Holy Spirit

May172015

The Body and the Holy Spirit

St Paul’s Shrine comforts the mind, while reflecting upon the body. Father Sam, birthday yesterday, celebrating eighty-three years today, preached in his homily the importance of the body. Physicality and being alive, means more in necessity than spiritual fantasies. I am not a spirit. I am human.  I cannot escape into the spiritual.  The spiritual is not conceptual beyond the physical; the experiential usurps theoretical.  Reality means everything.  A concept I must embrace, the idea of loving my body, my personal temple, my personal gift from God. I will be held responsible and accountable for my body. God loves my body. I hated my body as an alcoholic, attempting to destroy myself, seeking negation of the physical.  To properly obliterate an attachment to ego/identity is vastly different than hating myself, or living in delusion.  My body is who I am, Father Sam informed me as we ate after mass.  His matter of fact stating shamed me,  I did not let on that such a simple fact to him was something I could not accept for years.  Feeding our bodies, conversing pleasantly, I contemplated the idea of loving my body and all the abuse I have heaped upon my body. I considered all the people who must despise their body, their looks, their talents, their imperfections weighing heavily upon them; sloth and disease dominating. Physically, life is a ruthless struggle for a multitude. I have a niece who breaks my heart with her morbid obesity. My love, concern, and prayers are immense for the condition of her body and soul. Today supplying food for the after-mass birthday party, I felt splendid giving. Serving others is an excellent way of caring for the body. Now it is on to a cookout and horse riding with basketball buddies. That is proper caring for the body. Yet above the body hovers the Holy Spirit, the Trinity. My prayer life remains hidden, my contemplative efforts reserved for intimates. It is the private passion ruling my life, my golden hidden secret. I am not hiding my pearls from swine, for there were good people at the birthday party and there will be good people at the basketball cookout. However my interior life is a personal relationship with the saints and Mary, while striving for Trinitarian unification. I must be careful, diligent in maintaining integrity, understanding good intentions do not create holy consequences. As my spiritual director stresses I must always protect my enlightened self, trusting in God. I marvel at the fact he supports me in confrontation, believing it is vital for me to learn to stand up for myself, confident in my trusting of God. He supports my spiritual life, instilling the affirmation that confidence is something I lack. A true hopeful sense of independence is a psychic change. To be independent does not demand complete and absolute silent solitary rebellion, a war onto myself. When I told him I confronted a long-timer from the AA program for badgering me with his insistence to take command of my thoughts, recovery efforts, and spiritual life, my therapist responded with an immediate and resounding ‘good for you’. When I broke from my spiritual partner, he answered, ‘finally, it’s about time, she never properly cared for you’. The effort lifted my spirits. God willing deeper relationships will evolve. I am so grateful for St Paul’s Shrine. It is my spiritual home. The extern Sister Clare Marie upon my arrival today handed me a novena for the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is absolutely dominating my spiritual life. I would like to point out that during mass I suffered a crushing moment as I realized my blogging effort yesterday witnessed me identify the feast of the Assumption as today’s liturgical celebration. Of course, it is the feast of the Ascension honored today. I was right in thought, yet wrong in words. I concluded I was pleased with my mistake. My error was made during an inspired moment. In truth, I benefit most efficaciously when I am wrong, able to identify and accept my mistakes. Perfectionism is a curse, taking myself too serious is decrepit. Someone once told me ‘every word out of my mouth was nothing but crap’. I laugh every time I think about that. Such words are conducive to spiritual maturity.

Holy Spirit prayer:

O Holy Spirit, I come before you, I offer my soul and body to You. You are the Strength and Light of my soul. In You I live and move. I desire never to grieve You by unfaithfulness to grace and I pray with all my heart to be kept from the smallest sin against You. Mercifully God grant that I may always watch for Your light, and listen to Your voice, and follow Your gracious inspirations. I cling to You and give myself to You and ask You, by Your compassion to watch over me in my weakness. I implore You, Adorable Spirit, my Helper, and my strength, to fill me with Your heavenly gifts of peace, patience, perseverance, forgiveness and love, that I may see You in all Your creatures. Amen.

The Body. Medieval Catholic liturgy condemning a leper to ostracization, life amongst the leper colony, taken from Man Tower fiction.

My brother, dear poor little man of God, by means of great sadness and tribulation, of sickness, of leprosy, and of many other miseries, one gains the kingdom of heaven, where there is no sickness or sorrow, and all is pure and white, without stain, more brilliant than the sun.  You will go there, if it pleases God.  In the meantime, be a good Christian, bear with patience the adversity, and God will be merciful to you.

Sprinkled with Holy Water, in the strength of the Most High, the one spoken to stood, the leper, before the priest.  The leper would enter San Lazzaro d’Arce.  Dedicated to St. Lazarus, the hospital housed a large community of pitiful men and women condemned to suffer amongst one another, lepers never able to be a part of the world again.  Here is my perpetual resting place.  Here I shall live.  This is my vow.

…

For the time being, Alberto gathered himself, a time of stillness and internal healing at hand.  A time of waiting at Lazzaro d’Arce, the leper hospital dedicated to St. Lazarus, watching his mother die, provided the environment to stay within himself.  It confirmed his conviction to have nothing to do with the coming civil war.  In his heart, he chose nothing over everything.  The lepers broke that heart.  “Give to the one who begs from you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.”  He did what he could while spending time with his mother.  He built refuge shelters, fire pits, water crafts for leisure, carts the lepers could tote each other around in, conveniences the lepers could utilize, able to spend time away from the dismal hospital.  Alberto, a capable craftsman, even furthered his abilities with the assistance of Ricco.

The condition of the lepers was appalling; the horrendous physical suffering equaled by the mental torment.  Demented and enraged, the majority of the lepers existed completely insane.  His mother appeared beyond recognition, for no one can lay another foundation, but that which has been laid, which is Christ Jesus.  In fact, it could have been another for all the familiarity physical detail provided.  Her body was ravaged.  She recognized him; however he did not recognize her, praise comes not from mortals but from God.  In his heart, mind to God, he instinctually knew it was her.  The exuded love could not be mistaken.  Her leprosy attacked her vocal chords, disabling her ability to speak, yet absent words, she spoke with her heart.  The woman he knew as a child was not the woman inside the leper’s grey robe.  During the ecclesiastical rite introducing her to the life of a leper, to the death of her former self, do not possess gold or silver or money or carry on their journey a wallet or a sack, nor bread, nor a staff, nor to have shoes, nor two tunics, she was disheartened, yet he recognized her.  His mother dying to her former self was the orphaning of himself.  He recalled the time clearly when all she was left with was the promise of the Kingdom of God and penance.

…

“May the Lord give you peace.”

“It is good you came.  There are too many who hate peace here.  Mariabella, your mother, is going to pass away any day now.  With the Lord’s help, you children of peace can revive her soul a bit before her passing.”

That is what a leper spoke to Alberto when he arrived with Ricco at the leper colony.  The man took up with his mother.  The man would pass away weeks after their arrival.  His mother kept going for three years.  She could not speak, yet Alberto saw a new hope within her the more she spent time with him.

She loved to watch Ricco being trained; he played to her; bowing, waving, smiling and winking at her.  Mariabella would wave back, exerting as much of an effort as she could to let him know she was watching.  Gesticulating, she told Alberto he was just like him when he was young.  Alberto disagreed, shaking his head and grunting.

Mariabella celebrated in thought, ‘My delegation of peace has arrived.’  The presence of her son and this charming boy elevated her leper spirits.  ‘This man is truly from God.’  Her mind became clear, thoughts and memories replacing insanity, hopelessness.  She found herself praying again, to sell all.  Previous, it was difficult.  She tried to maintain a prayer life at the leper hospital, yet the task became fruitless, impossible.  Weariness beyond the physical and a murkiness, an absolute slothfulness, of the mind that descended into severe depression would not allow the proper formulation.  As the ostracized confinement endured, Mariabella forsook prayer.  It’s elimination a part of an overall acquiescing to despondency.

Accepting her illness, death itself, the arrival of her son and the lovable street urchin transformed her dismal state, providing purpose.  Happiness touched her life.  It was a joy only the Holy Spirit could provide.  Her namesake the Virgin Mary became a presence once again.  She was able to pray to her, able to feel her within her heart and mind, rejoiced with great joy.  A mother knew the heart of a mother.  She would wake in the morning excited to see her son, to watch Ricco receive guidance, marveling at what it must have been like for the Virgin Mary to wake days knowing there was her Jesus to instruct, play, and enjoy life with.  She missed her voice for she felt like singing, recalling something she was told as a little girl. A nun provided her with the wonderful fantasy that upon death she would hear the luscious voice of Our Blessed Mother singing praises to God.  The nun assured her there was no voice sweeter.

Man Tower

Man Tower

spacer
spacer
May162015

Transient forgiving, the Holy Spirit enfolding

Moved into new home. All is good. It truly is a home, manly, a good change. Dinner with Carter, his future son-in-law and female acquaintance. Everyone contributes. A gourmet grocery store just a half block away allows me to supply fresh baked bread, potato salad, pickled beets, and manchego cheese. A slow cooked pork roast centers the meal. Pleasant adult conversation, comfortable at the onset. I like the neighborhood: hip urban, cultured, intellectual, and artsy, considering poetry and prose reading—not sure, a reduction of identity through an intensified prayer life demands that the contemplative life remains forefront. Everything points toward my religious life or abandonment is the case. Things pursued dictate detachment. I know I want to start painting, watercolors–capturing an image of Mary that lingers; whispering blue, shadowy, indistinct and melding, a hand extending—toying with colors and white backdrop. I feel it is important to distinguish the attribute regarding boarding with Carter that contentedly fits perfect. Complacent distance the knowledgeable identification. We share similar profound interests: Christianity, recovery, literature, coffee, and sports, yet we speak sparingly. The lack of words appropriate, mature. A prayer before dinner, a mentioning of catering Father Sam’s eighty-third birthday party tomorrow; nothing distinct, nor too much detail. Dinner conversation is light-hearted, friendly and unassuming. We eat on the porch, neighbors near enjoying the warm weather, sidewalk strollers sauntering by. Carter is a reserved man, obviously intelligent, handsome to a striking degree. I teased him when I saw a photo of him when he was in his twenties, poking at him how good looking he was. He chuckles, proud, not falsely humble, receiving a compliment, while simply humble—overall serious, trying to figure out my sense of humor. His future son-in-law is an energetic young man who seems excited about me sharing the home. A school teacher, he is knowledgeable regarding jazz music, all types of music. He genuinely possesses a zest for life. The female acquaintance, a respectful intimate of Carter’s, a registered nurse, fortifies the overall erudite ambiance. The environment suits splendidly. I cautiously reduce my AA interaction based upon a weariness with too much talking, too much sharing, and too many people willing to throw themselves, as master or salve, onto others. Socially, I know, for myself, AA is limited. Avoiding rebellion or the forcing of matters, AA can never be more than a means, within a greater whole, to sobriety. Nothing more, never a way of life. Accepting things through proper identification is important for healthy psychological growth, and therefore contemplative growth. Things are what they are, acceptance and working within order is the demand. Tomorrow a cookout with my basketball friends at one of the gentlemen’s ranch, horses and good company. That is proper socializing, again within a greater whole. I know the AA message. I embrace the message, grateful for its ability to assist. I move forward with confidence, able to properly discern, willing to become the man God envisions. The Holy Spirit has become such a central focus, an intimate furthering of my prayer life. Easter season moves forward. The Assumption of Christ into heaven, seated at the right hand of the Father, the Paraclete left behind–kindles.  The Church guided by Mary: mothers, comforts, and shelters. The Trinity is good, loving, and providing. I am tired.

Virtues are formed by prayer. Prayer preserves temperance. Prayer suppresses anger. Prayer prevents emotions of pride and envy. Prayer draws into the soul the Holy Spirit, and raises man to Heaven. — St. Ephraim

Clipping T.S. Eliot’s ‘Four Quartets’, pondering images and thoughts reflecting the Holy Spirit.

The dove descending breaks the air
With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre-
To be redeemed from fire by fire.

Who then devised the torment? Love.
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove
The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove.
We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire

 

spacer
May162015

Unique Holy Spirit

Hovering, a dove in flight, soaring,
Over earthly bondage, alight,
Loving fiercely, touching brightly, burning,
Yearning to quell, regenerating fruit, rendering gifts,

Sanctify the broken misfit, the willing alienated,
Pursuing joyful passion, lover on into lover,
Interconnect the lost with the Father, the Son surrendering,
Rarefaction amidst complex bewildering multitudes,
Immaculate, serenely simple, immense, sheltering salvation,
Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

spacer
May142015

Holy Spirit

St Peter's Basilica

St Peter’s Basilica Rome

My favorite Tanzanian priest has been emphasizing listening to the Holy Spirit lately. A friend also spoke about her concentration upon the Holy Spirit in her prayer life. It has become a central image, hope, and focus in my prayers, visualizing a dove willing to alight . The gifts of the Holy spirit, listed, no expounding: wisdom, understanding, counsel, knowledge, fortitude, piety, and fear of the Lord (wonder and awe). A quick thought. My devotion to Our Blessed Lady, the bestower of grace, anchors—a vision solidifying faith, hope, and charity—absolutely no doubt exist within. She is a Mother, her love unconditional. She loves beyond measure, no matter how reprehensible my behavior descends. The Holy Spirit, conditional, demands accountability, properness and order demanded, alacrity in response, disposed to enlighten and bring alive a superior way of being, a superior state of the soul. Before the Eucharist, unseen, the Holy Spirit hovers, waiting, willing to descend at a time in my life strength peaks, an apex of mental and emotional health blossoming, the longing for holiness deepening its roots. There is no looking back. All concentration upon moving forward toward unification. Pentecost, fifty days after the death of Christ, traditionally fifty days after the Sunday of Passover week, the Old Testament prefiguring the New, wings uniting, cherubs stationed above the tabernacle, the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the apostles and Our Holy Mother, the third mystery of the Glorious Rosary mysteries, the sanctifying of the Universal Church. Pentecost consequence, in splendor, on into martyrdom, difficulties, and longevity, Catholicism arises, apostolic tradition birthed into being. May the Saints, those humanely victorious through the Trinity, be glorified.

“The Lord God has opened my ear, and I was not rebellious, I turned not backward.” Isaiah 50:5

…the impulse of the Holy Spirit is necessary…man’s reason is in two ways perfected by God: first…a natural perfection, namely the natural light of reason; secondly…a supernatural perfection, by the theological virtues…second perfection is greater than the first…however…man possesses the first perfection as his full possession, while he possesses the second as an imperfect possession; for we imperfectly love and know God….the sun, which is perfectly bright, can give light of itself, while the moon, which has the nature of light only imperfectly, cannot give light unless it is illuminated [by the sun]….the Holy Spirit comes from above…“They who are led by the Spirit of God, are sons of God,” and “if you are sons, then also heirs.”…“Your good Spirit will lead me into the right land,”…because no one can arrive at the inheritance of the land of the blessed, unless he is moved and led by the Holy Spirit. And therefore in order to attain that end, a man must have the gift of the Holy Spirit.  –Saint Thomas Aquinas, ‘Summa Theologiae I-II’

Catholic Prayer to the Holy Spirit:

Oh Holy Spirit, the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity. You are the Spirit of truth, love and holiness, proceeding from the Father and the Son, and equal to Them in all things. I adore You and love You with all my heart. Teach me to know and to seek God, by whom and for whom I was created. Fill my heart with a holy fear and a great love for Him. Give me compunction and patience, and do not let me fall into sin. Increase my faith, hope and charity and bring forth all the virtues proper to my state of life. Help me to grow in the four cardinal virtues, Your seven gifts and Your twelve fruits. Make me a faithful follower of Jesus, an obedient child of the Church and a help to my neighbor. Give me the grace to keep the commandments and to receive the sacraments worthily. Raise me to holiness in the state of life to which You have called me, and lead me through a happy death to everlasting life. Through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

spacer