Advent! It's good to be back!

I am glad to have had some temporary internet access this weekend to update my own blog and catch up with some of my favourites. I wish you all a deeply peaceful season of advent. If you are reading this near the 8th of December check out my little post

Also, a little advent poem here

The Immaculate Conception

The feast of the Immaculate Conception is nearly upon us. One of my favourite feast days of the year (though I say that about an awful lot of feast days). This feast seems perfectly suited to the run up to advent when we come to consider a fusion of divinity and humanity. Okay, and it obviously does link quite nicely to the message of Lourdes (you knew it was coming!). The message of Lourdes was, in a sense, the divine confirmation of a recent doctrine, on the 25th of March 1858 the lady finally revealed her name to St. Bernadette:

It had been 20 days since the last apparition. Bernadette felt internally compelled to go back to the grotto and, as ever, could not resist the call. However, as of today the Lady would no longer be Aquiro; today, on the feast of the annunciation, she revealed her name. Bernadette would later write; "She lifted up her eyes to heaven, joined her hands as though in prayer, that were held out and open towards the ground and said to me: Que soy era Immaculada Concepciou (I am the Immaculate Conception) ."

It is difficult to comprehend how alien this phrase was to Bernadette - there was no thunderbolt moment for her after speaking with the Lady- where she suddenly realised who she had been talking to. Instead, terrified she would forget the name she repeated it to herself aloud all the way back up the hill into the main town of Lourdes. When she reached the house of Peyramale she simply blurted out 'I am the Immaculate Conception' which understandably caused the priest to stop in his tracks and stare at the little peasant girl in front of him.Peyramale had been requesting the name of the Lady for weeks- now here it was.

Of course Bernadette was ignorant of the fact that this theological expression was assigned to the Blessed Virgin. Four years earlier, in 1854, Pope Pius IX declared this a truth of the Catholic Faith (a dogma). Of course the priest was not - he questioned Bernadette about how she knew this phrase and discovered fairly quickly that she obviously had no idea what it meant and nor did anyone with whom she had come in to close contact. Now the priest was troubled more than ever- he could see Bernadette was sincere and for the first time he was wondering....could it be?

(from the post The 16th Apparition)

However, Bernadette's connection with the feast day does not end there. Bernadette left for the convent at Nevers in 1867. Five months later on the 8th of December her beloved mother Louise died. It seems to me no coincidence that Louise, who had suffered a great deal in her life and had struggled through the period in which Bernadette had her visions died on this day.

Bernadette herself was appropriately canonised on the 8th of December.

The Immaculate Conception remains a bastion of hope and faith in our world; the woman who is the embodiment of the goodness God intended for us all. Surely one of the most essential aspects of goodness is compassion and for this reason we can be comforted because she is listening and ready to come to our aid. Our struggles in this life are many but we await the next with open hearts.

Poem for Friday

This has appeared before, but it's seasonal

The Cave (Advent 2007)

Little Christ born in the darkness of the cave

Be my light in these long days

Help me to find the way to life,

To prayer

To truth

To the promised land of my heart

With no geography or map.

Just the hope of love to lead me on;

The sacrifice of an only son

Little Christ who spoke in the temple

Be my words in these long days

Be my heart,

My hope,

My dove

Let the Father in his greatness

Guide us from above

Find a place for me

As an unworthy one

Sinner,

Sullied,

And undone.

Cast me upon the immaculate Sea

Raise me up,

Help me to see.

Oh great vision of the heart

From the other world

That lies far,

Far apart.

The life so distant from the mortals

And the dust

The world so far from this soul consuming rust

A dimension free from the lies

And the temptation;

The ticking clock of dissipation

In the heart of Christ all time stands still

And the purity lies untouched by human will.

Wait for me

Until I am ready to embrace the nothingness

And cold isolation.

To walk at your side in this aching nation…

To touch the wounds of the pierced flesh

To kiss the feet, the hands,

That felt the pain

To see the white stone in your palm…

And know at last my name

Whisper to me through this heavy cloud

So that I come upon a deserted tomb

And empty shroud.

And in a bright garden,

In the midst of the misty, scented air of morning

Where dew is mixed with fallen tears

Shadows will no longer have the power

And death will lie defeated underfoot

With the cindered ashes of our fears

I shall stare into the emptiness and wait…

Risen Christ shall be my light in the darkness

At the end of these long days

And this shall be the place of summers

For at long last

In this most sacred place

We will meet him there

And see the beauty of the long awaited face.

Missing my blog...again

Yet again I found myself back at work with no internet access in my flat. I just wanted to say 'hi' and that I miss my blog. I wish I could tell all I have to tell in this short space but I will be back. I owe you three Friday poems. Watch this space...I'll find a way. God Bless!

The Joy of the Sacred

Yesterday I went to the National Gallery to see the 'Sacred made real' exhibition. Like the average person on the street I can enjoy looking at interesting pictures and sculptures - I deeply appreciate it as a gift from God- but I cannot claim to understand it with the great depth and knowledge that others do. I know nothing of the name of techniques and brush strokes - as much as I admire the effects. The one sculpture in my life that sent shivers down my spine was the pieta in St. Peters. We always had a model of it at home but when I stood before it I was amazed by it, what it could tell me and how it could inspire me.

I saw 'The Sacred Made Real' exhibition advertised on a poster on the tube and thought it would be worth a bash. I had no concept that it would actually be a spiritual experience. These sculptures were carved from wood and a method called polychroming was used in order to make them appear life like. The statues were exhibited with paintings of a similar time that borrowed ideas from sculpting to create a sense of the 3D. These sculptures are without doubt the most beautiful and awe inspiring I have seen and they indeed seemed to me to be very sacred. Most of the have never left Spain and are still in the convents, monasteries and churches which the were commissioned for- they have been loaned under very particular circumstances. One picture at the end of the exhibition was taken from the room where monks of the Mercedarian order were laid out, awaiting burial. How could one fail to be moved by the peace and symbolism of this? The fact that seeing some of these works together again would be highly unlikely after the end of this exhibition added to the sense of privilege and intimacy one felt standing before them. They have been, and still are, treated as objects that are sacred because they aid prayer and transport us into meditation. I was surprised by how this was the case even in an art gallery and London. The Mater Dolorosa exhibited in Room 5, the room called Meditations on Death is felt to be so sacred that it was only loaned to the gallery on the condition that it was no to be photographed. One can understand when you look upon the true expression of sorrow etched on the face. No one could capture it on camera, but by some amazing grace this artist was able to capture it in wood.

The art form itself is little known outside of Spain because it was thought by many protestant groups to feed idolatry they believed those "crazy catholics" practiced but suddenly the walls have fallen and the National seems to have taken a gamble in recognising a thirst for the sacred here. Certainly, I never thought I would see the day when Rosaries would be sold in the secular shops of the National Gallery but God is great and indeed nothing is impossible for Him - I think we are starting to see the proof of that here in England. In the most unlikely of times there is work afoot. A journalist from the Times newspaper said this week:

"With the arrival of The Sacred Made Real at the National Gallery, however, I think we can safely conclude that the Reformation in Britain is finally over, and that admirers of the remarkable popish art gathered before us here will not now be dispatched to the Tower. Henry VIII’s revolt has run its course at last." (source here)

To be fair it has been nearly five hundred years- its about time we got a break. I certainly am not carried away with the idea that all our troubles are over- far from it- you only have to read the full 'Times' article to get an idea of the underlying resentment people still feel for our Church. However, at least there is hope and more than that - perhaps even opportunity for people to encounter something of the divine.

The exhibition encouraged more than a passive observation - it was about meditation with music specially composed to accompany the pieces. One was asked to reflect in quite a deep way on what they were looking at - with commentary by a Jesuit priest. This was more than just showing art that has not been see before. This was about the sacred and I was surprised by that. In a world where we throw words around, often without a full regard for their meaning I had expected something beautiful, unusual, ethereal even, but probably not sacred. To use a somewhat colloquial phrase I was blown away, my soul responded.

There were five rooms in total and each of them held a separate aspect of meditation. One room called Saint Francis in Meditation was dedicated to depictions of Saint Francis in ecstasy and one could see something in that art of revelation. No artist could have created that expression on the face of Francis without some interior life. They rendered something beyond my own vocabulary. They rendered something we can all understand - the effect of God on a man who is completely focused on God. (There was also a rendering of St Bruno meditating on the crucifix that made me think the same)

I could probably go on all day about the aspects of Christ shown through this exhibition with one room dedicated to Meditations on the Passion and another, as already mentioned to Meditations on death. My words can never do it justice. Many of these artists were quote aesthetic in their own way and before beginning their work would fast, receive communion and pray. The effects are very clear.

I wanted to just share with you some of my delight and joy at having the privilege to encounter this exhibition. It is a very personal reflection but if you want to find out more the website is here

ROSARIUM VIRGINIS MARIAE (John Paul II)

Praying to Christ with Mary

Jesus invited us to turn to God with insistence and the confidence that we will be heard: “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you” (Mt 7:7). The basis for this power of prayer is the goodness of the Father, but also the mediation of Christ himself (cf. 1Jn 2:1) and the working of the Holy Spirit who “intercedes for us” according to the will of God (cf. Rom 8:26-27). For “we do not know how to pray as we ought” (Rom 8:26), and at times we are not heard “because we ask wrongly” (cf. Jas 4:2-3).

In support of the prayer which Christ and the Spirit cause to rise in our hearts, Mary intervenes with her maternal intercession. “The prayer of the Church is sustained by the prayer of Mary”. If Jesus, the one Mediator, is the Way of our prayer, then Mary, his purest and most transparent reflection, shows us the Way. “Beginning with Mary's unique cooperation with the working of the Holy Spirit, the Churches developed their prayer to the Holy Mother of God, centering it on the person of Christ manifested in his mysteries”. At the wedding of Cana the Gospel clearly shows the power of Mary's intercession as she makes known to Jesus the needs of others: “They have no wine” (Jn 2:3).

The Rosary is both meditation and supplication. Insistent prayer to the Mother of God is based on confidence that her maternal intercession can obtain all things from the heart of her Son. She is “all-powerful by grace”, to use the bold expression, which needs to be properly understood, of Blessed Bartolo Longo in his Supplication to Our Lady. This is a conviction which, beginning with the Gospel, has grown ever more firm in the experience of the Christian people. The supreme poet Dante expresses it marvellously in the lines sung by Saint Bernard: “Lady, thou art so great and so powerful, that whoever desires grace yet does not turn to thee, would have his desire fly without wings”. When in the Rosary we plead with Mary, the sanctuary of the Holy Spirit (cf. Lk 1:35), she intercedes for us before the Father who filled her with grace and before the Son born of her womb, praying with us and for us.

Taken from APOSTOLIC LETTER ROSARIUM VIRGINIS MARIAE OF THE SUPREME PONTIFF JOHN PAUL II

Pictures taken on my visit to the convent of Nevers 2008

The crime against Down Syndrome babies in England

Sitting here watching the news, in the most cold and calculated way, I have just been subjected to a report on how 93% of babies with down syndrome are aborted in this country (you can read the article here). Amazingly the BBC chose to interview a mother and some really positive things came out of that interview. Of course, this was not the subject of the report, this was just an "interesting" side issue. The topic was how women are waiting later to have children and the fact that this results in children with down syndrome was simply an interesting point for study. It made me feel ashamed of this society of ours which talks about the eradication of almost 100, 000 people as "a decision".

What arrogance exists in this society of ours? A society that preaches inclusion and equality. This is a genocide based on the fact that we consider the people who have this condition to be unworthy of life. UNWORTHY OF LIFE! What right do we have for such an awe inducing "decision"? Here are people killed before they are born because they do not meet our apparently high standards for existence.

It is a true tragedy that we lose people who have every bit as much to contribute to this society as you and me - PROBABLY MORE!

What disgraceful arrogance in human beings allows us to "decide" that somebody does not deserve to live?

For anybody who feels that the decision to give a child with down syndrome a death sentence is just and right - stand back and think of the implications- not just for the child but for all. To destroy someone with love to give, with words to say, who without intervention would have a place in this world. In my head and my heart I go back to my own experience of friends in my life with down syndrome. How much these people had to give -how much they have given me- SO MUCH!

I go back to Jean Vanier a man who has learned more from people with down syndrome, and various other conditions, than from any others he has come into contact with- which include famous politicians and academics. This was a man who taught philosophy at university and yet NO college student and NO volume of Aristotle ever taught him more than living in community with those with "disabilities". There are hundreds of L'Arche communities all over the world filled with assistants who make the same claims as Vanier himself.

When you don't give somebody a chance at life how can you make claims about their value?

I have lived with someone with a supposed "disability" in my own life and to be perfectly honest he was a lot less disabled than the rest of us and so utterly alive. These days doctors would encourage mothers to abort babies with the same condition Garvan had. What a terrible hole in the world; not to have lost him in our family but NEVER to have had him. Below you can see him dressed as a spaceman at a party and also, with me when I was born.

There can be no worse crime than for a society to deny other human beings their right to life simply because, deep down, the rest of us think we are worth more.

The fact it is done silently and legally does not make it better - if anything it makes it worse.

How can you have October without virtual Lourdes?

A little visit to virtual Lourdes in honour of the Rosary. What better place to celebrate than at the grotto where praying the Rosary was overseen by Our Lady herself? She joined in the Our Father and followed silently as Bernadette prayed the Hail Mary. This was the case from the earliest vision. How many rosaries have been said there since? It must run into trillions! Hooray!

From a personal point of view I think it is where I learnt to fully appreciate this most beautiful and powerful of prayers.

Remember that your prayers went there too and all those thousands of Rosaries surrounded them. I so hope that those prayers are being answered. I believe they are - perhaps already have been?

The Ave Maria being sung in the midst of the Rosary procession

To respond with love

Last Friday I spent the day packing boxes full of peoples' donations for parts of Eastern Europe where there is extreme poverty. I went to help because the woman who collects the donations in her house (who was working for this charity since before the fall of the Berlin wall) is now ninety and, as a severe asthmatic, has been told she should no longer lift anything, how ever small. This hasn't stopped her. The donations will be couriered through Poland until they reach a religious community there. When it gets to the Fathers it will be divided up in order to share it among communities in need and then it will be taken on to parts of the Ukraine, Belarus and among others, communities still affected by the Chernobyl disaster, where babies are still being born without eyes. It will be taken by the Fathers themselves who will go back and forth tirelessly with fairly limited transport until it is all delivered. It is only scratching the surface, yet because of the personal response of all these people children will have toys, elderly people will have soap, mothers and fathers, teenagers will have clothing. Without that van of aid they would not. It really is as simple as that.

It is difficult to describe how humbled I felt being around Vi, the woman in question. I packed for a few hours and was tired; she has people in and out of her house at all different hours of the day all the time. Each day friends from church come in and do some packing. Yet all of us are purely bathing in the light of her true goodness- since this is one of her many projects. She never loses patience with her packers and insists on making us tea and cakes, she answers thousands of questions from those of us who have no idea of the severe customs laws, she painstakingly copies out labels for every bag and box in Polish - she has looked up and checked all the words and has to copy them from her hand written list. This is a woman whose favourite Birthday present was 900 tea bags for her parcels. In parts of the Ukraine people can't afford tea, all they can drink is hot water. Vi has responded to them, but more than this, she has responded to them with love.

There are so many forms of poverty in the world, in our own lives. One of the great examples of love in our world today is Jean Vanier, founder of the L'Arche community. It is his belief that each of us is poor and handicapped in our own way so we shouldn't get any ideas about our own greatness, nor others lowliness. Each of us can give and each of us can learn from one another but no human being is less valuable than another in the sight of God. I understand all of this as best I can - with all my own flaws.

Nevertheless, I feel an increasing concern in my own life about how I am responding, personally, to the cries of the poor. I feel a stronger pull towards walking with them in my own life in some way. In Western terms I don't come from a particularly wealthy family but I have been given so much in my life in terms of love and the education I received- I believe that this privilege is a responsibility- the tools I need to respond. My university chaplain constantly warned us of this- if you are given opportunity then it is your responsibility to turn this into a chance to love. I know that I have written in the past about when I was in Tanzania two and a half years ago, about how the children I met there have burrowed into a place in my heart. I think about their lives often and I think about their pain. It is easy for me to see snippets of lives of those who suffer, to be briefly united to them and to feel compassion for them. It is much harder to know what to do about these feelings. How can we help those who most need it? How can we turn these feelings into a loving response in whatever way that might be possible?

I don't have any answers to that one (obviously) except the one that we all have, the one that Christ ultimately gives us - respond with love. How we do this is deeply individual and personal (again, sorry I am stating the obvious). As long as we respond. Action through prayer is certainly a highly powerful response and you can see it working in our own missionaries.

I just feel that I need to be working on improving my personal response. I am grateful as always to be part of a Church that does so much for the poor, no matter the criticisms levelled, I have seen it in action. Where there are no others, the Church is there at the heart of poverty. Thus we are all there.

Below is a video I filmed of the kids singing in the Fransalian school in Tanzania. It was the happiest school I have EVER visited and it is one of the many projects the MSFS are responsible for in just this one area. You get to hear me laughing away at the end as I was treated to another rendition of my 'favourite' song. It makes me smile whenever I watch it. Projects like this are hope personified in a world where there is no infrastructure whatsoever to support the average person. Education is a light of strength. Christ lives in the hope of each one of these children.

I ask for your prayers as I am deciding a few important things in the coming months. I believe I have been offered an opportunity to respond more fully on a personal level - I ask for your help that I will do His will. That I will respond with love in the particular way he wishes me to.

I promise to keep you informed as things develop.

Poem for Friday

Reflections

Reflections- What does it mean?

To see that same face staring back at me

When I am flailing helpless in the sea,

When I wash up on the beach

And consist of only shadow.

Vanity; wash me away

And bring me to stillness

Sanity: bring me to shore

And wake me to the bustle of life

Heaviness; help me to rise above

And find a point beyond loneliness

Peace; let me hear your call when

All other voices are silent

Hope: do not forget me when

I sit in an isolated corner of sobriety,

Tempted to believe there is no such thing

as a society.

Faith; start a fire in me where

The land is barren

And it seems there is no fuel.

Christ: be a light in me

So that when I meet my reflection,

The face that is supposed to be me

I may greet it with great love and affection

For in that face will be more than weightless shadow.

In the face that regards me,

The face that is mine;

In each imperfection, crumple and line

May be etched the mark of your love.

Echo,

Echo silent as the sea

Off of the reflection

That is me.

And let the waves of your love wash over,

The wings of your dove draw closer

To all those who seem to be floating away;

Helpless and hopeless in to an obscurity

That begins with doubt.

Send simplicity to meet them,

And life to greet them

In that familiar face they see in the mirror each day

Reflection- what does it mean?

For the living God to be seen in

Each face we look upon

If he is in each and every one

Than a reflection is more

than simply an image of self.

Strip away the wealth,

Cut the binding chain,

Bring reality to the beautiful

And to the vain.

For when we look upon any member of humanity;

In simplicity and cold sanity

We should find a common reflection in all,

Peter next to Paul

The beautiful and the weak

You are what you seek

-One part of one body-

No greater, No less.

A piece of one almighty reflection

-One great resurrection-

That will shatter your mirror to shards

Reflection- what does it mean?

Far more than is seen.

Far more than it seems.

When I wake from those empty dreams

And look upon a face

Back to Bernadette

It has been a little while since I have had a chance to talk about St Bernadette and you all know that I love talking about St. Bernadette - a book I have just been given allows the perfect opportunity. Hooray!

It is called "We Saw Her" and its comprised of witness accounts from those who were there in 1858 and saw the events. Before I go to bed I can't help but share this with you:

"It was no longer the same Bernadette - the angels in heaven must be like that. At times she listened with a sad and dejected air; then her lips moved again. Once more I heard that long sigh which made me so happy. Ever since, when I wake at night I try to reawaken the picture of her face and above all that smile and those lovely bows" LOUIS BAUP *

Me too and I wasn't even there! :-)

*We Saw Her, B.G. Sandhurst, Longmans, Green & Co, London, 2003 (first published 1953)

The Relics of St. Therese

On Tuesday I arrived at the Cathedral piazza, which I know so well, to see a screen with Mass being streamed and the whole place lit up and filled with those waiting to get close to the relics. Those lights which shone out into the Autumn twilight were indeed very literal. However, there was a greater light behind them, a light of united hope. To me the greatest gift of seeing the casket containing the relics, and running my hand over the glass casing that surrounds them, was not so much about personal desires and intentions but the hopes of all those who have come close to it since it begun its travels. Of course I believe that St Therese is ready and willing to intercede for us, listening for our individual, hopeful and heartfelt petitions, yet the symbolism of this event was certainly about something greater than this.

I felt that the most valuable thing created was a connection between the faithful of the world, in all their trials, around somebody who lived with the simplicity of love. It was about being aware of the power of that simplicity, of what a desire to love can do, how it is still bringing people together in a community of sorts. A community of hope and I am so grateful to Therese for that. Beyond the value of any ornate casket is the value of the prayer uttered by each of those who have looked upon it, prayer that will never lose its value, nor the ear of she whose relics are within.

Whoever wished to make others believe that there is little faith on this island of ours has been aptly corrected and we are left with that sense of hope, that faith, which comes with a shower of graces. Need I say more? I think not - the answer to prayer is already so clear and so present. We are already thankful, yet I am sure this will not be the end of the thanks - I am sure there are many still to come. All we need do is wait and pray...

Pictures of the relics tour of England on the bbc here.

I pray that the next journey will be as successful but doubtless it will. St Therese pray for us!

Prayer to St Therese of the Child Jesus

Teach us how to open our hearts without reserve to the Holy Spirit as you did, to seek and find God's will in all the crises and choices, in the joys and disappointments of our lives. Gain for us too the grace to do his will with courage and untroubled hearts, so that we may radiate a joy and gladness like yours in service of Our Lord.

Poem for Friday

The Mystical Dream of Reason

I dreamt in the silence.

I dreamt in the deep.

The clarity of images,

of dormant life beneath the sleep.

The hollow of the soul,

that wakes within my heart.

The ever-present sensation,

of the piercing spiritual dart.

In the hopelessness of dreaming,

comes an element of Truth

Symbols of faith,

do not possess the weak.

For the residue of hope

is humanities to keep.

Truth to fear when darkness falls-

Truth that infests

the mind’s heavy walls

The dagger that is before me,

The past that is behind-

The history of nothingness

Contained within my mind.

The sentiments

that live

Within the books upon my shelf-

The ever-searching heart that beats

Within myself.

What is the search for?

What is the rhythm?

The words that breathe

from the paper,

Passed on

and freely given.

A snapshot of lives lived

without faith or reason,

The joy

and desperate tragedy of

life’s stolen season.

Truth that calls in the silence,

Truth that calls in the deep,

The Truth I dreamt

while I was asleep,

The Truth I am entrusting this paper to keep.

Humility

My Year 9 (aged13-14) were looking at Darcy's letter to Elizabeth the other day. We came across the word humility and I asked them what they thought it meant

The girls said admitting you're not good at something

The boys said not letting on that you are good at something.

Interesting difference in gender perspective. I found it amusing.

I did my best to correct BOTH about the ACTUAL meaning of humility.

I am off to see the relics tonight and I am so looking forward to it - I hope to be able to post on it sometime soon and will remember you all when I get to the casket.

Trials and hopes

My lack of posting recently has probably been an implication to visitors and friends that all in my camp is not running quite as smoothly as it usually does. I have to say I have never experienced a start back to school quite like this one and myself and the kids have been struggling not to buckle under the new pressures placed on both of us by the institution we share and the systems that govern that institution. I am not afraid of a bit of hard work, but lets just say this has taken things to new lengths. As a result I have not been too well with a bug I just can't shift in the last couple of weeks (it is not of the swine variety) and I am now on antibiotics which I hope will help. I know I sound like I am moaning but I promise you I am not, on the contrary I am really just explaining myself. I miss posting but probably more than that I miss visiting the blogs of others and sharing thoughts, prayers and ideas with inspirational Catholics from all over the world. I remain blessed in so many ways and I cannot even attempt to complain in any way about the life I lead when I have so much (just thinking of the Gospel today). So on to a few cheery things I have been party to of late, of a more uplifting nature.

I am sure that no one here in England can fail to have missed the wonderful shower of hope being poured out upon us by the relics of St. Therese which I look forward to visiting in Westminster this Tuesday. So in preparation for their arrival lots has been going on this weekend. Yesterday at the Cathedral there was a day for Mary which I attended and found filled 1) With people 2) With hope. Who can be downcast when we have a mother who offers such love and leads us to her son and the hope of serving Him with real strength and honesty? Young Catholics here are responding and you can see it in their attendance at events such as these. There was further evidence of the on the afternoon procession.

In the afternoon we went to the 'Rosary Crusade' which has now been running for 25 years and led by the statue of our Lady of Fatima we walked through the streets of central London with the traffic stopped for us while we prayed the Rosary. We were permitted to walk on the roads, because of our large numbers. It was awesome! In the true sense of the word as Catholics of all ages joined together to pray in the heart of our city. We started in Victoria and walked through Chelsea and Knightsbridge to Brompton Oratory praying the Rosary with a special intention for our priests and the affect of St Therese's relics here. These busy consumer areas were brought to total standstill on a Saturday afternoon, just for a few moments by Our Lady and her powerful prayer. It was a great witness and I have to say I had a lot of fun walking down Sloane Street, Kings Road Chelsea and bypassing Harrods with the likes of Prada and Louis Vitton dominating, and watching people's bemused but interested faces. Of course I am under no illusion that many of them probably thought we were nuts but who cares? Our Lady is a powerful advocate and the act itself was just a tool - who knows what a witness like this might do? Only Christ knows. I know being part of it was wonderful and I am so grateful for this privlidge.

So there is hope, our country has many flaws indeed but one side of its desire for total freedom is that we are free to witness to Truth. We didn't try to intrude upon any body in a combative way we simply brought our prayer to the street, and to be totally honest, I found people ultimately respectful of that. Our Church is alive! For all that our media tries to insist it is not, for all our struggles against the terrible, crushing wrongs which our law supports and promotes we are here and we have something that can never be broken: we have FAITH and through faith we have an endless sense of hope and possibility. We cannot deny or put away our struggles but we can say that we will face them in a united way with an unbreakable sense of what Truth is.

For anybody else who is having a tough start to Autumn lets not forget that light in our lives and remember all those who can't quite find that light. My life would be so dark without it.

Dear friends you are always in my prayers.

Handy refreshers

Found this great little book from CTS in Westminster Cathedral this week which is to help prepare us Brits for the arrival of Saint Therese of Liseux's relics in the UK. It is excellent preparation and is both a handy refresher if you are familiar but, I think, would make a good introduction too. It also has where the relics will be and when. Check it out at here.

Recycled POEM FOR FRIDAY - A Marian flavour

Remember I told you about joining Maximilian Kolbe's movement of prayer - the MI? Well I realised I hadn't shared with you the simple prayers the MI say each day. Whether married, single or a religious this prayer unites all members of the MI in hope and trust (You can find out more here). The usual poem for Friday follows, and on account of the fact that I am not using my laptop, so don't have my poems on here it is one I have posted before but it seems appropriate toady for some reason.

Daily Renewal

Immaculata, Queen and mother of the Church I renew my consecration to you this day, and for always, so that you may use me for the coming of the kingdom of Jesus in the whole world. To this end I offer you all my prayers, actions and sacrifices of this day.

Daily Miraculous Medal Prayer of St. Maximilian

O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee, and for all those who do not have recourse to you, especially the enemies of the Holy Church and all those recommended to you.

The intention for September is:

That like you, Mary, we may learn to trust God and to recognise the signs of His omnipotence in our lives.

My poem for Friday (recycled)

IMMACULADA*

Do not be afraid!
For the power shall
No more emit,
No longer lash,
From the overbearing
Rod of wrath

…At Rosh Hashanah
Rises something stronger-
Something greater
Still
Than retribution

…And she is clothed in the
Sun.
She is the revelation that
Shakes the nations
With the redemption
That is to come.

Her son.
The power.
The sun.

Who leads us from our desire for
The anguish
and violence of the fight…

To the manger of the helpless child
Who carries the wounds
Of mankind’s darkest hour.

The Blackest night.

The destroyed-
The body-
Which rises in the startling day,
To obliterate
The cries
Of despair -
That echo from every cross.

He has banished
The evil one,
Leaving a single way:

The son.

For in weakness is
Born
Power far greater than destruction;

The wounded hands,
Splintered and pierced,
By the shortsighted hunger
Of Man,
Do not
Reach out to smite you
But to cloak you instead
In the gentle,
Dazzling light of
Repentant
Beauty.

Which will lead you away…

Back to the feet of the Virgin
Who stood beneath the cross
With the violent
Sword of loss
Through her immaculate
Heart.

Bent,
Rent immobile
By the unspent love
She still had to give.

She calls you there now

To witness how
The blood that is shed,
The weight of the dead,

-As the body of her son
Lies motionless,
Broken-

Becomes the life
And the salvation.

Fulfilling
The words
The prophets had spoken

Do not be afraid!
Cast your eyes
Heavenward
To the heart
That has never ceased to give
And see what triumph
Is promised

When we cry out
That we have recourse

And no war,
Or anger or
Force
Can overcome…

For it is already done.
It is already won.

And you shall live!
For you are carved out of love.

* Title taken from Our Lady’s statement to Bernadette in the patois dialect “Que soy era Immaculada Councepciou”

© E.A Byrne please email me if you wish to use any of the poems posted on this blog

Patience

While in Taize we were given the quotation 'impatience is a violence we do to time' to ponder. Impatience is often a general human condition, my own confirmation patron saint, Martha, was guilty of this to an extent- as am I. We all know that life is short and many feel impatience is a necessary requirement if we are going to get anything done. We are certainly all subject to it and perpetrators of it at times, even if we do not intend to be. Perhaps, like all qualities, it has its positives and it comes with a certain drive which leads one to use gifts or complete a task. However, surely there must be a distinction between determination and impatience; impatience must be, by definition, pushing or forcing something in some way.

Yet could this not be a description of our own societies? It certainly is mine, amidst the commuter traffic of London it is clear that even surrounded by thousands of other human lives you are largely unseen, jostled and hustled along platforms, no eye contact and no tenderness among strangers. People seem to radiate an impatience which only breeds angst, frustration and stress. However, this is perhaps the least damaging form of impatience when one considers those procedures and actions that are both carried out, or are on the brink of being carried out, legally in our country everyday.

I have read quite a number of excellent posts on various blogs today on the subject of legalised euthanasia which, for those of us here in Britain, seems to be edging ever closer, and one almost feels that we are free falling now. As I write this there is a pile of leaflets on my desk which SPUC produced which read STOP turning schools into abortion referral centres. One cannot help but feel these two issues are intertwined. What has this got to do with impatience? Everything!

We can't wait for death and we can't wait for life, it is our mission to destroy all those who we believe are making things inconvenient for the rest of us.

What is this but the worst form of impatience, the worst form of violence?

We won't stop to see another person because we are too busy and too impatient to recognise another. Sound familiar? The good Samaritan who actually looked at another person and saw a human life rather than an object? A man who had the patience to stop and see life.

We have become the antithesis of this attitude. If somebody is not fast enough or bright enough or attractive enough we put them away, we hide them and if they are in a weakened state then we kill them. When I say we I am speaking of a WE that incorporates the highly generalised actions of my nation, yet I know there are millions who would never do any such thing in this country.

Nevertheless, our media has largely decided it doesn't have time for us either and our voice remains somewhat muted amidst cries for yet another procedure that will eradicate life to be legalised under the ironic title 'human right'. I think of that prophetic voice of Mother Teressa warning that the children we killed, that we were too impatient to nurture, would surely grow to do the same to the generation that had wiped out their brothers and sisters and here we are...watching it unfold.

What do we do? What can we do? I wish I had a perfect answer but the truth is we do have a perfect answer. Our perfect answer is the Christ crucified who listened to those impatient cries in the courtyard, which bid Pilot to crucify Him. He already knew what was to come. He answers all of this for us:

Love one another as I have loved you

What does this mean in this situation? That we hold every life to be important. That we fight with every peaceful means to have each life upheld with dignity from conception to death. That we witness, that we hope. That we look one another in the face and really see somebody as valuable as ourselves, whatever their state and condition, an enormous challenge. Consider all those little hearts beating in wombs across the world that will not be beating tomorrow. All we can do is remember them and love. Love.

We must keep hoping, keep trusting, keep praying.

And finally, we must be PATIENT.

For nothing is impossible for God.


The Cord
(Alpha and Omega)
What is this cord which
Unites us?
If the hatred which
Insights us
Still allows us
To fall,
To break,
To destroy-

Makes us yearn to hide
From the callous and barbaric…

What is the purpose of
The compassion
That shatters,
The wave that
batters and strains,
pulls
and divides?
The line that reaches far above,
Thant plunges
Deep beyond us,
And holds us
As one in this life?

The cord electrified
By the fingerprint
Of each unsung
Individual
Not one of them the same-
No sign of the residual-

Pacing onwards all the time.

What is this line that reels around us,
Seeks the profound in us,
And lets us touch upon the supreme joy?
What is this line that sweeps under,
That sees whole nations torn asunder,
And continues to pace beyond?

What is the ache which keeps me searching,
The light which keeps me walking
Even when I cannot see?

The cord which appears to enslave us
But in reality
Sets us free?

The line that connects us
In spite of every effort
That has been made to
Tear us away.

The line of the invisible,
The strictly indivisible.
Not made
Nor capable of decay

The line in which contains
The vision of the woman
And the bleeding heart of her son

It is the line of beginnings and endings

Where bending becomes ascending

And

Purpose is revealed.

As the circle brings us back
To the face we recognize
Even though we have not seen.

What is the cord?
It is the line of the creator
The line of creation

A line that spans every age and
Generation.
The line
That sews together the broken
Human nation-

Destined always to return
To Him

This line is the love of a journey
That knitted you
And knew you
In its beginning and its end.

It is the genesis of every genesis

This line is the great glory
The passion
At the centre of the story
Speaking of a love that never snaps or strays
His ways are not our ways

This is the cord of creation
That set the story in motion.
And carried you all this way.

When the praying gets tough

During the second world war there was a relatively unknown diarist called Etty Hillesum who had a unique and beautiful style of writing. She spent a great deal of time in the Dutch transit camp of Westerbork where she suffered with her fellow Jews and had to watch train after train full of human beings , including babies, women, the elderly, sick and infirm, get sent to Auschwitz and an "unknown destiny". Etty was also a deeply spiritual person and this love of religion colours her writing and elevates her soul in order that she can cope with what she sees. I found a tragic yet beautiful passage as I was reading her letters the other day and I found the part where she talks about the entrance of some Catholic-Jewish religious in Westerbork. She tells how "There was a remarkable day when the Jewish-Catholics or Catholic-Jews arrived, nuns and priests wearing the yellow stars on their habit."* She describes how one priest had not been out of the monastery for fifteen years "yet his gaze remained unwavering and friendly above the brown habit, as if everything was known, familiar, from long ago"*

Etty had no reason to write this way, most of the people she was writing to had no interest in the Catholic clergy. There is no bias in what she writes yet she is able to convey a beautiful serenity. I think we know it, I think she recognised it as the serenity of grace. Grace in a place where, as you can read in the rest of Etty's letters human suffering is abundant and devastating. Yet together human beings went on , whether Catholic or not just hoping and trying to bear what was happening. She continues that a man tells her:

"he saw some priests walking one behind the other in the dusk between two barracks. They were saying their rosaries as imperturbably as if they had just finished vespers at the monastery"*

I love this idea because it is proof that faith does not die when the sense of humanity in those around you does. People may be persecuting you, may be harming and destroying life all around you but you do not give up. You hold on and Etty asks in her beautiful mystical way :

"And isn't it true one can pray anywhere?"*

This I will try to remember next time I feel that internal call to prayer but tell myself I will pray later when I am less stressed, distracted or busy. Surely these people must be our models for prayer.

Etty died in Auschwitz on November 30th 1943 aged 27. She was proudly Jewish and in the course of the last years of her short life had become a proud lover of God. She took her Talmud and Bible to Auschwitz with her.

*All quotations were taken from Letters from Westerbork, Etty Hillesum, Grafton Books, Uk 1987

Vocations

On Wednesday I met with my friend who is entering a monastery on Sunday. It really brought home to me the beauty of the vocation that has been growing in his heart. There is a freshness to starting this life and so much beauty in it. As he put it - "letting go". A simple yet quite profound way of expressing something that is true of us all. Not even letting go of material things but those general distractions that take us away from ourselves. Of course, I sound like I am sermonising but I am actually just talking about myself. I am an excellent procrastinator on all levels and it has had its advantages; I suppose that when I first stumbled across blogging I was probably procrastinating and its been a real gift to me. Yet on a grander scale perhaps I avoid confronting my faults and failings, perhaps I refuse to let go of all the things which crowd my life because, in a funny way, I actually quite like them. Maybe they are a good excuse or a way of not confronting things I don't want to confront. Its all a journey. I like to spend a little time alone if I can- contemplating and praying, but even then I don't always let go...I might think I do but I don't in the true sense.

Vocations are pretty amazing aren't they? That sense of becoming the person God intended when he loved you into existence. Yet they aren't always simple or clear and it seems they are often far from 'easy' in our modern sense of the word. In fact the opposite is often true. While blogging I have 'met' so many wonderful human beings who have so many different and equally beautiful vocations and it is clear that they have learned to take that leap of faith - mothers, husbands, wives, priests, fathers, friars. As someone who is struggling on with their own professional vocation I have had my own set of challenges these past few weeks. Challenges which have been consuming most of my time - indeed I have missed my dear blog and reading the blogs of others. Yet there is joy- like when you first establish that sense of a budding positivity in a kid who is prone to be nightmare or when you help somebody else out by lightening their load.

However, our true life vocations are often caught up in the depth of sadness too- I have met a lot of atheists who are hostile to religious life because they see it as escape. Yet the separation my friend will experience from loved ones and the mixed feelings of his mother who won't ever have him around in the same way as she did before. This too is part of that more physical letting go. Yet the love is stronger than the pain, the truth is stronger than the pain. God is great and we are small...perhaps all we have to achieve is that initial letting go and God will do the rest.

Please remember my friend in your prayers

If I may use her as an example there is also Bernadette - who knowing she must leave Lourdes embarked upon a vocation she knew would be a struggle. Our Lady of Lourdes had told her she would not be happy in this life and she had bowed her head and accepted. Yet perhaps the hardest thing for Bernadette was the letting go of somewhere that had been an intimate experience of the greatest beauty one can encounter on earth. One always forgets that the grotto was hers first, on a cold day in February, where the pigs grazed and girls collected firewood it was hers. But her vocation was to let go of it. She had to leave a place that she loved, the family that she loved and withdraw. Often at the convent the pain would spill over and she would cry. Once telling another nun:

"If only you knew the beautiful things I had seen there"

Bernadette's vocation was to hold those things in her heart and treasure them, but like the Lady that she saw at the grotto that vocation meant isolation because nobody could possibly understand her experience.

Our vocations can change in an instant, we can find an ability in ourselves that has lain dormant all our lives but blossoms when it is needed. We can live when we let go. Its just the letting go that is the hard the part.

I'm praying though.
I'm listening.
I'm trying.

Poem For Friday (I'm back!)

Gethsemane

Wait,
Wait a little while,
And draw close,
For my time is near.

Many hearts
Have been conquered,
Many wills overcome,
By the impending fear.

Stay awake with me,
Stay awake a little while,
In order that the cloud
Does not enclose.

In order that I do not buckle
Under the weight

Await,
Await the bloodstained moon.
For I am passing beyond
This world.

I am going to the next room

Be still,
Be still with me,
For the will of man is upon me.

And with it all he has done,
And I am the only one who
Can set him free.

Hope,
Hope with me,
For soon this time will be gone.
And I will be given.

See,
See with me,
That there will still be much to do.

Give,
Give of yourself,
In order to be true.

The lanterns draw near,
The voices in the night
They hasten the
Kiss
Of betrayal.
They come for the fight.

Yet there can only be peace.
For they do not see
That the light is rising,

A light that comes
To lift the sting of death

The transfigured light,
That is given by
The father.

That will give you life
And hope
Hereafter.

Be at peace.
For my time is here.

© E.A Byrne please email me if you wish to use any of the poems posted on this blog

Cluny

A little way from Taize is the village of Cluny where there used to be a gigantic monastery - fatherhouse to 1000 others of the Benedictine order in France. Here are a few shots of what remains - only a few feet shorter than St Peters itself when in its full glory. It was destroyed during the throws of the French revolution. Yet its ethereal beauty has not been wholly lost. You can just sense it is a place of holiness.

A very kind blog award

I am so grateful to Roz at Our Beautiful Catholic Faith for awarding me such a kind blog award. She writes a beautiful blog of reverence and prayer with some stunning photography to boot. I thank you truly and I would like to pass it on to:

Anne at Imprisoned in My Bones - Releasing My Inner Jeremiah

Cathy at A Bit of Blarney

Jennifer at My Chocolate Heart

Andrea at Arise to Write

The official rules are as follows:

1. Copy the picture above and post it on your blog.
2. Pass it on to who you think who is/are deserving.
3. Leave a message to them.
4. Pass as many as you want.
5. Message back or leave a comment to the owner.

Paying a visit to St. Catherine Laboure

While in France this summer I had a chance to drop into the Miraculous medal chapel on Rue de Bac where Our Lady appeared in 1830 to Catherine Laboure. Catherine died in 1876 and was canonized in 1947 - when exhumed her body was found to be incorrupt and supple.  She and St. Bernadette died within three years of one another, although Catherine lived a much longer life, in terms of their humility, poverty  and love of vocation as well as (obviously) a devotion to Our Lady there are striking similarities. Catherine's body is now on view close to the alter in the chapel where she had a total of three visions. In all truth I didn't get to spend all that much time at the Church compared to somewhere like Nevers and I would love to have had more to explore its beauty. I was truly blessed to be able to kneel at the alter and say my Rosary ( I remembered all my "bloggy"-friend's intentions there whatever they might be) before her body. Unfortunately my camera battery died and so I managed to get fairly useless photo evidence apart from the following offerings:

 

Catherine is the saint who the miraculous medal was revealed to. At this time in France there remained political instability and persecution of the clergy.  Our Lady gave us the prayer inscribed on the medal O Mary, conceived without sin,  pray for us who have recourse to thee.

Catherine was a poor farm girl who had lost her mother at a young age, she had turned to Marian devotion in the depth of her grief.  She came to the Sisters of Charity of Saint Vincent de Paul at the age of 24. Our Lady revealed the medal Catherine was to have struck in some detail and told her to ask her confessor to carry out the instructions. It took Catherine two years to convince her confessor of the verity of her visions, she had to write out several accounts and after this time he concluded that she was a practical, honest, sane person. The first two-thousand medals were delivered on June 30, 1832.  Nobody but Catherine's confessor knew the identity of the nun it had been revealed to and its  spread through France was miraculous in itself. It quickly earned the title we all associate it with while Catherine retreated in silence to work with the elderly and infirm in the countryside - no one realising her link to the medal.  She is often called the saint of silence for this reason.  It was only in the year of her death that she admitted to another nun that she was the recipient of the medal instruction. 

In many ways it was a vision that leads us to the clear confirmation at Lourdes "I am the immaculate conception".  

I was given my own miraculous medal for my first holy communion at the age of 8 and have increasingly come to value its significance.  This summer I joined the Malitia of the Immaculata, which is a worldwide ecclesial movement founded by Maximilian Kolbe in 1917. It is a movement of prayer based around the prayer and medal as revealed to Catherine Laboure. Its principal prayer is:

O Mary,conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to you, and for all those who do not have recourse to you, especially enemies of the Holy Church and all those recommended to to you.

I really like how St Catherine's medal is quietly linked to so many other saints and events in our Church, much like the woman herself, it remains a powerful witness of hope.

Memories of Nevers

It is now a year since my beautiful visit to Nevers, Bernadette's final resting place, and now a place where earthly souls can rest for a little time bathed in peace before returning to the world. I can't really describe the beauty of being able to stay at the convent at Espace Bernadette and being able to be beside her body in the chapel late at night when nobody else was there. During the day I liked to watch children peep in at her with fascination and kneeling pilgrims tilt their head beside her while in a deep kind of conversation of prayer. Yet I also loved it late at night before they closed the chapel, I could simply kneel before her tiny structure and marvel, I could enter into that deep, deep peace that she emanates.

When I started this blog the first thing I wrote about was that trip to Nevers in the dying days of August - a trip that sustained me for the long winter ahead and sustains me still (You can read that post here). I met many of you through that early post because in this world there is a surge of warmth from many when you talk about Bernadette. She is a true spiritual giant. My journey to her was a privilege and in my darkest moments I cling to her words:

"I shall forget no one" 

I have complete faith that this is true whether one is beside that little body or millions of miles away, across oceans and seas.  For, of course, Bernadette is now on the other side of that veil which separates us from those that have gone before us - amidst the communion of saints. 

St Bernadette - pray for us!

I thought I might share some of the happy snapshots from that trip:

 

Grapes growing in the convent gardens

Beautiful St. Bernadette - awaiting the day when she will wake

The room in which Bernadette died is one where she lived and prayed through the last months of her life, suffering deeply. Her bed, like all the others in the infirmary was covered with a white drape. As she suffered, finally unable to walk she called it her white chapel. The place where her bed stood is now marked by the tabernacle, covered in a symbolic white drape. Words fail the powerful presence of peace in that room. Oh so beautiful! I go there often in prayer.

The spot where Bernadette actually died, sitting up as she struggled to breathe. The floorboards, the fire place, the statue are as they were.  I knelt before them deeply touched by Bernadette's own hidden life of love and prayer.

This is Our Lady of the Waters, a statue which has its place at the back of the convent, hidden behind hedgerow. Bernadette would often steal herself some peace here, away from what was often an extremely difficult life in the convent.  She was not a big fan of statues of Our Lady, she found them beautiful and showed them reverence but was always very aware that they could not reflect the real beauty of what she had seen. Yet she felt that this statue had "something" of the beauty she had seen in the Lady at the grotto.  This is a similar stance to the one the Lady took when she revealed her name to Bernadette: 'The Immaculate Conception"

St Joseph's chapel where Bernadette rested till 1925 is the perfect place to hide away and say your Rosary.  It was here that many early visitors to her burial site were said to have experienced miraculous cures through the intercession of Bernadette.

The front of the convent where Bernadette lived out her vocation, directly through those doors is the main chapel where Bernadette's body now rests.

The actual chair in which Bernadette died.

The clothes Bernadette wore to the convent.

The few possessions Bernadette brought with her from the hospice where she had been living in Lourdes until the age of 22