Christ

Walking Amongst Towers

If you are not familiar with Philippe Petit’s endeavor it is amazing on so many levels. Unauthorized, illegally, he pulled off stringing a high tension wire between the Twin Towers and then walking from one tower to the next. Police offers arriving on the rooftop scene remarked he was more than walking the wire. He danced, jumping up and down on the wire, kicking his feet in the air. The engineering, logistics, and espionage to pull off the stunt demonstrates incredible planning and execution. Singularly focused after viewing the constructing of the Twin Towers on television, he knew he had to walk across the towers. The towers called to him to be traversed. It was his destiny. He is an amazing man, demonstrating fortitude and tenacity in pursuit of what many considered the impossible. His story is told in the documentary ‘Man on Wire”.

Philippe Petit proves astounding things can be accomplished, yet also keep in mind the easing of burdens Our Lord promises when we burden ourselves with his yoke. Philippe makes the remarkable appear easy, a walk in the park. Let us, as contemplatives, accomplish the same in our difficult endeavor.

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and the burden is light”.

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Jan052015

In Christ

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Per huius aquæ et vini mystérium eius efficiámur divinitátis consórtes, qui humanitátis nostræ fíeri dignátus est párticeps.

By the mystery of this water and wine (2 Macc. 15:39; John 19:34) may we come to share in the divinity of Christ (Rom. 5:2; 2 Pet. 1:4) who humbled himself to share in our humanity (Phil. 2).

The drops of water added to the wine no longer exist of themselves but are caught up and incorporated into the wine. The water does not merely represent abstract humanity, but each of us concretely as humans: “we are the drop of water united with the wine.” (Calvary and the Mass) This is an analogy for life in Christ: what Jesus has by nature (His divine Sonship), we receive by grace (divine adoption). We “are being changed into his likeness from one degree of glory to another” (2 Cor. 3:18), but this transformation will not be complete until we enter Heaven.

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Ecce Panis Angelorum

1. Ecce Panis Angelorum,            1. Behold the Bread of Angels
Factus cibus viatorum                     made the Food of wayfarers,
Vere panis filiorum,                         Truly the bread of children,
Non mittendus canibus.                   not to be given to the dogs.

2. In figuris praesignatur,             2. Presignified by figure,
Cum Isaac immolatur,                    When Isaac was immolated,
Agnus Paschae deputatur,              the Paschal Lamb was commanded,
Datur manna patribus.                    Manna was given to the fathers.

3. Bone pastor, panis vere,         3. Good shepherd, true Bread,
Jesu, nostri miserere:                     Jesus, have mercy on us:
Tu nos pasce, nos tuere,                Feed us, protect us,
Tu nos bona fac videre                   Make us to see good things
In terra viventium.                          in the land of the living.

4. Tu qui cuncta scis et vales,    4. Thou who knowest and willest all things,
Qui nos pascis hic mortales:          Who feeds us mortals by This:
Tuos ibi commensales,                  Make thine own to be partakers of,
Coheredes et sodales                    coheirs and citizens in
Fac sanctorum civium.                  that holy City of Saints.
Amen.                                         Amen.

“Behold the Bread of Angels” – this is often used as a Benediction hymn, for obvious reasons. It recalls how the mystery of the Eucharist was signified by many events in the Old Testament – the immolation of Isaac, the Paschal Lamb, the manna given to the fathers in the desert. It then proceeds to ask Jesus for the grace to save our souls, so that we can join the citizens of Heaven, seeing Him forever in “the land of the living”.

This is only the last 4 stanzas of the famous hymn, “Lauda Sion”, written by St. Thomas Aquinas before the year 1274. It is the sequence for Corpus Christi, the great feast of the Body of Christ when the Church turns our attention to the great Gift of the Eucharist. Jesus gave us this precious Gift of Himself so that He might always be with us.

–Special attention Ann Marie

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Dec252014

Angels proclaiming

Shepherds

“Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”

Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth. Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua. Hosanna in excelsis. Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini. Hosanna in excelsis

“Behold, this child is set for the fall[d] and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is spoken against (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), that thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed.”

Montfort

I saw an angel beside me toward the left side, in bodily form. He was not very large, but small, very beautiful, his face so blazing with light that he seemed to be one of the very highest angels, who appear all on fire. They must be those they call Cherubim. I saw in his hands a long dart of gold, and at the end of the iron there seemed to me to be a little fire. This I thought he thrust through my heart several times, and that it reached my very entrails. As he withdrew it, I thought it brought them with it, and left me all burning with a great love of God. So great was the pain, that it made me give those moans; and so utter the sweetness that this sharpest of pains gave me, that there was no wanting it to stop, nor is there any contenting of the soul with less than God. –St. Teresa, ‘Life’

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Adrift in a nebulous void, an abyss undefined by darkness, sensing the quality of light beyond, I am aroused by a sensation below. Slothfully, I identify myself in a lucid dream. Looking downward, viewing my naked body, I notice a chord emanating from my chest. A winding twining thing, comprised of two distinct strands bursting forward.

Exiting, originating from my heart, the chord is constantly drawn from my body. The force pulling the chord is consistent and firm. It does not move my body—the chord sliding forth while not pulling my body. Gliding outward, the distinct chord is apart from my body. It is something connected, yet detached; similar to a magician pulling a seemingly endless napkin from his pocket.

Visually, I follow the chord to its source, discovering two beings pulling forth. Their form is that of humans, however, their appearance is shrouded by a mysterious cloud of illusion. I notice wings, tiny bodies: cherubs a playing, filled with joy, laughing and singing. I can not clearly focus upon the sweet tiny angels. They swim in and out of focus. I am able to distinguish both cherubs are absorbed in the effort of pulling at the chord, or rather pulling at individual ends. The twining strands couple to form the single chord passing from my heart.

At the point of contact with my flesh, the mystical chord creates friction, igniting a burning sensation throughout my body. Energy exchanged. Fear erupts. I panic, fighting against the heavenly exterior efforts. Opposition ingrained, I reach out to grasp the chord in order to strengthen my resistance. As I grab the chord, my perspective suddenly changes, my consciousness exiting my body. I am now able to perceive, simultaneously, from the opposite originating points. I am looking back at myself, the pulling cherubs now my two eyes, two eyes seeing as one. I watch my body struggle as I sustain the effort of drawing the chord outward, from my current perspective inward.

Incredibly, my emotional state achieves an abnormally peaceful state with my change of perception. The tension of my physical body assuaged. I acknowledged the serene state of being as a hand holding a dagger extends outward from my current position. The singular hand is huge in perception. Unemotionally, I realize the intention of the dagger. A driving force plunges the dagger directly into my heart. The moment the dagger penetrates my flesh, my perspective snaps back to my body.

An emotional upheaval erupts. I am pierced, overwhelmed, finding it difficult due to the flooding of thoughts. Anxiety forces the desire to move. Deluged with fear, hysterical with the thought of death, I cry out to the surrounding emptiness.

Remarkably, I am stunned by an incredible lack of sensation within the overwhelming. The dagger does not pierce inflicting pain, rather it soothes, gratifies, burning with an extreme coldness, cauterizing. My chest is an infected, seriously abscessed wound now being relieved of its painful pressure. The supernatural relaxing sensation comforts, causing a complete inner collapse, or is it possibly a return to a natural unknown state? All my muscles release.  Miraculously, physical tension is eliminated. I am shocked by the feeling of complete release. I never realized there was so much tension existing within my body.

As the dagger settles deeper, blood begins to pour out and over my body. Striking the center of my heart, the dagger produces a thick stream of dark red, almost black blood. Bathing my body, the blood stimulates a primordial warmth, blanketing innate fear and ignorance. The profoundness of the act advances into a practical awareness. This must be done. The subtle thought of a womb never completely develops as it is overwhelmed by the image of a red orchid blossoming upon my open chest.

Slowly awakening, slothful and groggy, I emerge from the dream. Whispering. “Should have dug the dagger deeper.”

For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.

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Dec222014

John Paul II on “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”

A face of sorrow

25. In contemplating Christ’s face, we confront the most paradoxical aspect of his mystery, as it emerges in his last hour, on the Cross. The mystery within the mystery, before which we cannot but prostrate ourselves in adoration.

The intensity of the episode of the agony in the Garden of Olives passes before our eyes. Oppressed by foreknowledge of the trials that await him, and alone before the Father, Jesus cries out to him in his habitual and affectionate expression of trust: “Abba, Father”. He asks him to take away, if possible, the cup of suffering (cf. Mk 14:36). But the Father seems not to want to heed the Son’s cry. In order to bring man back to the Father’s face, Jesus not only had to take on the face of man, but he had to burden himself with the “face” of sin. “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor 5:21).

We shall never exhaust the depths of this mystery. All the harshness of the paradox can be heard in Jesus’ seemingly desperate cry of pain on the Cross: ” ‘Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ ” (Mk 15:34). Is it possible to imagine a greater agony, a more impenetrable darkness? In reality, the anguished “why” addressed to the Father in the opening words of the Twenty-second Psalm expresses all the realism of unspeakable pain; but it is also illumined by the meaning of that entire prayer, in which the Psalmist brings together suffering and trust, in a moving blend of emotions. In fact the Psalm continues: “In you our fathers put their trust; they trusted and you set them free … Do not leave me alone in my distress, come close, there is none else to help” (Ps 22:5,12).

26. Jesus’ cry on the Cross, dear Brothers and Sisters, is not the cry of anguish of a man without hope, but the prayer of the Son who offers his life to the Father in love, for the salvation of all. At the very moment when he identifies with our sin, “abandoned” by the Father, he “abandons” himself into the hands of the Father. His eyes remain fixed on the Father. Precisely because of the knowledge and experience of the Father which he alone has, even at this moment of darkness he sees clearly the gravity of sin and suffers because of it. He alone, who sees the Father and rejoices fully in him, can understand completely what it means to resist the Father’s love by sin. More than an experience of physical pain, his Passion is an agonizing suffering of the soul. Theological tradition has not failed to ask how Jesus could possibly experience at one and the same time his profound unity with the Father, by its very nature a source of joy and happiness, and an agony that goes all the way to his final cry of abandonment. The simultaneous presence of these two seemingly irreconcilable aspects is rooted in the fathomless depths of the hypostatic union.

27. Faced with this mystery, we are greatly helped not only by theological investigation but also by that great heritage which is the “lived theology” of the saints. The saints offer us precious insights which enable us to understand more easily the intuition of faith, thanks to the special enlightenment which some of them have received from the Holy Spirit, or even through their personal experience of those terrible states of trial which the mystical tradition describes as the “dark night”. Not infrequently the saints have undergone something akin to Jesus’ experience on the Cross in the paradoxical blending of bliss and pain. In the Dialogue of Divine Providence, God the Father shows Catherine of Siena how joy and suffering can be present together in holy souls: “Thus the soul is blissful and afflicted: afflicted on account of the sins of its neighbour, blissful on account of the union and the affection of charity which it has inwardly received. These souls imitate the spotless Lamb, my Only-begotten Son, who on the Cross was both blissful and afflicted”.13 In the same way, Thérèse of Lisieux lived her agony in communion with the agony of Jesus, “experiencing” in herself the very paradox of Jesus’s own bliss and anguish: “In the Garden of Olives our Lord was blessed with all the joys of the Trinity, yet his dying was no less harsh. It is a mystery, but I assure you that, on the basis of what I myself am feeling, I can understand something of it”.14 What an illuminating testimony! Moreover, the accounts given by the Evangelists themselves provide a basis for this intuition on the part of the Church of Christ’s consciousness when they record that, even in the depths of his pain, he died imploring forgiveness for his executioners (cf. Lk 23:34) and expressing to the Father his ultimate filial abandonment: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit” (Lk 23:46).

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Dec192014

Kenosis

The voluntary renunciation by Christ of his right to divine privilege in his humble acceptance of human status. Paul describes kenosis aptly to the Philippians: “His state was divine, yet He did not cling to his equality with God, but emptied Himself to assume the condition of a slave” (Philippians 2:6-7). (Etym. Greek kenosis, an emptying.)

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