Given a soul alienated from self, lawlessness follows. A soul with a fight inside itself will soon have a fight outside itself with others. Once a man ceases to be of service to his neighbor, he begins to be a burden to him; it is only a step from refusing to live with others to refusing to live for others. When Adam sinned, he accused Eve, and when Cain murdered Abel, he asked the antisocial question, “‘Am I my brother’s keeper” (Gen. 9). When Peter sinned, he went out alone and wept bitterly. Babel’s sin of pride ended in a confusion of tongues which made it impossible to maintain fellowship.

Our personal self-hatred always becomes hatred of neighbor. Perhaps this is one of the reasons for the basic appeal of communism, with its philosophy of class struggle: Communism has special affinity for souls that already have a struggle going on inside of themselves. Associated with this inner conflict is a tendency to become hypercritical: unhappy souls almost always blame everyone but themselves for their miseries. Shut up within themselves, they are necessarily shut off from all others except to criticize them. Since the essence of sin is opposition to God’s will, it follows that the sin of one individual is bound to oppose any other individual whose will is in harmony with God’s will. This resulting estrangement from one’s fellow man is intensified when one begins to live solely for this world; then the possessions of the neighbor are regarded as something unjustly taken from oneself. Once the material becomes the goal of life, a society of conflicts is born. As Shelley said: “The accumulations of the materials of external life exceed the quantity of power of assimilating them to the internal laws Of our nature.”  Bishop Fulton Sheen ‘Peace of Soul’

Words for thought an elderly friend offered to a young Mother Angelica: ‘When God sends you tribulations, he expects you to tribulate.’

I am scared all the time
I scare myself
Heathens are who I relate
My holy mother hold me
David Bowie always talked
The loudest to me
David Byrne, Lou Reed
Daniel Ash, Jim Carrol
It’s a mess

“Let him not be violent nor over-anxious, nor exacting nor obstinate, not jealous nor prone to suspicion, or else he will never be at rest. In all his commands, whether concerning spiritual or temporal matters, let him be prudent and considerate. In the works which he imposes, let him be discreet and moderate, bearing in mind the discretion of holy Jacob, when he said: ‘If I cause my flocks to be overdriven, they will all perish in one day.'”

“…perish in one day.”

“Perish in one day,” Benedictus himself repeated wearily, and he passed his hand across his forehead, as if to brush off a fly. “Taking then the testimonies born by these and the like words to discretion, the mother of virtues…”

“discretion, the mother of virtues…”

“…let him so temper all things, that the strong may have something to strive after, and the weak nothing at which to take alarm.”

His hand touched his forehead again. The fly was back and it was not a fly, but a thought, and it was not a thought but a picture, the water, the lake, the boy…

“…at which to take alarm”, Maurus repeated. Looking up he saw, startled, that the Abbot was staring past him, his eyes wide open, he could see the white around the iris. What was he staring at? There was nothing but the wall of the cell…

“Brother Maurus!” The Abbot’s voice cut like a whiplash. “Placidus is drowning in the lake. He’s carried off by a current. Run to save him. Run!”

Maurus ran. He raced along the corridor–two other brothers only just managed to step aside–bumped against the door, tore it open, and rushed down to the lake. His mind was a blank. He was the Abbott’s command incarnate and put into motion, nothing less. He flew forward as if he were blown by a gale.

He could see the boy’s head, a round black thing, bobbing up and down far away in the lake, and he rushed towards it, a dog after its quarry, a heron pouncing on its prey.

The boy’s head grew, it was near, it was in front of him, he need only bend down. Bend down? In a flash his mind came back to him, and he knew, in a panic, that this was impossible, that he was on the water and yet not in it, and at once the water came up and he felt it splashing over his body, cold and numbing and full of enmity; and at the same moment the boy’s head disappeared.

But it bobbed up again, and Maurus knew that the command was still in force, and he leaped forward like a salmon and seized the boy by his hair; he threw himself on his back and the boy’s body came to rest on top of him, so light that it seemed to have no weight at all, and now only he began to swim, grasping and bewildered, towards the shore.

A quarter of an hour later he and Placidus reported to the Abbott, both pale and feeling rather dizzy.

“I have lost one of our pitchers”, Placidus confessed. “Brother Cellerarus sent me to fetch the water, and the pitcher slipped through my fingers. When I tried to grasp it, I fell into the lake.”

Benedictus nodded. “The fear you felt was penance enough, but you must learn to concentrate your mind on the task given to you.”

“Yes Father Abbot.”

Maurus tried to speak and could not. Again he tried and failed. In the end, he managed to say: “Something happened to me, Father Abbot.”

Benedictus waited patiently.

“I…I…walked…” Maurus made a tremendous effort. “I…walked…on the water,” he blurted out.

Benedictus said nothing.

“You made me do it”, Maurus stammered.

“You were obedient,” Benedictus said, “God rewards merit.”

But Maurus raised protesting hands. “I couldn’t have done it,” he said, trembling, “not alone. There’s never been… I never have…well, I couldn’t and I didn’t; I know I didn’t, because I knew nothing at all about it till it happened. It wasn’t me at all, Father Abbot, it was you. You commanded me to do it, you must have…”

Placidus said in a high voice: ‘I know it was You, Father Abbot. I can’t swim. I was drowning, and you dragged me up, I could see your melote over my head all the time.”

They both looked at Benedictus, their eyes shining. He put a finger to his lips. But they saw, for a brief moment, what few people were allowed to see: his smile, full of warmth and joy.

–‘Citadel of God: A Novel about Saint Benedict’ author Louis de Wohl

Abram brought Him (God) all these, split them in two,
and placed each half opposite the other;
but the birds he did not cut up.
Birds of prey swooped down on the carcasses,
but Abram stayed with them.
As the sun was about to set, a trance fell upon Abram,
and a deep, terrifying darkness enveloped him.

The Lord is my light and my salvation.

While He (Jesus) was still speaking,
a cloud came and cast a shadow over them,
and they became frightened when they entered the cloud.
Then from the cloud came a voice that said,
“This is my chosen Son; listen to Him.”
After the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone.

I have discovered a prospering parish, marvelous in participation and devotion: St Albert the Great in North Royalton. The Church has five Sunday Masses, immense attendance, and an Adoration chapel warm in presence—prayerful and plentiful. Abounding, a young priest spoke in his Homily of enjoying the first opportunity of baptizing a family member. After the sacrament, the family gathered in celebration. The priest rounded up the youngest of his nephew and nieces. He wanted to explore their thoughts on Baptism. Within the process, he asked the children if they thought their beloved infant relative would now go to heaven since he was baptized. A young girl answered, “No, you have to be really old to go to heaven.” Once the laughter of the collected diminished, the priest thought to himself the child said something wise. Sanctifying grace took time. A lifetime. Throughout our lives God was constantly building. Grace takes time. Unspoken, to grow old is an opportunity, love awaiting within the diminishing. The priest elaborated. ‘Sanctifying Grace takes time’ enlightened certain concerns regarding my life. Here is a hymn from the current bulletin.

“BREAK MY HEART”

Not that you need this invitation, not that you wait for my permission, still this is my humble contrition: please, break my heart, O God, with what breaks your heart, O God. Please, break my heart.

Not just some empty repletion, no, this is my sincere confession: that I need so much more compassion. Please, break my heart, O God, with what breaks your heart, O God. Please, break my heart.

For the sick, for the poor, for the ones who need most tenderness and justice, break my heart. For the lost, for the lame, for those suffering in pain, help me see you in each face through a broken heart.

Gratefully, this quote struck me. Maybe throughtout life, radical change was not the answer. Radical change may have been necessary, however trust, acceptance, and a slow process of growing in love with Jesus were my only means of employment.

Do not despair, thinking that you cannot change yourself after so many years. Simply enter into the presence of Jesus as you are and ask him to give you a fearless heart where he can be with you. YOU cannot make yourself different. Jesus came to give you a new heart, a new spirit, a new mind, and a new body. Let him transform you by his love and so enable you to receive his affection in your whole being. —Quote from Henri Nouwen’s book, The Inner Voice of Love.