Monthly Archives: December 2015

Fathers

Hospice inspires with heart wrenching love. I spent a subtle Christmas evening with a patient and his daughter. Arriving in the room, I was surprised to find two beds, one occupied by a young man and my obvious patient, a large African- American man. I would learn the man stood over six foot five inches tall, a Cleveland high school basketball star from the 50s. It turns out that what I assumed was a young man sharing the room was the patient’s daughter, asleep in the bed, choosing to spend her Christmas break from graduate studies with her father. She woke suddenly introducing herself, apologizing for falling asleep. The young lady overwhelmed me with a display of love and tender care that had to be witnessed. I was stunned, silently praying, providing a presence and witness as the daughter poured forth everything she could to bring comfort to her dying father. She held his hands, stroked, his forehead, rested her hands upon his heaving chest, talking softly yet with strength and determination to him, absorbing her entire being into bring peace to her father. The patient was aware, eyes open, fixated upon his daughter with a depth of love that only declares glory upon God. To be so close to such immense love imprints a lasting impression. The time I spent with the patient, I talked softly, reassuring him, imploring the fruits of his life were good for his daughter was amazing. He smiled with his eyes, tears coming forth. I will spend Sunday afternoon with the patient and his daughter.

Enlightened minds know that silence will be the language of heaven. Already on earth it is the condition for essential communication: “One word spoke the Father, which word was His Son, and this word he speaks ever in eternal silence, and in silence it must be heard by the soul.”

That is why the Psalm points out that language of heaven, both day and night, is a silent language, “there is no speech….heard” (Psalm 19:3)

To find again something of this hidden language, to communicate beyond words, is to find again the secret of the Holy Family; it is to escape from a multitude of misunderstandings, of complications, even of illnesses. It is open to oneself to unknown possibilities of intellectual, poetic, expressions of love. That is why St John of the Cross points out: “That which we most need in order to make progress is to be silent before the great God, with the desire and with the tongue, for the language that He best hears is that of silent love.” Andrew Doze, “Joseph: Shadow of the Father”

St_Joseph

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Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas.  Unseasonably warm weather, rainy conditions, life undergoing the passing through of a threshold, settling into new employment, this Christmas has a strange sense of peace, discomfort within the calmness of acceptance.  Forefront, a bizarre situation presented itself, Christian fellowship demanding a response.  Extending Christmas wishes to a casual acquaintance from the Shrine, she confessed, speaking deeply of the fact she is struggling.  She was evicted from her home, left homeless, living out of her smaller SUV with her dog.  I was stunned naturally offering resources, the availability of time in order to help her bring order into her life.  It is a complex situation.  I will assist her in seeking solutions, remaining detached from her, encouraging her to embrace the truth of her life, the reality in all its complexity.  It is odd I would just have exposure to the Ignatian Spirituality Project, an active homeless organization.  The woman is a highly educated attorney, physically slowed by severe back problems, yet sober in every regard, a likeable and sociable woman of skill and intellect.  I feel overwhelmed, extending a couch, while honestly wishing I would have not been burdened.  I did not feel appropriate attending Christmas mass with her.  She is still married to her husband, yet I saw nothing else I could do.  I worried what Ann would think, while understanding the threshold I pass through is the detaching from Ann.  That is my true challenge.  During mass, I sat behind her and she is so central within my being it hurts tremendously to be aware of her presence and not share Christmas joy with her.  I understand everything we have been through.  I have much to feel shameful for.  There is such intense discomfort.  My heart aches immensely.  I am done reasoning and reflecting.  Sorrow remains.  Life changes and God calls.  Simplicity, I pray for, yet complexity presents itself.  I dismiss everything, focusing upon God, understanding I am a man of prayer, allowing God to bring to surface solutions to my call for simplicity; a refinement interiorly and exteriorly.  The Hospice called yesterday, scheduling a four hour bedside vigil for the evening.  It becomes anticipated, relished in opportunity, a lengthy time of prayer at the side of an unresponsive dying person a call to personal intimacy and closeness with God, equitable to Eucharistic adoration, the confronting of the image and likeness of God subject to free will enduring time and circumstance—a life coming to an end, myself reposing bedside in prayer.  On the day of the birth of our Savior, I find solace within the call.

A repost from just days ago:

The great overturn…occurs midway, at the fourth mansion, the starting point of true conversion.

What appears to be indisputable is that, in every life, thresholds are crossed beyond which things are no longer the same. As we reflect on this, we shall understand.

What Teresa of Avila calls the fourth mansion is this central experience which can be lived in thousands of ways. It often is a difficult ordeal; man gives up his limited human logic, his thoughts as man, as Jesus says to Peter, his self-sufficiency as an adult, to open himself to the radically new experience which comes from God, this childlike trust that the genius of Theresa of the Child Jesus expressed better than anyone else.  –Andrew Doze ‘Joseph: Shadow of the Father’

Govert_Flinck_-_Angels_Announcing_the_Birth_of_Christ_to_the_Shepherds_-_WGA07928

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New Years Day retreat

The retreat to the Maronite monastery has been secured.  I will spend one full day with the Eucharist centered community.  The drive to Massachusetts, audio books devoured–the summer vacation to Spain a focus, before and after the day of reflection, preceding quiet and stillness within a community of men dedicated to hidden lives within the Eucharist.  The reality nurtures with comfort and peace.  This is a beautifully soothing seasonal image provided by the monastery in an email.  I am pleased.

B. Barth Nativity2015

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Mystical nurturer: rooted in the Holy Family

….Joseph disappears at the same time as Jesus and Mary or, rather, Jesus and Mary disappear thanks to him.  He is hidden and he hides.  His name is the present participle of the Hebrew verb meaning “to increase” and “to cut off”.  The two meanings of the word fully interplay: Jesus will “increase” in Joseph’s safekeeping, he will increase astonishingly; “Jesus increased in wisdom, and in years, and in divine and human favor” (Luke 25:2).  Joseph has the authority to do that (we know that the root of the word “authority” is precisely “to grow”).  But truly, what first strikes us about Joseph is a certain way of “cutting back”, of taking away.  He takes away the incarnation from our view….“The apostles are lights to show Jesus Christ to the world; Joseph is a veil to cover him and, behind this veil, are hidden Mary’s virginity and the greatness of the Savior of souls”.

To hide, to cover, to take away, by removing the child entrusted to him by the Father from a hostile and immature world: that is the first strong impression the gospel makes on us when we are searching for Joseph.  But let us not forget the essential.  Surprised by the events, Joseph was ready to separate, and how painfully so, from his young fiancée, unique of her kind, whom he undoubtedly had known for a long time and who must have inspired in him the kind of love we can imagine.  But how could he, the poor man, be involved in circumstances which were totally beyond him, where he felt the finger of God?  Without that, since he was “a righteous man”, as Scripture tells us, his duty was to denounce Mary. 

This tragedy and the agonizing pain accompanying it, no doubt, provide the angel with the opportunity to make an astonishing revelation: “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 1:20)…..The fact that Joseph was preparing to say “no” to a mystery which was beyond him and of what he felt himself unworthy, is significant.  God invites him to pronounce, with his whole being, a silent “yes” which echoes throughout eternity….  Andrew Doze “Joseph: Shadow of the Father”

El Greco

El Greco

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At Last

Poem by Father Abram J. Ryan

INTO a temple vast and dim,
Solemn and vast and dim,
Just when the last sweet Vesper Hymn
Was floating far away–
With eyes that tabernacled tears–
Her heart the home of tears–
And cheeks wan with the woes of years,
A woman went one day.

And, one by one, adown the aisles–
Adown the long, lone aisles–
Their faces bright with holy smiles
That follow after Prayer–
The worshipers in silence passed–
In silence slowly passed away;
The woman knelt until the last
Had left her lonely there.
A holy hush came o’er the place–
O’er the holy place–
The shadows kissed her woe-worn face,
Her forehead touched the floor;
The wreck that drifted thro’ the years–
Sin-driven thro’ the years–
Was floating o’er the tide of tears,
To mercy’s golden shore.

Her lips were sealed, they could not pray–
They sighed, but could not pray–
All words of Prayer had died away
From them long years ago;
But ah! from out her eyes there rose–
Sad from her eyes there rose–
The prayer of tears, which swiftest goes
To Heaven–winged with woe.

With weary tears, her weary eyes–
Her joyless, weary eyes–
Wailed forth a Rosary–and her sighs
And sobs strung all the Beads;
The while before her spirit’s gaze–
Her contrite spirit’s gaze–
Moved all the mysteries of her days
And histories of her deeds.
Still as a shadow, while she wept–
So desolately wept–
Up thro’ the long, lone aisle she crept
Unto an altar fair;
Mother!”–her pale lips said no more–
Could say no more–
The wreck, at last, reached Mercy’s shore–
For Mary’s shrine was there.

Ljubica Cuca Sokic

Ljubica Cuca Sokic

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The Holy Family; crossing a threshold

The great overturn…occurs midway, at the fourth mansion, the starting point of true conversion.

What appears to be indisputable is that, in every life, thresholds are crossed beyond which things are no longer the same. As we reflect on this, we shall understand.

What Teresa of Avila calls the fourth mansion is this central experience which can be lived in thousands of ways. It often is a difficult ordeal; man gives up his limited human logic, his thoughts as man, as Jesus says to Peter, his self-sufficiency as an adult, to open himself to the radically new experience which comes from God, this childlike trust that the genius of Theresa of the Child Jesus expressed better than anyone else.

Jesus had gone up to the temple; he comes down from it. The temple represents the world of human good-will which is liable to fall back on itself and bypass life as did the Pharisees.

The Holy Family is the world of communication in which one constantly progresses. It is the world of communion.

In simplified terms, one could say that the temple is this beautiful construction that man can realize in the first phase of his spiritual life with the help of God. It aptly expresses the summit of the first three mansions, of man’s new spiritual beginning. In the Holy Family, in a very humble and hidden way, almost indescribable since it is so simple and so new, it is the Lord himself who makes us accede to the gradual discovery of love and liberty in the spirit.  –Andrew Doze ‘Joseph: Shadow of the Father’

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Rest

My feet are wearied, and my hands are tired,
My soul oppressed —
And I desire, what I have long desired —
Rest — only rest.

‘Tis hard to toil — when toil is almost vain,
In barren ways;
‘Tis hard to sow — and never garner grain,
In harvest days.

The burden of my days is hard to bear,
But God knows best;
And I have prayed — but vain has been my prayer
For rest — sweet rest.

‘Tis hard to plant in Spring and never reap
The Autumn yield;
‘Tis hard to till, and ’tis tilled to weep
O’er fruitless field.

And so I cry a weak and human cry,
So heart oppressed;
And so I sigh a weak and human sigh,
For rest — for rest.

My way has wound across the desert years,
And cares infest
My path, and through the flowing of hot tears,
I pine — for rest.

‘Twas always so; when but a child I laid
On mother’s breast
My wearied little head; e’en then I prayed
As now — for rest.

And I am restless still; ’twill soon be o’er;
For down the West
Life’s sun is setting, and I see the shore
Where I shall rest.

Father Abram J Ryan

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