Thoughts of peace

“My thoughts are thoughts of peace”. Holy Mother Church puts these words on our lips and repeats them over and over again as we reach the end of the liturgical year. Salvation begins with the peace which the angels sang over Bethlehem, and it ends with the eternal reign of the Prince of Peace.

The thoughts of the wicked, on the other hand, are ever of trouble and turmoil. “Worried, they toss like the sea which cannot rest” (Jer 49:23). They know not the secret of peace which the prophet Isaiah revealed: “By waiting and by calm you shall be saved, in quiet and in trust your strength lies” (Is 30:15).

The worst thing about the wicked is that not only do they have no rest, but they allow no rest to others. In today’s Gospel, it is in the peace of night, while the just enjoy God’s rest, that the enemy, who knows not sleep or rest, sows his evil seed in the Church of God. Evil is contagious, it seeks to infect all, it cannot tolerate to see souls enjoying the good things of God, it must upset and unsettle all those who seek to serve the Lord.

And so it is in every age. So it is today. False doctrines which corrupt lives and end by precipitating into the roaring waves of a filthy chaos are sown amongst God-fearing Christians. We think we have arrived at a certain level of peace, and lo and behold, we awake to find that what we had worked so hard for is compromised. Like the servants in today’s Gospel, we would instinctively reach to pull out the weeds, to eliminate all the evildoers, to establish a Church of the pure only, of which, of course, we would be part.

But today, as yesterday, the Lord holds us back, for He is merciful. He wants to give the wicked time to repent, and He wants to make use of them to increase the merits of the just. We must wait patiently for the time of the harvest, that is, the end of the world, when all justice will be fulfilled, when good deeds will be rewarded and evil ones punished, when the just will be removed from the midst of the wicked by the Angels and placed in the heavenly granary, in which there is never any want or need, while the evil-doers are sent to burn forever in a fire that is never extinguished. It’s all about letting God do justice, and not seeking to substitute ours for His.

St Paul gives us a rule of conduct which is appropriate in every age: “Put on… heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another, if one has a grievance against another; as the Lord has forgiven you, so must you also do”. The evil seek to harm, the just always seek to help, to “help all men” as St Ignatius has Our Lord say in the meditation on the Two Standards. “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, as in all wisdom you teach and admonish one another, singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.” (Col 3:12-17). “Man is created to praise”, says St Ignatius. As monks, we are privileged to do just that eight times a day, and by so doing we are working for the salvation of souls, even of those who at the moment are God’s enemies, but who may become His friends.

So let us not give up or grow weary. The grace of God can change everything, and that grace is made manifest in a life surrendered to love of God and love of neighbour. “Above all things put on love, that is, the bond of perfection… And let the peace of Christ control your hearts, the peace into which you were also called in one body. And be thankful.”

Why are you fearful?

Why are you fearful, O ye of little faith? There is something astounding in these words. The apostles are with Our Lord in a boat tossed around by waves to the point that they are about to capsize. Their lives are in danger. They turn to the One they know will not fail. They wake Him; He calms the sea, and saves the day.

Perhaps the apostles were expecting to hear some form of congratulation from the Lord: “well done, my friends. In your hour of trial, you did the right thing, you prayed to me with insistence, and I heard you”. Instead, they receive a gentle reproach: Why are you fearful, O ye of little faith?

I suspect that we, like the apostles, are not a little baffled by these words. Did not the apostles actually manifest a great faith when they woke the Lord, knowing full well that He would mend the situation?

Yes, they did, but the implication of the Lord’s words is that there is a way of deeper, greater faith.

There are times in our lives, individually, or collectively, when we feel that our little boat is about to be submerged in the waves of temptation, of conflict, of despair. So much that we had worked for is compromised; we are about to fall, to fail, to give up, to lose all hope. In those moments, we can lose heart and succumb to the Evil One. We then become his prey. 

But in those moments there are two other attitudes, virtuous ones. We can increase our prayers, storm Heaven, make extra sacrifices, cry out with all our might to the Lord, so that He will intervene and change hearts, resolving a situation which seems desperate.

But there is another attitude one can have, and that is to accept in peace what is happening, trusting, in silent prayer and with unshakeable patience that the Lord is in control. He is in our little bark, but He is asleep. Rather, He seems to be asleep, but we know through faith, that He is keeping watch. 

Such is the lesson, I think, of our Lord’s reproach to the apostles. It is as if to say: you, my close friends, you cannot afford to be like everyone else who runs to me, clamouring for help every time there is some trouble on the horizon. You, my close friends, my apostles, you must have absolute confidence in me, for your trials will be great. There will be many times when your little boat will be on the point of capsizing, but never forget, I am there. Even though I sleep, I keep watch, for I love you. “It is good to wait in silence for the salvation of God” (Lam 3:26).

St Therese of the Child Jesus understood this when she wrote the following stanza in her  poem”Living on Love”:

Living on Love, when Jesus is sleeping,
Is rest on stormy seas.
Oh ! Lord, don’t fear that I’ll wake you.
I’m waiting in peace for Heaven’s shore…
Faith will soon tear its veil.
My hope is to see you one day.
Charity swells and pushes my sail :
I live on Love !…

Job, Christ and the Church

“There was a man in the land of Hus, whose name was Job, simple, and upright, and fearing God: whom Satan besought that he might tempt: and power was given him from the Lord over his possessions and his flesh; and he destroyed all his substance and his children; and wounded his flesh also with a grievous ulcer”.

So reads today’s Offertory verse. The great enigma of history: the just man who is pleasing to God is put to the test, he loses all his goods, his family, and even his flesh is so disfigured that he is hardly recognisable.

Beyond the profound lesson this history holds for each of us in our moments of trial, and which affords us great consolation as we mount the steep steps of our own Calvary, Job, we must never forget, is a type, a prefiguration of Christ Himself. Our Lord is indeed the just man par excellence, the beloved of the Father, the holiest and most perfectly loveable of all the just. And yet it is that beloved Son whom the Father hands over to the Passion: condemnation, public outrage, flogging, capital punishment of the worst kind, death on an infamous gibbet, the place of nameless horror. Like Job, Our Lord loses all that He has in this life, He is separated from His loved ones, most of whom abandon Him in the hour of trial, He is so disfigured by His passion that the Prophet Isaiah tells us His countenance was one from which men turn away, so horrible is it to behold. God had forbade Satan from taking Job’s life, but He gives Satan power over the life of His Son. Jesus dies and disappears to the eyes of the world.

The Church is the Body of Christ. As such, she must of necessity be the object of Satanic attacks, from her birth on Calvary to the Second Coming of the Saviour. Satan seeks by every means to destroy her, to wipe her off the face of the earth, to delete from the minds of men every remembrance of her. The Church is no greater than Christ, for the servant is no greater than the Master. Christ died, and so must the Church. She must die before she can rise again. In the eyes of all, it will seem that she is gone. Her fiercest enemies will shout triumph, they will celebrate their victory, drinking up the blood of martyrs. The beast will, to all appearances, have conquered Christ. 

We must keep these truths in mind when we behold the spectacle of the present crisis in the Church. We will be given the choice between martyrdom and apostasy. Already, there is a dry form of martyrdom for many sons of the Church, who are considered out of step with the times. They refuse to bend the knee before Belial, and they must pay the price. But these are just the beginning of the trials. 

 “Before Christ's second coming the Church must pass through a final trial that will shake the faith of many believers. The persecution that accompanies her pilgrimage on earth will unveil the "mystery of iniquity" in the form of a religious deception offering men an apparent solution to their problems at the price of apostasy from the truth. The supreme religious deception is that of the Antichrist, a pseudo-messianism by which man glorifies himself in place of God and of his Messiah come in the flesh. … The Church will enter the glory of the kingdom only through this final Passover, when she will follow her Lord in his death and Resurrection. The kingdom will be fulfilled, then, not by a historic triumph of the Church through a progressive ascendancy, but only by God's victory over the final unleashing of evil, which will cause his Bride to come down from heaven. God's triumph over the revolt of evil will take the form of the Last Judgement after the final cosmic upheaval of this passing world.” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 675-677)

In other words, we must brace ourselves for greater trials to come, and for that today’s Epistle is there to remind us of our weapons, which are 1) the belt of truth, 2) the breastplate of justice, 3) the shoes of the Gospel of peace, 4) the shield of faith, 5) the sword of God’s word. If we are armed with God’s eternal truth, if we keep the flame of the true faith alive, if we live according to the example Our Lord has given us in the Gospel and are truly among the just, then we have nothing to fear from the fiery traits, that is the temptations and persecutions of the devil. He will bark and hound, but he cannot bite the true servants of Christ.

And how do we know we are among those? Today’s Gospel gives us a major criteria of judgment: if we are conscious of the infinite debt we have been forgiven by God, and know how to forgive others, then we are among the true servants of Christ. We can then hope in salvation: “My soul is in Thy salvation, and in Thy word have I hoped: when wilt Thou execute judgment on them that persecute me? the wicked have persecuted me: help me, O Lord my God” (Communion verse, ps. 118). 

With utter confidence we can cry out as did Mardocheus in today’s introit: “All things are in Thy will, O Lord; and there is none that can resist Thy will, if Thou decree to save us”.

Let us renew then our prayer to the Lady of the Rosary, who at Fatima promised that Her Immaculate Heart would triumph, and let us gird ourselves with spiritual weapons to wage spiritual warfare. Immortal souls are at stake, our own and those of countless others who depend upon us.

Azariah, the Maccabees, and Lepanto

The introit for today’s Mass puts on our lips the dramatic prayer of Azariah in the burning furnace:

Blessed art thou, O Lord, the God of our fathers, and thy name is worthy of praise, and glorious for ever: For thou art just in all that thou hast done to us, and all thy works are true, and thy ways right, and all thy judgments true. … For we have sinned, and committed iniquity, departing from thee: and we have trespassed in all things: And we have not hearkened to thy commandments, nor have we observed nor done as thou hadst commanded us…. Wherefore, all that thou hast brought upon us, and every thing that thou hast done to us, thou hast done in true judgment: And thou hast delivered us into the hands of our enemies that are unjust, and most wicked, and prevaricators,… . And now we cannot open our mouths: we are become a shame, and a reproach to thy servants, and to them that worship thee. Deliver us not up for ever, we beseech thee, for thy name's sake, and abolish not thy covenant. And take not away thy mercy from us, for the sake of Abraham, thy beloved, and Isaac, thy servant, and Israel, thy holy one: … For we, O Lord, are diminished more than any nation, and are brought low in all the earth this day for our sins. Neither is there at this time prince, or leader, or prophet, or holocaust, or sacrifice, or oblation, or incense, or place of first fruits before thee, That we may find thy mercy: nevertheless, in a contrite heart and humble spirit let us be accepted. As in holocausts of rams, and bullocks, and as in thousands of fat lambs: so let our sacrifice be made in thy sight this day, that it may please thee: for there is no confusion to them that trust in thee. And now we follow thee with all our heart, and we fear thee, and seek thy face. Put us not to confusion, but deal with us according to thy meekness, and according to the multitude of thy mercies. And deliver us, according to thy wonderful works, and give glory to thy name, O Lord… (Dan 3:26-45)

Roughly at the same period in history, the Maccabees were mustering their scattered forces to resist the onslaught of pagan practices introduced by the Greeks. For them, the resistance took on a more spectacular mode: they had the means to resist and to fight, and fight they did. What was at stake was nothing less than their faith, their traditions, their identity as a people chosen by the true God and consecrated to Him.

Periodically, the Church, God’s people in the New Testament, finds herself in situations not unlike those presented in the Old Testament. When Jesus our Saviour established His Church on the Rock of Peter’s faith, He guaranteed that the gates of Hell would not prevail, which implies that Hell would try hard, that its onslaught would be unrelenting. “When the Son of Man comes, do you think He will find faith on earth”? Our Lord asked one day (Lk 18:8). In the eschatological discourse of St Matthew’s Gospel, the Lord tells us that the tribulation of those latter days will be so terrible as to nearly cause the loss of faith of the elect themselves, and so God Himself will shorten those days (Mt 24:22).

The fierce battles implied by all this should at once remind us to be cautious and to keep watch in prayer and penance. It’s not because the Church has the guarantee of lasting till the end of time that She has the guarantee of being easily recognisable by all at all times. There are periods in the New Testament when, like those of the Old, all seems lost. Confusion reigns, vice is rampant, the world shouts triumph.

In those days, those “evil days” of which St Paul speaks in today’s epistle, we must pray as did Azariah, that God have mercy on us. We must humble ourselves, do penance, atone for our sins, for our sins have contributed to making the situation what it is.

But we must also have the zeal and fortitude of the Maccabees. We must stand up and fight for the faith, not with swords of steel and weapons of war, but with the sword of the Spirit, that two-edged sword that pierces the mind and heart, revealing to all the inner thoughts of the soul, and unveiling God’s eternal truths, which never change, to a world that has lost its bearings and is about to lose its soul.

Perhaps the most heartening in it all is that in these historical circumstances as in so many others in the New Testament, the odds were against the true servants of God. On this day we commemorate the naval victory of Lepanto. Things did not look good for the Christian forces on that 7th of October 1571; they were massively outnumbered, but many, including the saintly pontiff in Rome, St Pius V, were praying the Rosary and fasting for the victory. When the decisive battle was engaged, the wind turned, favouring the Christian forces, who won the battle and saved Christendom from Muslim invasion.

Let us ever turn our minds and hearts to Our Lady of Victories, who alone in this moment of crisis, can turn the tide of evil that has reached the very heart of the Church. She alone can work the miracle of overturning the forces that seek to destroy the inheritance of her Son. Let us say to her, with today’s communion antiphon: “Remember the words thou didst speak to thy servant and which gave me hope in my humiliation”. And with the alleluia verse, let us ever tell the Beloved in our daily prayer: “My heart is ready, My God, my heart is ready, I will sing and I will fight for the glory of Thy Name”. Amen.

Being different

Today’s Mass readings are all about “being different”. In the epistle, St Paul tells the Ephesians that, now they are converted, they must put on the “new man created in justice and in the holiness of truth"; they must leave behind their former ways which included lying, cheating, dealing harshly and cruelly with others, without care for the needy. This thought, which is a frequent one, not just with St Paul, but with all the New Testament epistles, was clearly a major tenet of the early Church. Christians are different, they have to be. The reason is that Christ was different. He did not live like other people. He taught a moral doctrine that flew in the face of his contemporaries, as it flies in the face of every age. It is of God, it is not of man.

One of the consequences of this is that, as soon as Christians start wanting to be like everybody else, desiring to be accepted and acknowledged as friends of the world, then they have already started down a path that ultimately can only lead away from the paths of the Gospel.

The need for Christians to be different is stressed in another way by the Lord Himself in the Gospel. The parable of the wedding feast in Matthew 22 tells us of how the king threw a wedding feast for his son. When those who were invited refused to come, the king was angry, and sent his servants to find others to fill the vacant seats at the marriage banquet. Good and bad people came there. The king went in to see the guests, and he found one who was not wearing the wedding garment, the special attire required for such a momentous occasion. The king was really angry this time, and asked the man how he had gotten in without the wedding garment. The fellow was speechless, as evildoers often are when justly accused. The king lost no time in having this man bound with fetters and thrown into the external darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.

What is going on here? Would it not have been nicer to usher him into a vesting room so that he could fix himself up for the feast? The fact is, that wasn’t an option. Why wasn’t it? Because it’s all about being different. The man was fine as long as he was out there in the world. He could have gone on living that way. But the fact is, he was called by God to enter the Church. He did so, BUT — he intended to go on living as he had before. His neglect to put on the wedding garment constitutes a capital offence against the king, because it shows a deep disregard for the dignity of the new life of grace we are called to. If one seeks to live in the Church, to receive the sacraments, to be considered a Catholic (and even a cleric…) but does not change one’s life (one’s “garments”), then one is poking fun at God himself. And as St Paul told us a couple Sundays ago, “God is not mocked”.

The lesson is that if we really want to be disciples of Christ, then we have to be different. As Julien Green wrote: ““Any Catholicism is suspect if it does not disturb the one who practices it, if it does not mark him in the eyes of the world, if it does not overwhelm him, if it does not make of his life a passion renewed every day, if it is not difficult and odious for the flesh, if it is not unbearable”.

With Joshua, let us say: “As for me and my house we will serve the Lord” (Jos 24:15). We refuse to bend the knee before the idols of the day. We are different.

Penance and peace

“Give peace, O Lord, to those who wait for Thee”. So we sing in today’s introit. Waiting for the Lord, hoping in His aid, trusting that He will provide us with all that is needed for our salvation. The Gospel helps us understand what the most important ingredient of peace is: the forgiveness of sins.

The poor paralytic could not move, just as the sinner cannot move spiritually. Stuck in his bad habits, half-dead, unable to go to Jesus, he is totally helpless, he can do nothing for himself. '“Without Thee, we cannot please Thee”, we say in the collect of the Mass. Without God’s grace, the sinner cannot take the first step to conversion. Thank God, some kind soul brings him to Jesus. “Have confidence, son, your sins are forgiven”. Have confidence, for you will find peace when you have found forgiveness. St Paul says as much when he writes to the Ephesians that “Christ is our peace”. Is this not the reason for which on Easter Sunday evening, the first words Our Lord addresses to His apostles is: “Peace be to you”, before giving them the power to forgive sins.

Interestingly today’s Gospel ends with the crowds giving praise to God for having given “such power to men” — not only to Jesus, but to “men” in the plural. The text is alluded to in the section of the Catechism explaining the sacrament of penance. In His amazing kindness, God not only offers the forgiveness of sins through His Son, but He also shares that power with other men who take part in His saving mission through the sacrament of Holy Orders. In this way, all of the faithful can hear the words of forgiveness and healing pronounced over them: “Your sins are forgiven”.

With the forgiveness of sins and the peace that comes with it, the faithful soul also receives all the spiritual treasures of the Church. With sanctifying grace come the virtues and gifts of the Holy Spirit: “we are made rich”, St Paul tells us in today’s epistle. And the Secret prayer at the offertory reminds us that through the Eucharistic Sacrifice, we are made — o marvel of marvels! — “partakers of the one most High Divinity”.

Let us pray, then, that more and more souls in the spiritual desert of the modern world, may be brought to Jesus, that they may be healed of their spiritual paralysis and sins, and find peace and joy in all the treasures of our holy faith, especially the treasure of the Love of God and neighbour which makes for a joyful life on this earth and eternal beatitude in the next.

Grace and prayer

Today's oration underlines the need we have of Divine Grace. "May Thy grace, O Lord, always go before us and follow after us, and give us to be intent upon performing good works".

This oration contains in germ all the Church's teaching on actual grace. Actual grace could be defined as that created spiritual gift that God gives to a soul to help it repent, avoid sin, and keep the commandments. This is distinguished from habitual, or sanctifying grace, which is the created spiritual gift God infuses into the soul to make it pleasing to Him. When we refer to "being in a state of grace", we mean that a soul is pleasing to God, has been forgiven its sins, and is therefore capable of having Him dwell within as a Divine Guest and Friend.

Actual grace, to which our oration refers, is something different. We could perhaps make a  comparison and liken it to the food and drink that a human body needs to stay alive. When a baby is born, the body has everything it needs to be alive, but if it is not nourished, it will die. So, a soul in God's sanctifying grace, still needs actual grace on a daily basis in order to persevere and be saved. 

God gives what we call "prevenant graces" to a soul who is ignorant of Him and in a state of sin, in order to help it open up to conversion and salvation. But the soul already in God's sanctifying grace, that is, in God's friendship, also needs actual graces in order to persevere, ward off temptations and perform good works. 

So how is this grace made available to us? Quite simply: it is there for the asking. Our daily prayers are like the daily food we take for our bodies. If on a given day we do not eat, our body will feel weak. If on a given day we do not pray, our soul will be weak and could easily fall prey to temptation.

The most powerful sources of grace are the sacraments, especially the Holy Eucharist, received when in the state of sanctifying grace (you can't feed a dead body, nor can the Eucharist feed a dead soul!). The sacrament of the Lord's Body is the most powerful source of actual grace, because it contains the author of grace Himself, our Lord Jesus Christ. The sacrament of penance too brings with it abundant grace to overcome the future temptations we may have and uproot the evil tendencies within us.

There are also the sacramentals, such as holy water, blessed medals, scapulars, indulgenced prayers. But any prayer, even the shortest, obtains actual grace. That is why St Alphonsus, who is the patron of moral theologians, teaches that in the moment of temptation one is morally obliged to pray: in the heat of battle one must, absolutely MUST make use of the weapons we have at our disposal. Only a fool throws off his weapons and armour in the heat of battle!

So let us open up the arsenal given to us by Holy Mother Church. Let us remember that we always, always and everywhere have the actual grace to pray, and our perseverance and the obtaining of further actual graces is dependent upon our making use of the first grace to pray. If you pray, you will not fall. Sin is never unavoidable. Ever. And one is never obliged to choose between two sins. Prayer opens a path to freedom and to the heroic practice of virtue. With prayer all things are possible.

Learning to hate the sin

Some time ago I ran across a poem composed by Blessed John Henry Newman entitled "Zeal and Love". As I read it, I thought: "Wow, this is just what we need in the present age". I resolved to post it then, but waited. With recent events in the Church, I think today that it will prove useful for a serious examination of conscience.  

In the past half a century at least, we have, in the Catholic Church, made considerable progress in the art of seeing what's good in other people and in other religions. No one is entirely evil. It is therefore a quality to know how to discern the good from the bad. It can also be helpful in many situations to know how to leave aside the bad in order to speak of the good. But when that diplomatic approach (frequently useful in politics) becomes the only approach to reality, and when one has become so accustomed to it that one neglects to see what's wrong and do something about it, one ends up with catastrophic situations like those we have been hearing about of late, with shepherds corrupting their own flocks and nobody doing anything about it. 

Perhaps if those who had authority to act had meditated on this little poem, many crimes would have been prevented and many souls saved. Hear John Henry Newman.

Zeal and love

John Henry Newman, Oxford November 20, 1832

And would'st thou reach, rash scholar mine,
Love's high unruffled state?
Awake! thy easy dreams resign,
First learn thee how to hate:-

Hatred of sin, and Zeal, and Fear,
Lead up the Holy Hill;
Track them, till Charity appear
A self-denial still. 

Dim is the philosophic flame,
By thoughts severe unfed:
Book-lore ne'er served, when trial came, 
Nor gifts, when faith was dead. 

"Learn thee how to hate". The future Cardinal took that line straight from Holy Scripture. It happens to be in one of the psalms that the clergy are supposed to recite in the Divine Office: "The Lord loves those who hate evil" (Psalm 96 [97]: 10). And St Paul would write to the Romans: "Hate what is evil, hold on to what is good".

So let's relearn the art of hatred. Perhaps it's not too late after all, if only we can convince ourselves that evil deserves every fibre of hatred that we can muster. For if "the Lord loves those who hate evil", do we really think he loves those who don't? 

St Benedict and the liturgy as Opus Dei

Talk given at St Benedict’s Parish/Notre Dame University, Sydney, Thursday 30 August 2018

God’s work and ours

Reading the Rule of St Benedict for the first time, one might be surprised to encounter a recurring expression whose meaning is not at first sight obvious. St Benedict refers often to the “work of God”, in Latin, Opus Dei.  The first mention occurs in chapter 22 which explains how the monks are to sleep. We are told that when the bell rings for Matins, the first office of the day which is celebrated when it is still night, the monks should seek to hasten “to be before one another” (praeveniant) at the “work of God”. In chapter 43 of the Rule, which is concerned with those who might come late to the office, St Benedict is clear: “let nothing be put before the Work of God”. Clearly there is something important going on here.

Opus Dei, the work of God. The expression refers to the Sacred Liturgy, the eight-fold celebration of the Divine Office each day. Question: when we say “‘the Work of God”, are we referring to work that is done for God, as when we say, for example, that a man works for his boss or for his company? Or do we mean that the “Work of God” is the work that God does for us? Are we doing work for God, or is God doing work for us?

As is often the case, it’s not one or the other; it’s both.

St Benedict refers in chapter 50 of the Rule to the Divine Office as being a pensum servitutis, literally a “burden of servitude”, or we could also translate it as “the due measure of our bounden service”. The monk, who has bound himself to God by sacred vows, has now become one of those souls privileged to pray to God in the name of the Church. He must therefore acquit himself of this duty at the required times. That is why the patriarch of monks prescribes that even when travelling or doing some job at a distance from the monastery which will not allow him to return to choir for the office, he must, in the place where he is, kneel down before God and pray his psalms. 

If the Sacred Liturgy is the monk’s highest function, for which he must spend his energies, the monk can never have a holiday, if we interpret that word in the modern sense of the term, meaning a time during which one can leave one’s work behind, forget it, and enjoy the leisure of “doing nothing”. For the monk, even though there may be times when he can be dispensed from other aspects of his enclosed life, the Divine Office always remains his duty, his main “opus”, for the fundamental reason that it is the opus Dei, the work of God of whom the monk is the servant.

Young monks experience the reality of this servitude in their early years in monastic life. Even though they might love the office and want to be present for its celebration, they soon discover that it is a challenge to be there all the time, to get up every morning long before dawn while nature is still sound asleep, in order to go and perform God’s work. If he wants to persevere, grow in fidelity and perfect himself in the performance of this duty, he needs to reflect upon the other aspect of the opus Dei: it is the work that God Himself performs. How is this? What does it mean?

To begin to grasp its significance, we need to go back to Genesis. God made the universe in six days. He “laboured”, as it were, for six days to produce the universe, with earth and man at its centre, and then, says Genesis, He rested on the seventh day. That is why the seventh day is sacred. It is the day on which God took rest. Obviously God does not need to rest because He does not get tired. So what is meant by this rest of God?

The great rest of God in which we are called to take part, and which both Psalm 94 and the Epistle to the Hebrews refer to, is eternal beatitude in the unending tranquillity of the divine life. Do we not sing for the deceased: requiem aeternam dona eis Domine - Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord? Take them into the blessedness of your eternal realm where their every desire will be fulfilled and put to rest.

But in St John’s Gospel, Our Lord reveals an astounding truth to the Pharisees after the healing of the man who had been crippled for 38 years: “My Father worketh until now; and I work” (Jn 5:17). These words inform us that God’s work is not over; even though the creation of the universe was complete, there is some other creation that is ongoing. It is the creation of the new man of which St Paul speaks: “And put on the new man, who according to God is created in justice and holiness of truth” (Eph 4:24).

The relevance of this thought for our purposes tonight is this: since God is continually at work seeking to bring about our sanctification, and since the sacred liturgy plays a vital role in that divine work, then the liturgy will only be Opus Dei in the full sense of the term when it allows God to act in our world, both in those who are present at the liturgy, and in all souls of good will who are open to the Divine Grace which pours forth from it as from an inexhaustible fountain. But we must add that the human actors in the sacred liturgy, as they seek to integrate the Opus Dei into their daily lives, cannot dream of doing so without a serious effort. If God is at work, so must we be. St Teresa of Calcutta was fond of saying that if you want to pray better, you need to pray more. Is it not one of the great illusions of modern times that, if we want to increase the quality of our celebrations, we have to decrease their quantity and their length? Odd indeed. As if the less practice you get, the better you will perform.

Opus Dei in the recitation of the office

So when we say that the liturgy is the work that God does for us, what we really mean is that it is the outlet of God’s grace in the world. The sacred liturgy quite simply is the channel through which God can continue His work in the world, that ongoing work which was begun in Genesis, pursued throughout the history of the Old Testament with the constant interventions of God to form His people, and brought to a culmination in the New Covenant with the eternal sacrifice of our Lord Jesus Christ. This is precisely why the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is the “source and summit” of the life of the Church, the living heart of the liturgy itself. 

Whenever the Church gathers together to pray the Divine Office, or even when one of its officially deputed members prays it in the name of the Church, what is happening is that God is using the lips and voice of that person in order to make present, here and now, the saving power of the redemption. But let’s take an example and see how this actually plays itself out. 

One of the most prevalent themes in the psalms is the celebration of the event of the exodus from Egypt, wrought by Moses on behalf of God. The exodus has always been seen as the prototype of the redemption which Jesus came to bring us. Just as the angel passed over the houses of the Hebrews (whence the word “passover”) and did not kill their firstborn, so in the New Covenant Jesus Christ passes from death to life through His paschal mystery, thus obtaining for us the grace to pass from the death of sin to the life of grace, and ultimately to eternal life itself. As we sing of the victory of Israel over Egypt, we celebrate the victory of Our Saviour over Satan. The chant of the Church makes that victory present throughout history. At the same time, it draws more abundantly upon the treasury of grace that Christ merited for us, and allows that grace to pour itself out upon souls today. 

The question might be asked: how does this work? How does the grace present in the celebration of the Divine Office find its way to the entire Church? I think we can make a comparison with the Eucharistic Sacrifice. Each Mass obtains a superabundance of grace going far beyond the limits of the edifice in which it is celebrated. The Divine Office is not a sacrament in the strict sense of the term; yet, it is nevertheless permissible to refer to it as sacramental in the broad sense. By virtue of the faith and devotion of those who recite the texts of the liturgy, the saving events become present and achieve in the present what they signified in history. Just as the annual eating of the paschal lamb made present in the minds and hearts of the Hebrews the saving event of the Exodus, so the memory of God’s marvels as they are recorded in the psalms and other sacred texts makes present, in some way, the grace that flows from the sacrifice of Calvary. The difference is that, whereas the Mass operates “ex opere operato”, the Office is going to operate “ex opere operantis”: the level of faith and devotion of those who take part in the celebration is going to determine the amount of grace made available to the world.

The Opus Dei, the Work of God, is ongoing. God did not create the world and leave it to its own devices. He is continually at work as Our Lord says clearly in the passage of St John already quoted. But that work takes place through human agents. God is the primary cause of all things, but He has willed that there be secondary causes, who really and truly exercise causality in the world. When a person sets aside time in their daily schedule to pray, what they are really doing is allowing God, primary cause, to act through them, to continue His saving work today. The Sacred Liturgy is the most potent way of allowing God to act, for it allows His saving grace, the saving events of history to reach us and through us the world.

Opus Dei as the voice of the Church

If the liturgy is the work of God because it is God accomplishing His work in history, it is also the work of the Church. St Basil speaks of the psalms as being the “voice of the Church”. Whenever someone prays the psalms, it is the Church herself who is praying, and it is thus the voice of the Church that is being heard throughout the world. The “totus Christus”, the whole Christ it is who prays the liturgy. With Him the Church sends up her voice, and fulfills God’s plan throughout the world.

Since the earthly liturgy is also the earthly celebration of the divine liturgy of heaven, we can say that it is, as one author wrote, the “daughter of the praise that is sung before the throne of God and the Lamb.” In the psalms God sings His own praise, and He thus gives us the very words by which we are able to sing the praise of God on earth. This praise is the climax of God’s work on earth.

Is it possible to be insensitive to all the passages of the psalms in which the immense majesty of God, His omnipotence, His justice, His goodness, His inexpressible clemency and His other infinite grandeurs are expressed? Is it possible to not respond by similar sentiments, by acts of thanksgiving for the benefits received from God, by humble and confident prayers for what we are in need of, or by cries of a soul who repents of its sins? Is it possible to not be set on fire with love by the image of Christ the redeemer, for as St Augustine wrote, in all the psalms it is the voice of Christ that we hear, whether it be to sing or to moan, to rejoice in hope or sigh in the present misfortune?

And so it becomes easier to understand why St Benedict could instruct his monks to “prefer nothing to the work of God” (Rule ch. 43). Is there any other work on earth that is of greater worth than that of God? and if God allows some of his creatures to associate themselves with that work, then can there be any other more noble use of time and talent?

This being so, it becomes easier to understand why monks spend so much time and energy in making the divine office happen, and why their own little fatigue or ailments fade into the background.

Opus Dei in a secular environment

At last we come to the question that motivated this conference. How can we imitate St Benedict’s example in the secular environment we live in? 

The temptation might be to compromise and imagine that, given changed situations in our world, the need for prayer has evolved: such was the epic error of recent times: to imagine that somehow now the Church could spare herself long prayers in order to go out and challenge the world. This is to forget the most fundamental reality of the spiritual life: if the apostle does not give quality time to God each day in prayer, it becomes impossible for him to radiate the presence of Christ. If he does not stay close to the fire, His heart will grow cold, his spiritual batteries deplete rapidly, and he ends up being sucked into the mentality of the world, with all the dangers and falls we hear of to our profound sorrow. Such things happen to those who think they can fix the world without having continual recourse to prayer.

True, the entire monastic life is structured in such a way as to favour as much as possible the spirit of prayer, and people who are living in the world do not have the advantages of such structures. For sure, they are not called to spend as much time in prayer as monks, but it is nevertheless certain that there is really only one way of allowing St Benedict’s ideal to have a real influence on the lives of those who are not monks. It is to set time aside each day for prayer. We cannot expect to have and nourish the spirit of prayer without our actually setting aside some time each day for it.

Why not inscribe in our daily schedules times of prayer and praise, personal and communal? If we are in the context of family life or professional life where others are like-minded, this can actually take the form of celebrating part of the liturgy of the hours together. 

Here, let me add that I do not think this can happen in a consistent way without adding to it, at least a little, the beauty of well-executed chant. If this is God’s work, it must be beautiful; if I am privileged to take part in it, I must engage my energies in order that those who witness it might be edified and feel themselves inspired to praise God with me. I have never forgotten an anecdote in the life of my baptismal patron, St Robert Bellarmine. It is told that God gifted him with a beautiful voice. Whenever he chanted the office publicly, he never refrained from giving full expression to his talent, in order to both honour God as is fitting, and inspire those who would hear him with a great desire to imitate his example. 

This is somewhat reminiscent of that famous passage from the 9th book of the Confessions where St Augustine tells of how the sweetness of the divine praise contributed to his conversion. When one achieves the Work of God, one is realising on earth the Work that glorifies God, converts and saves man.

So let’s learn how to invest some energy in learning, or relearning the beauty of the chant. And why not even consider doing so in the language of the Church? Leaving aside the continual insistence of the popes that the liturgy be celebrated in Latin, we can see another advantage of using the common language of the Church. In an era of frequent exchanges between continents and countries, having recourse to a common liturgical language makes it easy to celebrate the liturgy with Christians of other nations. The common voice of the one Church thus rises amidst the constant clamour and cacophony of our modern world become a giant metropolis in which conflicting voices frequently contradict each other. Getting together to celebrate with a common voice and language the glories of the one true God and His Son Jesus Christ cannot fail to be an inspiration to a world that is broken and shaken to its foundations.

We also need to insist a little bit on the ways to interiorise this recitation of the public prayer of the Church. The activism and externalism of recent decades has led to undervalue the time spent in preparation for the liturgy and the silent contemplation of its mysteries afterwards. Unless our liturgy is going to turn into a theatrical performance, it must be prepared for and prolonged by personal times of prayer, precisely with the texts celebrated by the liturgy. The ancient monks referred to this as “chewing, or ruminating” the Word of God.

 If it is one’s desire to imitate St Benedict’s example and that of his monks by making present the Work of God in the modern world, then one must also make use of the main tool that the saint gives to his monks in order to raise their minds and hearts to the level of one who is capable of such a task: I’m referring of course to the practice of lectio divina, that is to say, the spiritual reading of divine things.

Let’s be clear: there can be no Opus Dei without lectio divina. For sure, it would be possible to sing the psalms, it would even be possible to do so quite well, as an artistic performance. But it would not be Opus Dei. Opus Dei can only be Work of God if it is animated from the inside by the desire for God, and desire for God can only come through getting to know Him, and getting to know Him can only come through spending time with Him and His word: such is lectio divina.

Model of Our Lady

As in so many other areas of our lives, we need help. We need that help that only a mother can give. I like to see in the first three joyful mysteries of the Rosary a biblical mini-presentation of what happens in the liturgy, God’s work on earth. In the first mystery, that of the Annunciation, we see Mary, the humble virgin, in prayer, probably reading and studying the Scriptures. She is assimilating the Word of God, letting it penetrate deep into her mind and heart. As she does so, she receives the visit of the archangel Gabriel who has come to reveal to her God’s plan of salvation which begins with her Fiat. If she had not already opened her mind and heart to the Word of God, would she have been able to accept the offer presented by the angel? Would she not, on the contrary, have run the risk of missing entirely its momentousness? So many times in our lives we receive visits from God and his angels: are we prepared for them by spending time with God’s Word each day?

Once Mary receives the ambassador angel and gives her consent to the great mystery of God’s love, the Incarnation takes place: that central moment of history in which God takes on our flesh. Verbum caro factum est: the miracle of miracles comes about because that young virgin knew how to spend time with God’s Word, thus opening herself to its realisation in her in a new and completely unexpected way. But it doesn’t end there. The angel’s visit inspires Mary to practice fraternal charity by going to pay a visit to her elderly kinswoman who is also with child. And what happens during that Visitation are events so astounding that we owe to them the two most important canticles of the New Testament: the Magnificat and the Benedictus. Lectio divina leads to liturgy: it is because Mary contemplated God’s Word in the Scriptures that she was able to conceive God’s Word incarnate in her womb, and then the incarnation seeks to manifest itself through praise. My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior. … The Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is from age to age to those who fear him. Mary is able to lend her voice to praise because her heart has become accustomed to its expression.

And then there is the third mystery, the Nativity. After praying with the Word in lectio divina, after singing the praise of the Word with the inspired Word itself, that Word, already incarnate in her womb, manifests itself to the world by being born in Bethlehem. And this is the beautiful image of what happens in our lives. Our personal prayer with the Word leads to communal praise with the Word, and then to the making present of the Word through the practical deeds of our daily lives.

If this is so, then no matter how secularised our world may be, the presence within it of souls who truly believe and are ready to take steps towards allowing God to permeate the world with His grace, no matter how few in number they might be, is a cause for great hope, for, as the history of the Maccabees proves, it is not numbers that God needs, but souls aflame with love and fervour, who pray the psalms and so give historical expression to all the prayers and attitudes of mind and heart that are needed in every human situation. 

In conclusion, let’s go back to the sacred text and see how, even though composed centuries before the coming of Christ, a psalm can apply to the Church today; let’s see how both monks and laity can unite their voices with that of the psalmist as he cries out for help from God for the people who are in danger because their leaders have proven helpless. Psalm 79:

Shepherd of Israel, listen, guide of the flock of Joseph! From your throne upon the cherubim reveal yourself to Ephraim, Benjamin, and Manasseh. Stir up your power, come to save us. O LORD of hosts, restore us; Let your face shine upon us, that we may be saved.  LORD of hosts, how long will you burn with anger while your people pray? You have fed them the bread of tears, made them drink tears in abundance. You have left us to be fought over by our neighbors; our enemies deride us. O LORD of hosts, restore us; let your face shine upon us, that we may be saved. You brought a vine out of Egypt; you drove away the nations and planted it. You cleared the ground; it took root and filled the land. The mountains were covered by its shadow, the cedars of God by its branches. It sent out boughs as far as the sea, shoots as far as the river. Why have you broken down the walls, so that all who pass by pluck its fruit? The boar from the forest strips the vine; the beast of the field feeds upon it. Turn again, LORD of hosts; look down from heaven and see; Attend to this vine, the shoot your right hand has planted. Those who would burn or cut it down — may they perish at your rebuke. May your help be with the man at your right hand, with the one whom you once made strong.  Then we will not withdraw from you; revive us, and we will call on your name. LORD of hosts, restore us; let your face shine upon us, that we may be saved. 

With these inspired words, let us pray, in, with and for the Church. May we ourselves, whatever our state in life, be converted to a life of profound and constant prayer culminating in the Opus Dei, the Work of God. If so, we may be among those who help achieve the purification and rejuvenation of the Church, that she may be once again the city set on a mountain, enlightening the nations, and leading them into the glory of God’s kingdom.

Let your face shine upon us, O Lord, that we may be saved!

God exalts the humble and the chaste

With the entire Church on earth and in Heaven, with all the angels and saints, today we honour the Most Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, and our Mother. With hearts overflowing with joy we consider the privilege this humble woman has received in being conceived immaculate, chosen to be Mother of God, and now glorified in body and soul in Heaven with her Divine Son. Mary is not aloof from us. She is our mother. Raised to the heights of glory, she continues to look down upon us with maternal concern and sollicitude. 

As she looks at us today, as she considers the world with the waves of sin and violence that continue to cause so much suffering, what might she be thinking and what might she be wanting to get across to us? I suggest the answer is furnished in the Magnificat which the Church today presents as the Gospel reading, and in particular these words: "Exaltavit humiles — He has exalted the lowly". Yes, what makes Mary great is that she is lowly in her own eyes. Far from being lifted up with pride, she humbles herself even more before God, giving Him all praise for the marvels of grace He has wrought in her.

She might also invite us to look to her as an example of purity. Our world is more than ever handed over to all the evils and diseases and violence which are the normal cortege of the unbridled vice of lust. As those filthy waves furl over the world and spare not even the Church and the men who should be models of all virtue, Mary Immaculate is calling us to look to her, to pray to her, to ask her to sustain us in the battle for purity. Staying close to God through prayer and the sacraments, staying close to the Mother of Jesus, is the secret to being pure, and by being pure and humble, we will persevere in the joy and serenity of a Christian life whose ultimate goal is nothing less than glorification with Jesus and Mary, one day, in glory.

And that's perhaps the most consoling lesson of the Assumption: in Mary as in Jesus, the flesh, our human body is resplendent with glory; it is beyond corruption; it will never die nor fade away; even the flesh will take part in the eternal glory of paradise.

Such a thought should inspire us with the greatest respect for our bodies and those of others. It should give us a renewed sense of personal dignity, one that is grounded in humility because it is grounded in the truth that we receive all from God and are utterly dependent upon His mercy.

"His mercy is from age to age, to those who fear Him."

Sub tuum praesidium - At Our Lady's Feet

We are now in the midst of a novena to Our Blessed Mother. It started on the feast of the Transfiguration and will end on the glorious feast of the Assumption. During these days, on which we are also following a retreat guided by Fr Mark Bachmann from Clear Creek, we place ourselves before Our Lady and ask her to intercede on our behalf.

The main intention is for the happy settlement of our purchase of Jerusalem Estate, as we have reason to think this is Her will for the future of our community. We pray with confidence, trusting that if our prayer is in any way misguided, She, as a good Mother, will direct it as it should be.

To help you unite with our prayer, I thought you might like to hear a version of our daily chant of the Sub tuum praesidium. The monks sing this beautiful antiphon each day after Holy Mass at her altar in St Patrick's Church. Our intentions at that time are legion. We present our own needs of course, both spiritual and temporal, but also those of all our friends and benefactors. 

May this humble chant, one of the most ancient in Holy Church, help you to lift up your soul to Jesus through Mary, and obtain an increase of her maternal attention for you and yours.

We fly to thy patronage, O holy Mother of God; 
despise not our petitions in our necessities, 
but deliver us always from all dangers, 
O glorious and blessed Virgin.

God's tears

The heart-rending scene of today's Gospel should make us stop and think. Our Beloved Saviour, on the very day of his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, is moved to tears; he weeps over the holy city, lamenting her destruction which he foresaw. That terrible event which is recorded in history took place in the year 70 A.D. Jerusalem and its Temple were razed to the ground, utterly annihilated, brought low to the most profound humiliation.

More important for us is the motive of this catastrophe. The Lord tells us is because "you did not know the time of your visitation", that is to say, you did not realise the time that God was visiting you, bringing you salvation. God was in your midst, He walked among you, He healed your sick, He raised your dead, He brought consolation to all — and you rejected Him, you trampled Him under foot, you nailed Him to a cross. That horrible sin is what led to the destruction of Jerusalem, the glorious city, so long favoured by God.

But this event holds a deep lesson for each of us, for each of us is represented by the Holy City. Each soul, created by God, is destined to know Him and be one with Him in love. To that end, God visits us with His grace, He sends us inspirations, He guides us through the Holy Scriptures and through the teachings of the Church. He beckons continually to sinners, that they might return to Him. But the sinner rejects God, refusing His visits. And yet God continues to come back. He does not give up on the sinner.

And yet that mercy of God, which is not limited in its source, is limited in its earthly and temporal expression. There comes a day when His grace can no longer reach us, either because we have reached the end of our life or because we have made ourselves so deaf to His voice that He simply can't make Himself heard. "There is none so blind as he who will not see", and there is none so deaf as he who will not hear. St Augustine would have spoken of the Jesus who passes by and does not return, referring to the visits of the Lord which do not last indefinitely. 

So let us be sure to hearken to the voice that cries out to us each day. Let us be attentive to the grace that is given to us today. Today is the acceptable time, today is the day of salvation, for we know not if we will have a tomorrow, and we cannot presume on the mercy of God. God is not mocked, says St Paul to the Galatians.

May the Mother of Mercy touch our hearts and soften them, that they may receive the grace God is offering  us today. And may our sincere conversion dry the tears off Jesus' face, and console His Sacred Heart. That is what St Mary Magdalene did. Today her feast is somewhat forgotten because of the Sunday, but her tears mingle with those of the Lord. She teaches us by her example to mourn for our past wickedness, and she gives us the assurance that if we will only open our hearts to divine grace today, the path to real sanctity can open before us. With her, let us dry Jesus' tears today.

Solomon, Sodom and the Church

At the office of Matins today, Holy Church puts before our eyes the majestic temple built by King Solomon. This edifice, one of the wonders of the ancient world, was a prefiguration of the holy Catholic Church which would be established by the true Solomon, Our Lord Jesus Christ, and would extend its spiritual dominion to the ends of the earth. Solomon's temple was later destroyed, and the chosen people taken into captivity as a punishment for their lack of fidelity to the covenant God had so mercifully ratified with them.

Today's Mass sings of that Mercy of God, received in the midst of His Temple, that is, in the Church. It glorifies the Lord for building upon earth a temple to His glory, a city set on a mountain destined to be the light of the world.

Solomon and his temple prefigured not only the glory of the Church but also her trials. Throughout history, the Church has gone from rags to riches and back again several times. As Chesterton with his usual wit put it: "Christianity has died many times and risen again; for it had a God who knew the way out of the grave". 

But if it is fervour of spirit and devotion to God which bring prosperity to the Church, what is it that causes its demise? I suggest it is more often than not the same thing that caused the fall of Solomon: love of riches. This would seem to be confirmed by today's Gospel in which we hear Our Lord, somewhat surprisingly, praise a crooked intendant for his dishonest dealings. The man was condemned to lose his job, so what did he do? He reduced the debts of his master's debtors so that once removed from his post they would give him a warm welcome. Shrewd, treacherous, evil. Why then does the Lord praise him? Because he was smart. This steward does exactly what we should be doing: using the "mammon of iniquity", that is, earthly possessions and money, to relieve those in need. If God gives us prosperity, we must put it in God's bank, and God's bank consists of the poor of this world. 

If the Church had remembered this in every age, she may not have fallen into such hard times. Today the scandal of dioceses paying millions of dollars in court settlings causes outrage. Rightly so. But if those millions had been better used in the past, to relieve the needs of the poor, then perhaps we would have avoided the present scandals. 

The prophet Ezechiel scorns Sodom: Look at the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters were proud, sated with food, complacent in their prosperity, and they gave no help to the poor and needy (Ez 16:49). Sated with food, complacent in their prosperity. And what happened? They ended up in the ignoble vice which brought down fire from heaven. The same thing happened to Solomon: his riches brought him wives, many of them. And they perverted his heart. Lust brought low that man whom Scripture tells us was the wisest of all who ever lived. So true it is that as long as we live in this world, we must be on our guard against the monster that lies hidden in the heart of everyone of us. It is for having failed to learn that lesson that the Church is saddened today by so much filth in her bosom.

Let's take our cue from today's liturgy and ask the Lord for the grace to be prudent administrators of the goods God gives us. If we have much, we must give much, for much will be required of us. 

Then, and only then, can we hope that Mother Church will once again rise from the grave, and be the light on the mountain to which the nations converge, singing the praises of the Divine Majesty.

 

Of providence and fruits

This Sunday's collect tells us that God's providence never fails in its disposal of events. Never. Ever. From our very limited perspective, we might sometimes get the impression that something has gone wrong up there, that things should not be as they are. In those moments we need to remind ourselves of this oration and renew our faith that whatever God allows to happen — and this means absolutely everything that does happen — He does so for our conversion, sanctification and salvation. 

How many souls already in Heaven owe their salvation to what seemed, on the spur of the moment, a sad or tragic event! Without it, they would never have turned to God, and they would have remained and died in their sin, and they would now be in hell. 

The liturgy of this Sunday also speaks to us of fruit. In the Gospel, Our Lords puts us on our guard agains false prophets who come to us in sheep's clothing, but are actually ravenous wolves. "By their fruits you shall know them". In the Epistle, St Paul reminds the Romans that they derived no fruit whatsoever from the days when they pursued the interests of the flesh. The flesh, of itself, only produces illness and death. There can be no lasting fulfilment there.

Reading those words and reflecting upon many of the debates going on at the moment, one can only feel pity for those who give their lives to what we might call the culture of the flesh. All the demands for absolute licence in the moral realm are resumed in love for and even worship of the flesh. Whether it be about contraception, abortion, sodomy, transgenderism, euthanasia, etc. — all debates that shake our society to its very foundations — it's always about the flesh, about my body and what I do with it. It's all about me. I do whatever I want with my body, and nobody has any say about it. Period.

It's a pity that the countless souls ensnared in this vicious outlook on life do not take to heart those brief words of the apostle: you have lived long enough for the flesh, so STOP, because the flesh only ends in vice, in disease, in death, in rottenness, in despair. The fruit of the flesh is dark death and eternal misery. "Now the works of the flesh are manifest: which are fornication, uncleanness, immodesty, luxury, idolatry, witchcrafts, enmities, contentions, emulations, wraths, quarrels, dissensions, sects, envies, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like. Of the which I foretell you, as I have foretold to you, that they who do such things shall not obtain the kingdom of God" (Gal 5:19-21).

So humble yourself before God, lift up your heart on high and get out of that dark hole you have dug for yourself! God wants your happiness and fulfilment infinitely more than you do! But He wants your WHOLE fulfilment, body and soul. If you produce the fruit of the Spirit, which is "charity, joy, peace, patience, benignity, goodness, longanimity, mildness, faith, modesty, continency, chastity (Gal 5:22-23), then you will not only reap peace of heart in this life, but you will also inherit eternal life.

And this is where we see the link with providence: the provident one is the person who foresees from afar the true good, the fruit that lasts, and in order to make that true good a reality, he uses the present moment in a wise, prudent, virtuous way. It is by the practice of the virtues, in particular by pursuing a chaste life, that one takes part in the providence of God, that one becomes provident in turn. Then it is that one can begin to see God in events and in people: "Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God" (Mat 5:8).

 

Christopher Dawson Centre Colloquium 28-29 June 2018

Any room for priests, monks and nuns in an atheistic world?

Let me begin with a story. 

It was my first Christmas Eve in Tasmania, at a time when I was doing some of the groundwork in preparation for the monastic foundation the following year. I was going for an early afternoon stroll in Hobart. As I was making my way down the sidewalk, I spotted two men, probably in their late twenties, early thirties, sitting in the grass, smoking and drinking as they conversed…. 

They were intrigued by what they saw: a man walking down the street wearing a long white robe, a spectacle for sure. “What are you”? When I explained that I was a monk, and that I spent a fair amount of time praying to God, one of them proceeded to explain to me that he was an atheist. Later in the conversation, I would discover that, even though he did not believe — or said he did not believe — in God, he certainly did believe in Satan. Actually, I got the clear impression that he was a big fan of Satan against God.

At one stage in the conversation, I asked them if they knew what tomorrow was. They did. They knew that it was Christmas. So I asked if they knew what Christmas was. They knew that too: the birth of Jesus. Then I asked if they knew why Jesus came into the world. At that, one of them replied, “To make money”. 

After a moment of surprise, I tried to explain that Jesus actually came into the world in order to, following the expression of St John, “dissolve the works of the devil”, and this he did by teaching the practice of virtues, especially the virtues of humility and chastity. Well, that didn’t sit so well with them, and our conversation came to an end. It reminded me of the word of Archbishop Fulton Sheen: “Atheism, nine times out of ten, is born from the womb of a bad conscience. Disbelief is born of sin, not of reason”.

As I was preparing this talk, I was reminded of that sad Christmas Eve encounter which so dramatically describes the plight of modern man who lives without God, and drifts along, tossed about by his passions, a continual and all too easy prey to the ideology of the day that seeks to use him and then discard him after having robbed him of his dignity, the kind of ideology that inspired John Lennon’s Imagine: a pure utopia in which one blames religion for the ills of humanity when one has never been able to live up to the demands of true religion, which alone can give peace to a broken world. Lennon’s world is the search for a paradise on earth that never existed and never will exist. It is the betrayal of the homo sapiens into the hands of the homo insipiens who, fallen from a state of divine intimacy, can now only wander aimlessly in the land of estrangement from himself in which his pursuit of sensual satisfactions leaves him empty, sad, inclined to despair, and prone to the realm of darkness.

For indeed, when there is no spiritual principle to things, when man is not motivated by thirst for the absolute, then he is on a deadly spiral downwards into the  bottomless pit of unsuccessfully and frustratingly seeking to satisfy his instincts. But it never stops there. It keeps going down and down, to the world of darkness. For all evil is darkness. “This is the judgment: The light is come into the world and men loved darkness rather than the light: for their works were evil” (Jn 3:19). The dark presence that hovered recently over Hobart is a sad example.

Lennon sings: “Imagine all the people living for today.” “Living for today” is opposed to living for the tomorrow of eternity; it is living just for what we can see and enjoy here and now, as do animals. The tragedy is that, to a large extent, Lennon’s dream has come true. Even if there are still many people who profess and practice a religion, life is organised more and more etsi Deus non daretur. All that matters is matter. And whatever you need to do to satisfy your personal desires of the moment, that is good, as long as you do not interfere with your neighbour’s attempt to do the same.

For the moment in the west we are in a kind of twilight zone in which the progress of technology has made it possible for most people to enjoy lives of uninhibited search for leisure and pleasure, while leaving God and eternity in the background. It has given the illusion that life without God is perfectly possible, for the material things that we used to ask God for are now given to us by our computers and machines. But what will become of Lennon’s dream the day technology, for whatever reason, fails? The extremely fragile stability of modern economy will one day crumble, and then what will become of that imaginary world? Lennon forgot a fundamental truth: people rarely kill for religious reasons. They most often kill to get something they don’t have. People kill for money, they kill for a job, they kill for a lover, they even kill for food, drink and clothing when there’s not enough of them to go around. And that scenario is sure to come.

Many years ago I was invited to address a gathering of young adults, and I took as my theme: “The Purity of Faith and the Purity of Morals”. In that talk, I made a point of showing that faith and morals stand or fall together. One cannot have a solid faith in the living God, in His Son Jesus Christ, and go on living a life immersed in the satisfaction of one’s instincts. Conversely, it is impossible to live such a life and not arrive at the purity of faith. That is precisely why the Church, from the very start, was always very careful, even meticulous, about defining what we believe, for those definitions have far-reaching consequences on the way we live. If God is a slave-master, then his adherents will duplicate that mentality, and other people will be treated like chattel, which is what happens in the Islamic world. If God is self-sacrificing love, then other persons become an object of merciful compassion, which is what ideally happens in a Christian world, even if, alas, many Christians do not live up to that lofty standard.

This essential correlation between faith and morals has been expressed in many ways by a number of great minds in recent times, but I know of none who has said it in so few and so powerful words as St Pius X, who was Pope from 1903 to 1914. In a little known letter written in 1910 to condemn the French social movement called “le Sillon”, he wrote: “There is no true civilization without a moral civilization, and no true moral civilization without the true religion: it is a proven truth, a historical fact”. In other words, it is only by fidelity to the true God and His divinely revealed true religion that humanity can live in accordance with the truth of its own being; and this, in turn, can alone ensure that the future of the world will be peaceful and harmonious, just as the absence of God and that of his Church guarantees wars and conflicts. The liturgical oration for the feast of Christ the King in the traditional Roman Missal makes this clear when it asks that “the families of the nations, separated by the wound of sin, may submit themselves to the sweet rule of Christ” (cunctae familiae gentium, peccati vulnere disgregatae, eius suavissimo subdantur imperio). It is only in the submission of the mind and heart to the truth of Christ that grace is given to establish peace and harmony on earth.

What consequences can we draw from all this? I suggest that we need to ask ourselves a few questions. First and foremost: do I really believe it? Is it part of my life? Or have I let my faith dwindle under the influence of the ambient spirit of living without God inspired by cultural marxism? In a world which has abandoned nearly all of its moral principles, a world in which we breathe on a daily basis the infected air of the times, “for the days are evil” (Eph 5:16), if we do not make an effort to react against it, we will be swept along like everybody else. As GK Chesterton astutely remarked: “only what is dead flows with the current”.

 

 

After having asked ourselves these questions, and answered them rightly, we need then to start asking other people. A true believer is in many ways like Socrates. He must go about asking questions, questions which will provoke his contemporaries, forcing them to enter into themselves and think, hard questions which demand hard answers and that cannot be silenced, questions which may very well lead the questioner to the same end as  Socrates. Socrates lived in what in many respects was a pluralistc society. There were many gods, and many opinions. But Socrates could not be tolerated because Socrates would not keep quiet about the absolute. As in our day, Socrates’ age was one in which you can think and say anything you want except one thing: if you say there are moral absolutes, beware! “All animals are equal,” we are assured, but it isn’t long before we learn that “some animals are more equal than others!” And so it is with everyone who truly believes, whose faith is not only in words but in deeds.

And that brings us to the heart of the considerations I would like to share today. 

For those who are truly convinced, who are and want to remain on the right side of this battle — this is important for the victory already belongs to Christ and only those who remain with Him in the heat of battle will be crowned with Him — there are today, as there have always been, two possible reactions. 

One is to continue, plodding along, striving to found and raise a truly Christian family and form the men and women of tomorrow. It involves being out there in the public square, standing up for God, for Christ, for the moral order. This is done through writing, teaching, seeking to influence political life and the decisions that will affect the lives of many. I am personally convinced that we need many more of those brave men and women who fearlessly remind our wayward world of the unchanging reality which is God and His eternal law. At the same time, I give thanks to God for those we already have among us.

But there is also another path, a path which the first generations of Christians discovered quickly. It is the path of those who have been so deeply touched by the thought of the brevity of this ephemeral life and the only definitive reality which is eternity, that they decide to give their entire lives to God in prayer, silent adoration, hard work and sacrifice, in order to secure their own salvation for sure, but also to be an example to others and a source of light and love that will influence the world in a salvific way. Such is the category of men and women known to us as monks and nuns. For some here today, the thought might seem eccentric. Why go off into seclusion, on the margin of society, grouped into houses that are, for all practical purposes, invisible to the eyes of the world? Should these not join ranks with the laity in their efforts to bring God back to the world?

To answer that question, we need to know a little bit more about what monastic life is. And I would hope, by these few words, to open up a new vista, a new world perhaps for some, unsuspected, certainly unfashionable.

In his first epistle, St John tells the first generation of faithful to be on their guard against what he calls the “concupiscence of the flesh, the concupiscence of the eyes, and the pride of life” (1 Jn 2:16). Those three sources of unhealthy and unholy coveting which undermine the work of God in souls, are precisely the three archenemies which the religious vows of poverty, chastity and obedience counterattack. 

The religious life and especially its monastic form, is, of its very essence, contrary to the essential tenets of the world. What the world adores, it scorns; what the world loves, it hates; what the world promotes, it rejects. Why? Because, as St Paul told the Corinthians: “the fashion of this world is passing away” (1 Cor 7:31), this world which St John tells us, “is seated in wickedness” (1 Jn 5:19). 

It is only by living the Gospel values to the full that religious souls can truly be the leaven in the dough, the grain of seed which, apparently insignificant, actually bears within itself all future life, the salt that gives savour to culture, the light that saves the world from darkness. In a culture that is dying out, losing hope in itself and in its own posterity, the source of true renewal is found in those souls who stand firm amidst the whirlwind of contemporary culture, or rather, lack thereof.

Even though a Benedictine, the motto of the Carthusian order has always inspired me: “Stat crux dum volvitur orbis”: which we could translate: “the cross stands motionless while the world goes around in circles”. Only in fidelity to the One who died on the cross and taught us thereby the power of redemptive suffering, only through souls who accept to live that redemptive suffering to the full, renouncing even the legitimate goods of human life, can the world be saved from the annihilation caused by the roaring waves of deviant subhuman ideology.

This is something the founders of all religious orders understood so well. It is what inspired the first generation of anchorites to go out and live in the desert; it is what led St Benedict to leave Rome when a prosperous life of fame and pleasure smiled upon his youth; it is what caused St Francis and St Dominic to embrace the evangelical poverty which has been the hallmark of the mendicant orders ever since; it is what led St Ignatius to place his future in the hands of the Son of God, offering his whole life to serve in the ranks of the sacred militia; it is what filled the monasteries and made them beacons of hope for the world. It is, today, what continues to inspire young men and women to forego the purported freedom of a worldly life, to renounce the legitimate joys of marriage and parenting, the attractions of a career and belongings. It is what leads them to embrace what is hard for nature: solitude, penance, long hours of prayer and devout study of divine things, humble work that does not earn a salary, but serves the needs of the community he lives with.

Monastic life holds within it a profound mystery: a soul, enamoured of God and desirous of living in His presence, crosses the threshold of a monastery door, taking cover under the shadow of God’s wings as it were, saying goodbye to loved ones and loved dreams, making an act of faith that the God who calls will not fail. The soul, like Abraham being called to leave his home country and family, sets out on a journey, not knowing where he is going, oblivious of where the path is leading, and not really caring where it leads, because he knows it leads to God.

Once such a soul finds the courage to take that step, he finds himself in a world he had not dreamed of before. He discovers that though he is in solitude, he is not alone; though he is poor, he is immensely enriched; though has given up the love of a woman, he is given unexpected insight into the love of the Three Divine Persons and the joys of fraternal charity, radiance of the divine love for which he is made and into which he longs to immerse himself; he realises that religious life is essentially a love affair between Christ and the soul: we can even say it is Christ chasing the soul, begging its love, and rewarding beyond measure those who allow themselves to be seduced. The young man who leaves a world of unbridled freedom and finds himself in the ranks of a stricly ordered community life, is astonished to realise that such apparent servitude is actually the greatest emancipation: the soul, by having its daily decisions made for it, is thus free to love God, to serve Him, to go carefree through the verdant prairies of conventual life. An ancient monk expressed it this way: “We are given the name of monk (monos, sole, unique) because of the life of undivided unity by which, drawing back our mind from the distractions of many things, we thrust ourselves forward to union with God and the perfection of holy love”.

In a Benedictine community, the soul discovers something else, namely the undreamt of depths of that wellspring which is the Sacred Liturgy. It finds itself drawn more and more into the mystery of Divine Worship, the form of which the Church has received from God Himself in the psalms and in the other inspired texts of Holy Scripture. The monk, like the nun, finds himself seven times a day and once in the night, admitted to join the angelic choirs in singing the praises of the Triune God. The “Holy, Holy, Holy” of the Seraphim is no longer just an expression: it is his life, a life now placed like incense on the hot coals of Divine Love, rising into the vaults of creation, ravishing the Heart of God as it consumes the heart of the man who is blessed to have been chosen.

This small army of men and women who spend their lives in cloisters, standing for hours a day in their choir stalls, thus becomes the representative of humanity before God. In a world that forgets God when it does not reject Him completely, the monk sings, he chants, he shouts with all his strength: “God alone is good, God alone is holy, God alone is worthy to be served and praised. Let my life be consumed in that holocaust, let me lose my life as long as by it a bit more love may be returned to the Sacred Heart, so that when He looks out over the world, at least there, in that humble choir stall, a heart may beat with pure, holy love of the Creator.”

Such a life is one of which our world is in dire need. The French author Paul Valéry once wrote that the day is fast coming when, in order to find free men, one will have to go into the cloisters. That day has come. The light of civilisation is disappearing over the horizon, and humanity is now handed over to barbarians whose ruthless dispatching of all we hold to be sacred has no parallel in recorded history. Just as the fall of the Roman Empire saw not only faith but also culture being preserved in the monasteries throughout the dark ages, so now, as we embark upon an even darker age, let us pray that the light of Christ, the light of God, will be kept aflame in monasteries where growing numbers of monks and nuns will turn their backs on a decadent world, only to find that they have stepped into the enchanted world of peace, truth, love and holiness, a universe in which the divine oxygen of purity and authentic virtue makes for a life truly fulfilled, filling to the brim every human desire.

Then, and only then, will the tidal wave of ungodliness, worn out and reduced to nothingness by its own culture of death, fall; then will armies of souls, purified by years of prayer and sacrifice, go forward to help rebuild an authentic civilisation in which love reigns because God reigns. Monks indeed are “eschatological signs”, signs of the eschaton, signs of the world to come. By their very existence, by their habit and their tonsure, they point to the end of time and beyond. They are the constant reminder that there is something else, there is Someone else. There is not just this world as we see it. 

But a final question needs to be asked — I will not venture a response: If, from the eyes of faith, such a life is essential to the world’s survival, is there, in the eyes of the world, room for it? Will there really be tolerance for it in the future? We are seeing more and more that tolerance is just a weapon in the hands of ideology. It is used to demand respect for wayward forms of life that the ancients proscribed. But when the promoters of such ideologies rise to power, there is not likely to be tolerance for those who believe and preach and teach and live moral absolutes. In a world of relativism, everything goes except the absolute. 

History has given us examples of religious, monks and even nuns ripped from behind their grilles, persecuted, condemned, guillotined, for their refusal to bend the knee before the idol of the day. History repeats itself, and the descendants of the monsters that laid waste Europe in the mid-twentieth century have spread their tentacles now to the most remote corners of our world. We can expect rough times ahead, for all of us who stand with Jesus and His Church. But we move forward fearlessly, because we know that the victory belongs to the One who allowed Himself to be crucified. Love conquers the spiral of hate. Life comes after death. Spring follows winter. And after the storm ensues a great calm.

The blood that continues to flow

Today the traditional Roman Liturgy honours the Precious Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ. The desire of the Church is that we turn our minds and hearts to the contemplation of how much our redemption cost our dear Saviour, and the infinite value of that Blood shed once on Calvary, and daily poured out on our altars in atonement for sin.

Many of the saints came to understand the importance of spending time with Jesus on Calvary, allowing His Precious Blood to purify them and becoming a channel through which it could reach many others.

Among them St Thérèse of Lisieux writes: St. Thérèse: “One Sunday, looking at a picture of our Lord on the Cross, I was struck by the blood flowing from one of the divine hands. I felt a great pang of sorrow when thinking this blood was falling to the ground without anyone’s hastening to gather it up. I was resolved to remain in spirit at the foot of the Cross and to receive the divine dew. I understood I was then to pour it out upon souls. The cry of Jesus on the Cross sounded continually in my heart: ‘I thirst!’ These words ignited within me an unknown and very living fire. I wanted to give my Beloved to drink and I felt myself consumed with a thirst for souls. As yet, it was not the souls of priests that attracted me, but those of great sinners; I burned to snatch them from the eternal flames.” (Story of a Soul).

Let us then turn ourselves towards the crucifix; let us kneel there for a long time in adoration and thanksgiving; let us unite our little sacrifices with His big sacrifice, confident that it will contribute to the salvation of souls. "I complete in my flesh the sufferings that are wanting to the Passion of Christ for the sake of His Body which is the Church" (Col 1:24).

He shall bring joy

The angel had told Zachariah that the birth of John would bring great joy to many. Isn't it moving that today, over 2,000 years later, the birth of that little boy continues to bring great joy to souls? What is the source of that joy? It is this: the birth of the Baptist announces the coming of Christ, that Jesus whose ways John was to prepare. And so we rejoice for all that has come to us through this child as it is recorded in the sacred history of the New Testament.

But we can also see in the Baptist the forerunner of all those who are called upon to prepare the paths of grace in souls. Nothing gives greater joy to a man than to lead a soul to Christ. John the Baptist says as much in the third chapter of the Gospel of John: 

"He that hath the bride is the bridegroom: but the friend of the bridegroom, who standeth and heareth Him, rejoiceth with joy because of the bridegroom's voice. This my joy therefore is fulfilled. He must increase: but I must decrease" (Jn 3:29-30)

The bridegroom is our Lord Jesus Christ who has come into this world in order to lead each soul to the intimacy of divine nuptials with Himself. John the Baptist is the prototype of souls who are called to work together with Christ, to bring souls to Him, to prepare them for such a lofty destiny. And then, once he has lead them to Christ, he steps aside: He must increase, I must decrease.

Such is the mission, the honour and glory of priests and all those who work in the Lord's vineyard to lead souls to Jesus. May our joy become full indeed by the sight of legions of souls discovering their calling to become bride of Christ!

Launching out into the deep

Today's Gospel of the first miraculous catch of fish in Luke chapter 4 was the obvious choice: after the octaves of Corpus Christi and the Sacred Heart, the memory of the Church, which is the Holy Spirit Himself, brings back to our minds what happened on Pentecost, and which was already prefigured at the beginning of the public life of our Lord: The Saviour sends out his disciples, transforming them by the power of the Holy Spirit, from fishers of fish into fishers of men. 

It is not without significance that the miracle takes place after the Lord has nourished the people with His word, for the marvels of God's triumph over the world and its vices come about when we spend time listening to Him, in reading the Holy Scriptures, meditating upon them, letting them sink into our minds and hearts.

Then are ready to obey the Lord's command to launch out into the deep. St Peter tells the Lord that they have laboured all night without any success. Obviously, there can be no fruit of eternal life as long as the Lord is not with us. It is only at His behest that the harvest of souls becomes possible.

Peter has laboured all night already, but Peter has the humility to do what he's told. And that is how he is given the grace to preside, for all ages, over the apostolate that will bring the Word of God to souls.

In John chapter 4, Our Lord tells the Samaritan woman: "the fields are white, ready for the harvest", and here we see that the sea is full of fish, waiting to be caught with the net of truth and love and thus transported into the eternal shore of Heaven. 

Just as in those days, the Lord today is looking for labourers to go out there and catch His fish: the souls He created, and wants to bring into HIs kingdom. Let us pray that more and more souls, the souls especially of young men and young women, will hear the call to go out there, to launch out into the deep, the deep first of all of their own hearts, to examine them and confess their sins, and then the deep of a life given entirely to Christ and His Church in the religious and monastic life.

Never before in history have there been so many souls out there, ripe for the harvest. Lord, send labourers onto Your harvest! Raise up legions of souls who will dedicate their lives to listening to the wonderful Lady of Cana telling the servants: "Do whatever He tells you".  Then will there be plenty of delicious wine, that is, the sweet love of God, of which our world is in such dire need. 

The terrible God of the Eucharist

There is a somewhat surprising adjective used to refer to God in Psalm 75 (76). It is used thrice in the psalm, and it is "terrible". "Thou art terrible, and who shall resist thee?... Vow ye, and pay to the Lord your God: all you that are round about him bring presents. To him that is terrible, even to him who taketh away the spirit of princes: to the terrible with the kings of the earth".

God is terrible, then. Let's say He inspires terror and fear, He is so awesome that when one comes face to face with Him, one is overcome by trembling. That's the idea. It's important to keep in mind the context of the psalm in which a remembrance is made of the defeat of God's enemies: those who oppose Him have reason indeed to fear, for what appeared to be their might will be shattered to pieces by His omnipotence.

But all that is Old Testament theology, right? Wrong. It's so wrong that the Church of the New Testament thought it appropriate to use the verse in the sacred liturgy at, of all places, the communion verse on the 17th Sunday after Pentecost. It might seem out of place to put this verse on the lips of those who are about to approach the altar to receive the Bread of Angels. Or is it? 

For many today, the Eucharist is essentially a holy meal at which we partake to be strengthened on our Christian path of life. But it is often forgotten that the One contained in the Holy Eucharist is the same God who is here, in this psalm, described as "terrible".

St Paul understood that when he wrote to the Corinthians (1 Co 11:27-29): "Whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord unworthily will have to answer for the body and blood of the Lord. A person should examine himself, and so eat the bread and drink the cup. For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body, eats and drinks judgment on himself".

Such a teaching is based upon the reality that God is great, He is awesome. Before Him, the creature must humble himself, ever ready to receive God's grace, but conscious of the fact that it is not something he is entitled to. 

And this is pre-eminently true when it comes to the Holy Eucharist, which contains the entire spiritual good of the Church. We must be immensely grateful for this ineffable Gift of God's presence, and strive to make ourselves less unworthy by confessing our sins before approaching the altar, firmly resolved to part with any evil-doing in our lives. Otherwise, the encounter with the all-loving God at Mass might end up being a worsening of our deeds, a provocation of the "terrible God".

On this feast of Corpus Christi then, let our love, devotion and and joy grow, but side by side with our respect, our adoration, our wholesome and God-saving fear of the Divine Majesty.

Being there

In her not well-known enough prayer to the Trinity, St Elisabeth of the Trinity, after having asked for the grace that her soul might be God's "Heaven, His cherished dwelling, His home of rest", adds: "May I never leave Thee there alone, but be wholly present, my faith wholly vigilant, wholly adoring and wholly surrendered to Thy creative action". 

Do we not recognise ourselves in this? How often, spiritually speaking, are we "with it", or rather "with Him"? It reminds me of St Augustine's "Thou wert within, but I was without!". We don't have to go far to find God. He is right there in our hearts, offering His love and begging for ours. But we are all too often elsewhere.

Of course, we have all sorts of "important" things to do, all sorts of items that need our attention: but it's all at the price of a sometimes unending forgetfulness of the Divine Guest of the soul. 

On this feast of the Most Holy Trinity, let us spend a good amount of time contemplating this revealed reality: God, the Triune God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, dwells in the souls of the just (that is, the souls who are in the state of grace, meaning baptised and without mortal sin), He sets up His dwelling there and seeks to share with us the secrets of His divine life.

And even souls who are not in God's grace,  God is calling them to enter into themselves and be moved by the grace of conversion, to return to Him and be saved through the sacraments of the Church.

How foolish we are not to take Him up on His offer, spending all our time in the far away regions of a thousand distractions! Let us return to our heart, and may we find the Beloved there, and may He never be saddened again by our untimely departure.

Prayer of St Elisabeth of the Trinity

O my God, Trinity Whom I adore! help me to become utterly forgetful of self, that I may establish myself in Thee, as changeless and as calm as though my soul were already in eternity. May nothing disturb my peace nor draw me forth from Thee, O my immutable Lord! but may I penetrate more deeply every moment into the depths of Thy Mystery.

Give peace to my soul; make it Thy Heaven, Thy cherished dwelling, Thy home of rest. May I never leave Thee there alone, but be wholly present, my faith wholly vigilant, wholly adoring and wholly surrendered to Thy creative action.

O my beloved Christ, crucified by love, how I long to be the bride of Thy heart; how I long to cover Thee with glory, and to love Thee... until I die of very love! Yet I feel my weakness, and ask Thee to clothe me with Thyself, to identify my soul with all the movements of Thy Soul, to immerse me in Thyself, to possess me, to substitute Thyself for me, that my life may be but a radiance of Thy Life. Come into me as Adorer, as Restorer, as Saviour!

O Eternal Word, Utterance of my God! I yearn to spend my life in listening to Thee, to become wholly docile, that I may learn all from Thee. Then, through all nights, all emptiness, all helplessness, I long to gaze on Thee always and to dwell beneath Thy lustrous beams. O my beloved Star! So fascinate me that I may never again withdraw from Thy radiance!

O consuming Fire! Spirit of Love! come upon me and reproduce in me, as it were, an incarnation of the Word, that I may be to Him another humanity wherein He renews all His mystery.

And Thou, O Father, bend towards Thy poor little creature and overshadow her, beholding in her none other than the Beloved, in Whom Thou hast set all Thy pleasure.

O my “Three,” my All, my Beatitude, infinite Solitude, Immensity wherein I lose myself! I surrender myself to Thee as Thy prey. Immerse Thyself in me, that I may be immersed in Thee, until I depart to contemplate in Thy light the abyss of Thy greatness!