Hosea in chapter 14 depicts the heart of salvation history. Despite our wanderings and wailings and wonderings, even after our fickleness, our refusals and our settled decisions to do things our way or to just not do things at all, God has never given up on us and never will. God will not let us go. Our Lover is faithful and his love can be trusted. The marriage holds. We are still his.
We remember that in earlier more tumultuous chapters of the prophet Hosea’s story, he was commanded to go and love a woman who is beloved of a paramour…, even as the Lord loves the people of Israel, though they turn to other gods (3:1).
Isaiah realizes how useless is its own self-sufficiency in relying on Assyria and the horses of war, their calling god the idols which their hands have crafted. They are nothing without the God who made them and who loves them. God loves Israel, and us, with a love that is tender. The words Hosea uses for this love are emotional words that expresses a father’s or a mother’s tender affection.
I too have faithlessly wandered from the One who has loved me, literally, unto death. And tender has been his search for me wherever I have taken refuge to escape the demands of the relationship he has initiated with me. I am weak. I am poor. I am incurable. And I know beyond a shadow of doubt after so many attempts to improve this relationship on my own terms that it is only God who heals me, who loves me, as he revived and reconciled Israel to himself.
The images that Hosea uses to describe what God brings about in the life of his loved one are images of nature at the fullness of its beauty and bounty. They are images of the bountiful Giver of goodness, images of freshness, stability, and vigor:
I will heal their defection, says the LORD, I will love them freely; for my wrath is turned away from them. I will be like the dew for Israel: he shall blossom like the lily; He shall strike root like the Lebanon cedar, and put forth his shoots. His splendor shall be like the olive tree and his fragrance like the Lebanon cedar. Again they shall dwell in his shade and raise grain; They shall blossom like the vine, and his fame shall be like the wine of Lebanon (Hosea 14:4-7).
No god that I craft with my own hands, my mental acumen, or my gifted ability will ever compare with the endless River of living love that is my God. I am the loved one and now my Lover waits upon my word. What will be response? What will be yours?
What a perfect reading halfway through Lent. Pope Francis in his straightforward and sincere homily on Ash Wednesday 2021 sums it up this way: “Return to me, he says, with all your heart. Lent is a journey that involves our whole life, our entire being. It is a time to reconsider the path we are taking, to find the route that leads us home and to rediscover our profound relationship with God, on whom everything depends. Lent is not just about the little sacrifices we make, but about discerning where our hearts are directed. This is the core of Lent: asking where our hearts are directed.”
I am in one of those years where everything about life is being undone and redone, unmade and remade, unsung and resung, stopped and started, forgotten and remembered, cast down and lifted up. A year when everything is out of my control. A year blessed, so blessed, and yet so frighteningly raw.
When was the last time you had a year like this? I read somewhere that a person’s identity is refashioned several times in their adult life.
That’s the thing about understanding that there is a map to life, an expected set of transitions that are usually sparked by daily occurrences that aren’t quite pleasant. When you realize that they are a normal part of holiness, you know where to start to find the way through them.
This morning in confession, Jesus (through the voice of the confessor) finally heard and responded to the innermost cry of my heart. No mere moralizing, and preaching, explaining and psychologizing…the fallback responses when people can’t quite see their way to the person but stop short with managing what they think is the problem. (How often I do this to others!)
Instead, Father said simply this,
“You have suffered a long time. This is an important transition in your life. Live it in expectancy, the anticipation of where Jesus will be leading you next. Ask for the gift of discernment.”
Once you are seen, heard, once someone reaches into your heart with true care, you have the key to emerge from whatever pain is entangling you. And you can put order to your soul.
Here are three things that can help put order to your soul.
Let Jesus love you.
Pray simply in a soul-shepherding contemplative method. For example, in a quiet place, slowly, resting in the Lord, pray:
To you, Lord Jesus, I lift my soul…
To you, Lord Jesus, I am lifted up.
To you, Lord Jesus.
Lord Jesus.
To you.
Lift my soul
Lift my soul to you
In you, Lord Jesus, I am lifted up.
Lord Jesus
Lord Jesus
Lord Jesus…
Write a letter to yourself from God.
Go about this simply. On a piece of paper or in a journal begin, “Dearest child (or your name, or little girl, or my favorite one, etc. naming the way God speaks to you with endearment, or the way you desire to hear him address you.). I see you… (write what God sees and notices about you in your difficult transition or situation.) I get it (God says) that you are trying to…. I like this about you, my child, right here in the midst of this predicament…. When I see you this way I smile.
Then respond to God with whatever you feel you need. What you don’t understand. What you wish he would do or answer or change. How he would be with you….
Finally thank God for his kindness to you from the beginning of time to this very day.
Choose the meaning you are going to assign to the situation or struggle you are living.
When we are a little clearer, when our soul has been shepherded by God and we are freer from the entanglements of passions and thoughts, we get to assign the meaning we want to give to what is happening to us. Short phrases dropped into the heart can help here: Blessed be God in his gifts. God is coming. God knows what he is doing and I praise him for all he does in my life.
At the end of the day, this day which started with such a stormy soul-wrenching sorrow, I feel that I can embody dignity, compassion and tenderness. First for myself, for all the ways I’m not enough, for all the ways I struggle because of illness and trauma, for all the unanswered and unanswerable questions. And then for others. May I extend a culture of tender care in every way, at all times, with everyone.
In a night’s vigil of adoration in the shadow of the Eucharist, a sixteen year old seminarian was drawn into the silence. Into the invitation of God. Face to face. Heart to heart. The humbled awe of being seen, of being small in a divine plan still shrouded in mystery. The gratefulness at being known. Being called.
On the eve of 1901, this Eucharistic vigil changed the young seminarian James Alberione forever and gave birth to consecrated lives of thousands of women and men in the Pauline Family who would hear through him what he received that night from the Lord: “Come to me.” It was not just a Bible verse, but the cry of Jesus who silently extends his hands and opens his heart to the whole world every day and every night from every Tabernacle of the world.
“Come to me all who are weary.” The century that followed that call from the Eucharistic heart to James Alberione would be exhausting, a century bathed in the blood of the fallen in two World Wars and confused by the cacophony of voices claiming that truth was on their side.
“Come to me all who are heavy burdened.” It is the call of Jesus from the tabernacle to us today in a pandemic-stricken world, strangely now one in its search for wholeness and relief.
It is Christ’s invitation from the sanctuaries where he silently sorrows that so many walk by or walk away.
“Come to me.” Feel within yourself the sadness of the Lord who longs to wash away what troubles us and cheer us with his kindness. This Lent his heart longs for us more than we long for him. He hears and knows and sees us, even when our attention is elsewhere.
This Lent, Jesus knows the burdens you carry, the way of the passion that you walk and he doesn’t want you to walk alone. He sees you. He invites you into his divine and mysterious plan.
“Come to me.” Whatever are the tears that run down your cheeks, or those perhaps held unshed in the secret of your heart, go to him. Jesus is calling you from the Tabernacle and from the inner sanctuary of your own heart.
“I am here. Come to me. Tell me what you need.”
We just celebrated National Caregivers’ Day. How many of us have become caregivers, a heart-giving ministry of love for months or years that slip by uncounted, measured only by the sighs, the renewed energy to be there for another, the sleepless nights, the worries across the miles, the tears, the passion, His passion.
This Lent, Jesus knows the burdens you carry, the way of the passion that you walk and he doesn’t want you to walk alone. He sees you.
This past year how many caregivers have not been able to be near loved ones in order to care for them! This isolation and surrender too is the way of the passion, our hearts burdened with love as is the heart of Jesus. “Come to me and I will give you rest.”
This Lent, may our care for others resemble the care Jesus longs to give each person. Let us invite others with open arms to come and find rest in our presence, that they may discover his presence. May they feel heard. May they know they are seen. May they know they never walk alone, that through our hearing and seeing and walking they may find true rest for their souls.
To all who give care, blessed be God in the gifts he has given you and that you share with others.
Sr. Kathryn J. Hermes, FSP - We just accompanied one of our sisters, as her caregiver in the last couple weeks of her life. This is the book that helps us sisters every time: Midwife for Souls,by Kathy Kalina. Caregiving can be easier when it comes to the practical things of what to do. We can learn those. But we often don't have a teacher for the spiritual wisdom that we want to be a part of this caregiving journey for both ourselves and the one we are caring for. Kathy offers years of qualified experience and spiritual wisdom that will inform and comfort caregivers and loved ones. This book provides insight, showing how the support of one s Catholic faith and the power of prayer can be a guide in ministering to a dying person. This book is essential reading for anyone who accompanies others to the edge of life and helps in their birthing to eternal life.
“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends…
“Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”— for they had said, “He has an unclean spirit.”Mark 3:28-30 “I’m afraid I’ve committed blasphemy against the Holy Spirit and I’m going…
One of the most spiritually life-giving verses of the Bible for me comes from Paul’s letter to the Romans: “For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” (8:15) Slavery. Fear. Adoption. Abba! Slavery—powerlessness, punishment, constriction,…
When I speak with people I usually hear myself. Satan has some pretty amazing yet predictable ways in which he trips us up. Of course, each one of us is unique, our relationship to God and our spiritual journey our own, yet there are some common tricks that ensare a lot of us and when you know about them, they are easy to spot. They are the ways of the Evil One hiding in plain sight.
St. Gertrude the Great has helped me find a biggie.
First, who is St. Gertrude?
St. Gertrude the Great was born on the Feast of the Epiphany, January 6, 1256 in Eisleben, Germany. At the age of five, she began to attend a Cistercian monastery school in Saxony called Helfta, which is why she is also known as St. Gertrude of Helfta. She was described as a lovable, quick-witted child by the nuns of Helfta. During her academic studies, St. Gertrude stood out for her intelligence and became accomplished in philosophy, literature, singing, and miniature painting.
St. Gertrude entered the Benedictine order at Helfta and continued to devote herself to her studies. In her writings, St. Gertrude recalls that she neglected her spiritual calling for the first several years in the monastery because she was so engrossed in intellectual pursuits. However, around the age of twenty-four, she began to find the daily routines of her community monotonous and experienced a lack of meaning in her accomplishments, as well as feelings of anxiety and depression.
In the year 1281, St. Gertrude had her first vision of Jesus, in which he called her to conversion and told her, “I have come to comfort you and bring you salvation.” By God’s grace, she dramatically reoriented her priorities and immersed herself in Scripture, the writings of the Church Fathers, and theology. The rest of her life is the story of the priceless treasures the Sacred Heart of Jesus poured into her soul.
And that is where I discovered her secret.
When I experience moments of conversion, definite calls from God or even gifts from him, I immediately think about what I need to learn, to change, to improve because I have been so negligent up to this point. As I speak to others, I hear the same. God’s gifts precipitate a movement backwards.
I described it like this: It would be as if your spouse came home carrying flowers and an expensive gift. The bearer of flowers and love would call out, “My dear, look what I’ve brought you. I love you so much.” And the beloved would turn the other direction and start talking about the dirty spot on the wall that she didn’t clean and the dishes that weren’t done. And her husband would say, “Dear, I don’t care about those things. I love you. Let’s spend the night together.” And instead of receiving the gift, instead of turning to him in awe over his loving kindness, she spoke to him only about where she had failed. If the loved one doesn’t open herself with a smile, but stays enclosed in herself, the unifying act of love can’t take place. Isn’t this the perfect trick of the Evil One? We think we are practicing the virtue of humility. Repentance. Self-knowledge.
Oh how God’s heart must tire at the hesitancy with which we consider the gifts he extends to us with such hope for our love freely given in return.
Gertrude said a resounding YES at Jesus’ approach to her. She got interested in what he was giving. She asked him questions. She asked him if he liked her prayer. She offered him his own merits to glorify God and to repair the negligences in her life. It was a Marian yes that did not focus on herself, but solely on aligning herself with all that God was doing in her regard for the sake of his glory.
So say it.
Say “YES!” when you have an inspiration. Shout “YES!” when you are moved to conversion. Whisper “YES!” when Jesus comes to you in prayer. Always YES. YES. YES to the Lover who is coming to bring you salvation. Let your heart leap FORWARD.
If you have found this helpful, our full mini-retreat on St. Gertrude and St. Margaret Mary and the Sacred Heart of Jesus next week is all about this YES. Conferences and video meditations, exercises and prayer come together to help you live with the love and ecstatic intention of Gertrude. Stop looking backward and instead leap into the Heart of the Savior. We’re offering it at two different times and you can even make it privately at your own leisure. I hope we’ll see you. The first two Tabernacle of the Heart retreats were so blessed and we believe that this one will be even better.
Here we are in our second pandemic Lent. Maybe we feel that we have been in Lent all through these twelve virus-riddled months. Maybe we’re dreading a season of greater penance when we’re longing to get loose from restrictions as they are somewhat lifted. Maybe we’re just numb and Lent isn’t registering at all. We’re just too tired to face it. Or perhaps the familiar rituals and practices of Lent offer comfort when we are so in need of something or Someone who understands and can do something. about what’s happening to us.
It doesn’t matter where you are. Come to Lent as you are, in whatever state you find yourself in.
This morning I prayed with the narrative of Jesus healing the leper found in the Gospel of Mark. In Leviticus 13 we find the regulation for those who have leprosy:
“The one who bears the sore of leprosy shall keep his garments rent and his head bare, and shall muffle his beard; he shall cry out, ‘Unclean, unclean!’ As long as the sore is on him he shall declare himself unclean, since he is in fact unclean. He shall dwell apart, making his abode outside the camp.”
Dropping down into my own heart, I found that there are many reasons why I, though I am not a leper, can cry out “Unclean!” before God. So many ways that I have not been all that I could have been, not given, or perhaps given what wasn’t needed and held back on what I wanted to keep. There is a blessed peace and a grace to acknowledge peacefully our “uncleanness” before our Maker.
St Francis de Sales encourages us to make our repentance moderate and peaceable, not anxious. He encourages us to learn to tolerate ourselves and others, to practice gentleness toward ourselves as well as others. To reprove ourselves without anger, bitterness, or impatience. Holding my own brokenness, gently calling sacred the past that more and more becomes apparent to me to be a place calling out for healing and new birth, I called out in a confident whisper to Jesus, “Unclean!”
I stood beside the leper in Mark’s Gospel who dared to approach Jesus and tell him confidently: “If you will, you can cure me!” Lepers by regulation, as we saw above, were to remain outside the camp so as not to infect others. This leper, however, risked everything by approaching Jesus who no doubt was surrounded by a crowd of people. In the two lines of the Gospel story it seems like it was an ordinary run-of-the-mill request. Leper shows up and makes his request. To his request, Jesus responds, “I do will it, be cured.” End of story. Can you imagine, though, the drama as people realized a leper was standing “inside the community space” right next to them. The leper was a threat to their health and survival. And Jesus stretched out his hand and touched the leper. Jesus didn’t run. He didn’t tell him to leave because he was a danger to him. He didn’t even call attention to how he was breaking the regulations. Instead he heard only the request. He saw only the leper’s heart. He was moved only by his most compassionate love that brought him to earth to save and heal a wounded race.
Holding my own brokenness, gently calling sacred the past that more and more becomes apparent as a place calling out for healing and new birth, I called out in a confident whisper to Jesus, “Unclean!”
Though I called out “Unclean!” and though I felt more sharply the uncleanness within, I stood with braveness beside the leper immortalized by the Gospel writer. “If you will, you can cure me! You can make me clean!” I felt his hand upon my head and let it rest upon me. “Be clean,” Jesus said with a firm yet quiet command. “Be clean!” It reverberated through the caverns of need and hope within me. Sometimes when we think of prayer, of Jesus, we forget that he interacts with us as we are in our humanness, our human need for human touch, our human need to know everything will be all right, our human need for someone to come and rescue us when we are overwhelmed or powerless in the face of something bigger than us. “Be clean!” Jesus’ outstretched hand steadying, strengthening, calming.
Many moments of taking in Jesus’ strengthening touch…. Heart opening to Heart, receiving the slow and subtle seeping of grace into the desert now turning into an oasis. “Clean!”
I am clean. Clean. Clean. Clean.
The experience of Jesus’ willingness to cleanse, to extend his hand in blessing and healing, means different things to each one of us. What has been the most powerful experience you have had with someone in your life who has been there to physically steady you with his or her hand, to bless or heal you? When have you experienced surprise and astounding wonder at what was done for you or given to you?
For me, the words uttered by Jesus and his strong yet gentle gesture are spousal words, the gesture of the Lover in the Song of Songs offering his hand to the beloved that they might be one. The Lover says in the Song of Songs 1:15:
Look at you, my dearest darling, you are so lovely! You are beauty itself to me. Your passionate eyes are like gentle doves.
The King of kings and Lord of lords who makes clean even takes the leper’s place–while the leper had had to remain outside the camp because of his disease, after curing the man from leprosy “it was impossible for Jesus to enter a town openly, and he remained outside in deserted places.” Lent is about touching intimately and profoundly the reality that we have been made clean at Jesus’ own expense, at the cost of his life. He died that we might live.
Lent is about touching intimately and profoundly the reality that we have been made clean at Jesus’ own expense, at the cost of his life. He died that we might live.
The only response, so beautiful and yet so painfully common, is gratitude. The inner treasure of gratitude can be overlooked because saying “Thank you” is a reflex action for anyone with a good upbringing. Gratefulness’ inner sanctuary is not like the astonishment on winning the lottery. It is the created one whose hand is held by her Maker, to whom she bows to the dust in awe that she would be noticed by so great a King, desired, and crowned his Bride, invited to sit beside him. Psalm 45 expresses it this way:
Now listen, daughter, pay attention, and forget about your past. Put behind you every attachment to the familiar, even those who once were close to you! For your royal Bridegroom is ravished by your beautiful brightness. Bow in reverence before him, for he is your Lord!
The offering of royalty, from which arises the incredibly humble awareness of unworthiness in the sudden realization and joy that it doesn’t matter any more. You have been made clean!
May you come to Jesus this Lent like a trusting child in this way for it is to those who trust in him that the Father has planned to extend his kingdom (Matthew 11):
“Are you weary, carrying a heavy burden? Then come to me. I will refresh your life, for I am your oasis. Simply join your life with mine. Learn my ways and you’ll discover that I’m gentle, humble, easy to please. You will find refreshment and rest in me. For all that I require of you will be pleasant and easy to bear.” Amen.
Touching the Sunrise 