgiveness and receive it. I will drink the cup set before me, knowing that the Father’s perfect will brings Resurrection forth from each moment of death.

“Come, let us worship Christ, the Son of God, who redeems us by his blood!”


“Come, let us sing to the Lord, and shout with joy to the Rock who saves us.”
Ps 95 takes on new meaning in the context of this day [extensive reflections on Ps95 have preceded and followed this in my journaling as I pray it so often; I will probably post these separately], and Good Friday is reflected in this psalm. This is a difficult day, Lord, for us far less than for you because we experience it in the eternity you have purchased for us, so we can rejoice that you are redeeming us by your hellish trial. Come, let us sing of your [unfathomable!] love! This is how you save us! However else we are delivered in [and through] this life’s circumstances, it is always primarily by your cross.

“Let us approach him with thanksgiving, and sing joyful songs to the Lord.”
We are alive only because of your death and subsequent resurrection, Lord. Too often we stay far off from you, even in the joyfulness. How much less [often do] we draw near. You call us (me!)to be near in your ghastly brokenness, to see your broken Body and respond to it, to recognize your Body in the brokenness of those around me, and to draw near to it/you with thanksgiving (what less could I feel for all you have done?). Let us/me sing joyfully over your sacrifice, and let me see that it is the same Body that hung on the cross which you serve through me in the 21st century, in the sick, the homeless, the addicted, the broken, the abused and the abusive, the terrorizer. Let me approach you in them, upon your cross, with thanksgiving and a joyful song.

“The Lord is God, the might God . . . the dry land, too, for it was formed by his hands.”
You who made the entire world, Lord, allowed the world to condemn, abuse, and kill you. What unfathomable humility! What a wonder, that all-powerful You made yourself subject to our whims. [This demonstrates the degree to which] You create us with free will. In thus creating us, you accept death at our hands [through which you free us from death]!
What love, Lord, that you created us anyway [in spite of this]! Then died for us.

“Come then, let us bow down and worship, . . . for he is our God, and we are the people he shepherds, the flock he guides.”
We put our Creator to death. Only you could allow it, Lord. And this is how you shepherd and guide us. “The Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep,” [you tell us]. “Come, let us worship” we will echo again in the liturgy of this day [as the wood of the cross is exposed].

“Today, listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not grow stubborn . . . They shall not enter into my rest.”
For us, Calvary is our Meribah and Massah. Every time we harden out hearts against you, Lord, it is at Calvary. We challenge and provoke you, and in response you die for us. But woe be unto us if we remain hard-hearted, having seen you on the cross for us. We refuse your rest when we do so.


“I confess that I am guilty, and my sin fills me with dismay.” – Ps 38
Your sacrifice is greater than my sins have been, O Lord. Gazing upon you as you are beaten and whipped, buffeted and scorned, spat upon and pierced for me, I know that I have done this to you, for “my sin fills me with dismay.” But “If We Are the Body,” our sin had this effect on you but has the same effect on us, only you bore it in full to deliver us from it.

Heb 9, 11-25
[I just grasped the link between the concept of a] “Testament” and the death of the testator! If we are to be your Testament, Lord, we must die with you to ourselves.

St. John Chrysostom
This reading just blows me away [each year]. It draws me into you, Lord.
What business does the Body of Christ have refusing to be imprisoned, beaten, spat upon, and put to death? It is our great privilege to suffer with Christ, to be rejected with him [for the sake of those rejecting him, as we ourselves have indeed done].