Just one thing…

Butler’s final remarks regarding Ss Peter and Paul are: ‘Impulsive, generous Peter and moody, introverted Paul make an odd pair; but their work was complementary, which is why the Church has remembered them together through the centuries.’  

Their differences in personality and background make it hard to imagine how the two would have got on if they’d worked in close proximity.  I’m not sure for example, that had they worked together as fishermen, theirs would have been the most harmonious boat on the sea.  As it happened, they had the whole of the Mediterranean world to move around and barely ever met.

But they did meet.  For the Office of Readings today, we have a chunk from St Paul’s letter to the Galatians, where Paul sets out in black and white what occurred when he and Barnabas met with Peter, James and John in Jerusalem.  Paul is at pains to point out that ‘These leaders had nothing to add to the Good News as I preach it.  On the contrary, they recognised that I had been commissioned to preach the Good News to the uncircumcised just as Peter had been commissioned to preach it to the circumcised.’    They all shook hand’s a sign of partnership and it seems all the business is conducted.  I imagine all are thinking, ‘Gosh, that went well.  They are jolly good chaps.  The Church is in safe hands indeed…’ and then, as Paul and Barnabas turn to go, Peter calls out,

‘Just one thing, Paul, that we really must insist on…’

Imagine Paul and Barnabas freezing on the threshold – what could it be?  Not circumcision, as that’s all cleared up and everything else has been covered, surely?

‘Remember to help the poor.’

An awful lot of ink has been used to comment on this meeting of Peter and Paul (with even more spilt over the next chapter…) but it’s telling that after what some call ‘the first Council’, the statement that is left ringing in the air is not some intricacy of theology but a most practical point of Christianity: Remember to help the poor (Gal 2:10).

Magnifying and Glorifying

‘Magnificat anima mea Dominum‘ sings Mary, in Latin.  The Book of Common Prayer records her song as, ‘My soul doth magnify the Lord‘, while in our own Divine Office each evening we pray ‘My soul glorifies the Lord…’

Given that God is ‘that than which nothing greater can be thought‘*, I wonder how Mary’s soul – or mine or yours – could possibly magnify the Lord – could make the Lord any bigger?  And similarly, how can anything I do or say add to the glory of God?  Surely if this were possible, implication is that God is less than perfectly glorious?

Let’s consider what we do when we ‘magnify’ something.  We don’t make it bigger, we make it appear bigger to our eyes.  We enable ourselves to see it more clearly; perhaps to see previously imperceptible details and so appreciate it more fully.  If an astronomer sets up a telescope in just the right place and invites us to look, we can see some amazing star or planet that has been around for way longer than any of us, yet we’ve never seen it before. It was a reality to which we had been blind.  God’s grace sometimes works like that astronomer, revealing something of Himself hitherto unseen, or at least unnoticed.

So when our souls ‘magnify’ the Lord, it’s a – Wow! – moment: it turns out God is even greater, even more glorious than we’d had previously thought!  The life of God is greater in us.  We cannot help but praise, adore and then what do we do?  Like Mary, we rush to share that great news, to show others what we have seen and tell of the wonderful things the Lord has done.

‘Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.’

These are the words we hear in the Concluding Rite.  When we hear these words, how do we respond?  In words, we say ‘Thanks be to God’, remembering that it is through God’s grace that we are able to ‘glorify’ Him.  In deeds, please God may we always respond like Mary, with swift obedience, humility and charity.

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* says St Anslem.  More on him here.

Order our days in your peace

I saw a T-shirt the other day that proclaimed the best reason to be a teacher: August!

Even if we’re not teachers, most of us experience at least a little of that August joy, whether we are off staying in new places, with new people, or having new experiences more locally.  Even for those who don’t take official holiday in August, the month can be markedly different: travelling to work might be easier with a significant proportion of people away on holiday.  Workloads might be lighter for the same reason.  So many of our clubs, hobbies and other commitments ‘take a break’ for August giving us unsought free time.

Whether we’re on holiday or juggling children and work, or looking after grandchildren or simply coping with so many colleagues away, August is too long a time to be completely out of routine.  There is, however, a way to keep a sense of order and inner peace even though our external life might seem a little chaotic and topsy-turvy.  We pray for it during the Roman Canon:

Order our days in your peace.

We start each day aware that it is a gift from God and aware that our lives are a gift from God.  Each morning, we offer ourselves to God for his service, ask for his blessing and ask that he ‘order our days in your peace‘.  Then, when the day is done, we return all to God with gratitude.  This is our daily prayer, not just our term-time prayer.  In fact, when we are out of routine, it is even more important!  Holidays afford many different opportunities for prayer and praise and it is inevitable that even prayer routines change a little during holidays but our initial turning of the heart and mind to God at the very beginning of the day must always be there if we dare hope that he will order our days in his peace.

Learning from those open-minded Magi

In days gone by (and still, for some people in some places), the Epiphany included the Baptism of Jesus and the Wedding at Cana as three manifestations of the mystery of God appearing in visible form*.  We would do well, therefore keep in mind St Matthew’s account of the Magi as we complete our Christmas season.

Note that when the Magi arrived, they ‘saw the child with his mother Mary, and falling to their knees they did him homage‘.  They adored first.  They spent time in adoration first, before anything else.

Now in our little crib here at home, there are three Magi, each of whom carries a gift.  However, in St Matthew’s Gospel, we are told that ‘then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts‘.  Presumably they didn’t ride all that way on their camels with reins in one hand and a pot of gold/frankincense/myrrh in the other.   No: they waited until they’d spent time in adoration before choosing from among their treasures the gifts they were to offer the king of the Jews.

This offers us a very important lesson in discernment.  The chief priests and scribes knew where the Messiah was to be born and they were not alone in assuming that they knew also what the Messiah would be, what he would do, where they might find him and even with whom he might dine.

These Magi, in contrast, did not assume that they ‘knew if all’.  They did not fall on their knees and worship an image of God whom they themselves had created.  Rather, they fell on their knees with open minds and hearts and saw with their physical eyes that this baby had been born into a humble family, into obscurity.  As they knelt in adoration, they saw with the eyes of faith that this baby was no less a king despite his mean estate.  They saw the divinity of the Christ child in the baby before them but also saw – and accepted – that he was to suffer and die.

Instead of rejecting what they had beheld as inconsistent with preconceived notions, they accepted what they had seen.  They then responded appropriately by opening their treasures and offering him gifts.  I wonder what they left in their treasure chests?  Had they brought ornate swords, perhaps, that they now saw would not be appropriate?  Did they pass over the fine silks and precious jewels they had brought, seeing that this king was not going to be concerned with adorning himself in earthly splendour?

As we continue to contemplate the manifestation of Jesus in his baptism in the Jordan, we remember our own baptism and consider our life-long response to it.  Do we take time to discern which gifts we ought to be offering to the Lord’s service?  Or do we simply give what we think might be appropriate?  Or what others might expect of us?  Or do we simply continue to give what we have always given, without much thought to how the Lord might be calling us to change, to grow?  At the beginning of a new year, let us take time to adore the Lord, ponder our own God-given treasures and to discern what the Lord might be calling us to offer him… and then offer with open hands, minds and hearts.

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* See, for example, the Antiphon at the Magnificat for second vespers of the Epiphany from 1936:

‘We keep this day holy in honour of three miracles: 

this day a star led the Wise Men to the manger; 

this day water was turned into wine at the marriage feast; 

this day Christ chose to be baptised by John in the Jordan, for our salvation, alleluia’  

‘In the silence of the heart, God speaks’

‘My son, let your heart attend to me, keep your eyes fixed on my advice.‘ ¹

We are called to keep our eyes on God ‘like the eyes of a servant on the hand of her mistress‘².  Thought we might fail, one person who was more faithful than most in keeping her loving attention attuned to God’s will, was Mother Teresa of Calcutta.  In 1942, she made a personal vow ‘never to refuse God anything‘.

Father Kolodiejchuk writes, ‘With her vow, Mother Teresa aimed at perfect interior compliance to what was most pleasing to God enen in the smallest detail.  Hence the vow implied a commitment to discern carefully and obey the slightest manifestations of God’s will.  This habitual and loving attentiveness to the present moment called for inner silence and recollection. ‘In the silence of the heart God speaks’, Mother Teresa would often say, with a conviction that sprang from being constantly attuned to His voice.’ ³

We don’t want to refuse God anything, do we?  Perhaps we could go as far as to say that we do not knowingly refuse God anything, even that we never have… but in order not to refuse God anything, we need to know, in the first place, what it is that He is asking of us.  Yes, the great life-changing moments should come about as fruits of prayerful discernment but what about everyday life?  What is God asking of us today? Listening to the will of God on a daily basis is not just the preserve of great holy souls like Teresa of Calcutta.  If we care to listen, we will find that God is asking something – albeit usually a tiny something – of you and me each and every day.  If we care to ask, ‘Lord, what is your will for me today?’ at the beginning of our morning prayer, chances are we will know God’s will for us by the time we have finished.  That way, we have a chance at least of carrying out His will.  If, however, we don’t ask and don’t listen, what chance have we?

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^{1  The third antiphon from Morning Prayer of the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus}

^{2  From Psalm 122 (123):}

 

^{To you have I lifted up my eyes,} 

^{you who dwell in the heavens:}

^{my eyes, like the eyes of slaves}

^{on the hand of their lords.}

^{Like the eyes of a servant on the hand of her mistress}

^{3  ‘Come be My Light‘, p.32}

Lord, you are in our midst

‘Lord, you are in our midst, we are called by your name.  Do not desert us, O Lord our God.’ (Jer 14:9)

This single verse forms the scripture reading for Night Prayer on Fridays.  Read out of context, it seems like a declaration of faith followed by a general supplication, something like            ‘Lord, we know and we believe you are always present.  May your divine assistance remain always with us.’

However, if we turn to the book of Jeremiah and read the verse in its context, we find it to be a desperate cry for help amidst prophesy of drought, famine and sword.  Certainly it is a helpful little verse to pray in times of trial but it does not readily match the circumstances of so many a cosy Friday night at the end of a good week on the eve of a promising weekend.

Liturgical Prayer often presents us with this little problem; that the words on our lips do not match the feelings of our hearts.  When one prays the Liturgy of the Hours, or even Liturgy of the Word at Mass each day, one inevitably finds oneself praying ‘de profundis’ when one is simply not in ‘the depths’, or perhaps a psalm of exuberance when one is feeling sombre.

This apparent problem can be transformed into a wonderful opportunity to pray with the Universal Church, though, as the Introduction to Morning and Evening Prayer explains:

‘In the Divine Office, even someone saying the Hour alone is not praying the psalms privately but recites them in the name of the Church and according to the sequence given in her public prayer.  Whoever says them in the name of the Church can always find a reason for joy or sorrow, finding applicable to himself the words of the apostle: ‘Rejoice with those who rejoice and be sad with those in sorrow‘ (Rom 12:15); human weakness and selfishness is thus healed by charity so that the mind and heart may harmonize with the voice.’     (para. 44)

And so:

Lord, You are in our midst

You are here with me, Lord, as you are with all who call upon you.  

You are with  those suffering persecution, hunger or the sword.  

Give us all the grace, Lord, to know and to believe always that you are in our midst.

We are called by your name.

You draw all men to yourself, without exception… but you will not shout.  

Help us all, without exception, to recognise that our hearts’ desire is to love you, Lord, 

and to respond generously to the call of your holy name.

Do not desert us, O Lord our God.

Give your light to those in darkness, those who dwell in the shadow of death and guide us into the way of peace.

Amen.

My grace is enough for you… yes you!

We celebrated the conversion of that amazing apostle Paul the other day and I was struck by the second Antiphon for Morning Prayer:

 ‘My grace is enough for you, Paul; my power is made perfect in weakness.’

This is taken from the Lord’s response to Paul (in 2 Cor 12) when he pleaded with the Lord to take from him ‘a thorn in the flesh’, which he had been given to stop him getting too proud.  Remembering those words must have been very comforting for Paul when he was experiencing his extreme hardships and setbacks.  As Paul explains, those words of the Lord’s enabled him to endure cheerfully the ‘insults, hardships, persecutions, and the agonies I go through for Christ’s sake.  For it is when I am weak that I am strong’.  

It was the use of the Apostle’s name, however, that made that Antiphon really stand out for me.  This insertion of Paul’s name into the biblical quotation really brought home to me the fact that God was speaking to him personally, individually.   We know, but perhaps often forget, that Christ speaks to us personally through the scriptures.  Inserting ourselves into the text as we read (something which we have explored in greater depth here) can help us to listen more actively to the scriptures.  And remembering that God calls us by name each and every time we read the scriptures will help us respond to His call.

Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by your name, you are mine.

Isaiah 43:1

My heart is ready

‘My heart is ready, O God, my heart is ready’

With this antiphon (from psalm 107), we opened our Morning Prayer today.  We’re here, at the beginning of Lent, having prepared ourselves for the  journey that lies ahead.  We are equipped with a written plan, we’ve used up our ‘eggs’, we’re shriven, we’re determined, we’re enthusiastic.  In short, our hearts are ready, O God.

But ready for what?

On Sunday, we’ll hear how ‘Jesus was led by the Spirit out into the wilderness‘  and our Lenten journey is similar: we are leaving our comfort zones and we don’t really know what to expect.

When we strive towards a more intimate relationship with our Father in prayer, we trustfully step out of our usual parameters, away from our ego-centricity and into the unknown. When we resolve to act with courageous and generous charity,we trust that Jesus, model of Charity will take our good beginnings to their fruitful ends.  When we strip ourselves of those known comforts of everyday life through fasting, we trust that the Holy Spirit will be our sustainer.

At this point, we have some idea of where we want (need) to go, but we must allow ourselves to be ‘led by the Spirit‘ and be flexible enough – and brave enough – to amend those plans accordingly.  There’s our Lenten plan… and there’s God’s plan for our Lent.  If ours is incompatible with His, we must shift our goalposts (because, apart from anything else, His ideas for us are always better than even our grandest scheme!).

The wilderness of Lent seems daunting from here, but let us pray for the courage to follow where the Spirit will lead, trusting that (as psalm 107 closes) ‘with God we shall do bravely‘.

Sowing for an eternal harvest

Lord, give our bodies restful sleep 

And let the work we have done today 

Be sown for an eternal harvest. 

We make our prayer through Christ our Lord,

Amen.

The concluding prayer for Monday’s Night Prayer (above)  is by far the shortest of the concluding prayers for compline.  Last Monday, however, it wasn’t its brevity that made me wonder.  I found myself reflecting instead on the ‘work we have done today’ and considering how much of it will ‘be sown for an eternal harvest’.  Will the dishes I have done stand me in good stead in heaven?  The cooking?  Cleaning the kitchen floor?  What of the nappies I’ve changed: will they count?

St Peter’s not going to be interested in whether or not I’ve done the ironing (which is lucky), but rather in the acts of the three things that remain: faith, hope and love… and the greatest of these is love.  Consider St Catherine of Siena for a moment.  She  had found her niche in the contemplative life and was happy to stop there, but God had other plans for her, calling her to a more active love of him.  She was reluctant – thinking her life of contemplative prayer to be the ‘end’, rather than the ‘means’ – but was obedient to the ‘tender will of God’ and continued her life of contemplative prayer in a phenomenally active way.  Rather than living life of active ministry punctuated with prayer, her whole life was centred on divine contemplation and her active ministry flowed from it.  She had given herself so completely to God that there was no real boundary between her individual will and His.  There was no apparent boundary either, between her love of God and love of neighbour; the one flowed into the other.

Each time we think, speak or act out of love for God or neighbour, then, we sow an eternal seed.  When we use the widow’s mite of patience, compassion and forgiveness towards those with whom we live or work, when we bite our tongues out of charity or speak out against injustice, we sow an eternal seed.  When we help those in need – no matter how small that help is – we are showing the love and compassion of Christ, and that is work that will be ‘sown for an eternal harvest’.