tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8228947593536794372024-03-16T11:51:20.965-05:00louie, louieExploring contemplative awareness in daily life, drawing from and with much discussion of the writings of Thomas Merton, aka "Father Louie".beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.comBlogger973125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-35362539080953718752024-03-16T11:16:00.002-05:002024-03-16T11:50:49.932-05:00Amounting to Nothing, Brother Paul<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLXTu_1L7TE1vcwXXDjVlmz5Tp3bM19fwivMSi2snQYGmfYJ4tlJ8HOJL-Pjr2MvuLRp9xwrcKAGVJIYl7-UCjRkQYymS4woscYYWDdjFcrL0rA23bubaQxOuaGPtClCQxDTsq3-sIvsAfMgG6O0lBBGbTFKxRBA7imbAk_yveH4pPBYHkCXWEVV-q-Oe/s1492/IMG_1616.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1492" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLXTu_1L7TE1vcwXXDjVlmz5Tp3bM19fwivMSi2snQYGmfYJ4tlJ8HOJL-Pjr2MvuLRp9xwrcKAGVJIYl7-UCjRkQYymS4woscYYWDdjFcrL0rA23bubaQxOuaGPtClCQxDTsq3-sIvsAfMgG6O0lBBGbTFKxRBA7imbAk_yveH4pPBYHkCXWEVV-q-Oe/w400-h299/IMG_1616.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span face="var(--secHlFont),Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: var(--label-3); text-align: left;">Brother Paul Quenon, Photo by Rhonda J. Miller</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: left;">. </span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: large;">Sorry monk that I am, I never amounted to nothing.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Somebody must have laid a curse on me and said, </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">‘You'll never amount to nothing,’ </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">which was my life ambition. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But I'm still too much of something.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">So this is, you know, </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">there's a kind of undercurrent of a mystical tradition there. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">That is especially like in Zen Buddhism, </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">where you just lose the, you know, </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">slough off the ego and these false outer selves </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">that we contrive for ourselves </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">to get along and society, </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">or to get ahead in the world. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And amounting to nothing is, you know, </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">the ultimate degree of humility is to, you know, </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">be so free of myself, </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">that God can fill the self. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">From: </span></span><a href="https://www.wkyufm.org/2022-02-19/monk-who-aged-in-kentucky-sees-environmental-changes" style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: georgia;" target="_blank">Aged in KY</a></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-87203149076247312462023-12-24T12:59:00.003-05:002023-12-24T12:59:33.703-05:00Christ in the Rubble<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PA309jXoHXElPbc1u2DQ4Imhyphenhyphen-PkjmpmQOxV2sLvT1vaNUc8wVrKzA9WTdUa7SRcCqmOSRHFZXtkVWdkiFlsVicrHfHCs88AnaLXYqpb4tC8mONTLQ9VWRGwXw_VpXVXjBmWgc8At54oG0_Bns_4tKTa8950-A8Iq4eN1heAaTuj6sC39GFnDyHCpDyk/s2388/IMG_1436.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1580" data-original-width="2388" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PA309jXoHXElPbc1u2DQ4Imhyphenhyphen-PkjmpmQOxV2sLvT1vaNUc8wVrKzA9WTdUa7SRcCqmOSRHFZXtkVWdkiFlsVicrHfHCs88AnaLXYqpb4tC8mONTLQ9VWRGwXw_VpXVXjBmWgc8At54oG0_Bns_4tKTa8950-A8Iq4eN1heAaTuj6sC39GFnDyHCpDyk/w400-h265/IMG_1436.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="css-jevhma e13ogyst0" face="nyt-imperial, georgia, "times new roman", times, serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(114, 114, 114); color: #727272; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-size-adjust: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: 1.25rem; margin: 0px 7px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-line;">The Rev. Munther Isaac lighting a candle next to an improvised crèche this month in the West Bank city of Bethlehem.</span><span face="nyt-imperial, georgia, "times new roman", times, serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(114, 114, 114); color: #727272; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-size-adjust: inherit; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-line;"><span class="css-1u46b97 e1z0qqy90" style="border: 0px; display: inline; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-size-adjust: inherit; font-size: 0.8125rem; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.01em; line-height: 1.125rem; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="css-1ly73wi e1tej78p0" style="border: 0px; clip: rect(0px, 0px, 0px, 0px); font-family: inherit; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-size-adjust: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; height: 1px; line-height: inherit; margin: -1px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; position: absolute; vertical-align: baseline; width: 1px;">Credit...</span><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-size-adjust: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Samar Hazboun for The New York Times
</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>A LITURGY OF LAMENT</b></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><strong style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128); color: grey; font-family: sk-modernistregular; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;">Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church Bethlehem<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Saturday, December 23rd, 2023 </strong></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">“ … </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128);">We are tormented by the silence of the world. Leaders of the so-called “free” lined up one after the other to give the green light for this genocide against a captive population. They gave the cover. Not only did they make sure to pay the bill in advance, they veiled the truth and context, providing political cover.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128);"> …</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128);">“ … </span></span><span face="sk-modernistregular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128);">If you are not appalled by what is happening; if you are not shaken to your core – there is something wrong with your humanity. If we, as Christians, are not outraged by this genocide, by the weaponizing of the Bible to justify it, there is something wrong with our Christian witness, and compromising the credibility of the Gospel! …</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128); hyphens: auto; margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">“ … Christmas in Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, is this manger. This is our message to the world today. It is a gospel message, a true and authentic Christmas message, about the God who did not stay silent, but said his word, and his Word is Jesus. Born among the occupied and marginalized. He is in solidarity with us in our pain and brokenness. </span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128); hyphens: auto; margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">“This manger is our message to the world today – and it is simply this: this genocide must stop NOW. Let us repeat to the world: STOP this Genocide NOW. </span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128); hyphens: auto; margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"></span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128); hyphens: auto; margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">“This is our call. This is our plea. This is our prayer. Hear oh God. Amen.”</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128); hyphens: auto; margin: 0px 0px 1em;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.redletterchristians.org/christ-in-the-rubble-a-liturgy-of-lament/">PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE HOMILY HERE.</a></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="sk-modernistregular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128);"><br /></span></span></p><p><span face="sk-modernistregular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(128, 128, 128); color: grey; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-28949343775423657552023-12-19T14:37:00.008-05:002023-12-19T15:28:19.476-05:00Icon of the Nativity of Christ belonging to Merton<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeyiQ3-q2R5xtA-147nHC9RZSyQpN-pq3O3ujuFMotE-6J2kXvHrvd8VA-f6AnxYKzt1_J00_GD94TuN3_J01h2T99LYJSJAC1t-Y-A49vgHd9eGc6umRsY3jReATZuLdtyz1MYDYnqhPKKIqEsKnUi4BRPGSo-J1SIxue3Bfb54H6skOHNoj6qH2m9Xbu/s1668/IMG_1427.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1668" data-original-width="1302" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeyiQ3-q2R5xtA-147nHC9RZSyQpN-pq3O3ujuFMotE-6J2kXvHrvd8VA-f6AnxYKzt1_J00_GD94TuN3_J01h2T99LYJSJAC1t-Y-A49vgHd9eGc6umRsY3jReATZuLdtyz1MYDYnqhPKKIqEsKnUi4BRPGSo-J1SIxue3Bfb54H6skOHNoj6qH2m9Xbu/w313-h400/IMG_1427.jpeg" width="313" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">By the time of his death in 1968, seven hand-painted icons had found their way to Thomas Merton’s hermitage. One of them was this icon of the Nativity of Christ.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Christ’s Nativity:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What shall we offer you, O Christ, who for our sake has appeared on earth as man? Every creature made by you offers you thanks. The angels offer you a hymn; the heavens a star; the Magi, gifts; the shepherds, their wonder; the earth, its cave; the wilderness, the manger; and we offer you a virgin mother.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">— from a prayer for the Orthodox Christmas Vespers Service</span></p><p><span></span><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Many people see Christ as a long-dead, myth-shrouded teacher who lives on only in fading memory, a man “risen from the dead” only in the sense that his teachings have survived. There are scholars busily at work trying to find out which words attributed to Jesus in the New Testament were actually said by him (not many, it turns out). Yet even skeptics celebrate Christmas with a special holiday meal and the exchange of gifts.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The problem of miracles doesn’t intrude, for what could be more normal than birth? If Jesus lived, then he was born, and so, with little or no faith in the rest of Christian doctrine, we can celebrate his birth. Easter, with its miraculous resurrection from the grave, is more and more lost to us, but at least some of the joy of Christmas remains. Perhaps in the end the Nativity feast will lead us back to faith in all its richness. We will be rescued by Christmas.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The icon of Christ’s Nativity, ancient though it is, takes note of our modern problem. There (usually in the lower left-¬¬hand corner) we find a morose, despondent Joseph listening to a wizened figure who represents what we might call “the voice of unenlightened reason.” What is the old man whispering to Joseph? Something like: “A miracle? Surely you aren’t so foolish as to believe Mary conceived this child without a human father. But if not you, then who was it?” As we read the Gospel passages concerning Joseph, we are repeatedly reminded that he didn’t easily make leaps of faith.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Divine activity intrudes into our lives in such a mundane, physical way. A woman gives birth to a child, as women have been doing since Eve. Joseph has witnessed that birth and there is nothing different about it, unless it be that it occurred in abject circumstances, far from home, in a cave in which animals are kept. Joseph has had his dreams, he has heard angelic voices, he has been reassured in a variety of ways that the child born of Mary is none other than the Awaited One, the Anointed, God’s Son. But belief comes hard. Giving birth is arduous, as we see in Mary’s reclining figure, resting after labor — and so is the labor to believe. Mary has completed this stage of her struggle, but Joseph still grapples with his.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The theme is not only in Joseph’s bewildered face. The rigorous black of the cave of Christ’s birth in the center of the icon represents all human disbelief, all fear, all hopelessness. In the midst of a starless night in the cave of our despair, Christ, “the Sun of Truth,” enters history having been clothed in flesh in Mary’s body. It is just as the Evangelist John said in the beginning of his Gospel: “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The Nativity icon is in sharp contrast to the sentimental imagery we are used to in western Christmas art. In the icon there is no charming Bethlehem bathed in the light of the nativity star but only a rugged mountain with a few plants. The austere mountain suggests a hard, unwelcoming world in which survival is a real battle — the world since our expulsion from Paradise.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The most prominent figure in the icon is Mary, framed by the red blanket she is resting on — red: the color of life, the color of blood. Orthodox Christians call her the Theotokos, a Greek word meaning God-bearer or Mother of God. Her quiet but wholehearted assent to the invitation brought to her by the Archangel Gabriel has led her to Bethlehem, making a cave at the edge of a peasant village the center of the universe. He who was distant has come near, first filling her body, now visible in the flesh.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As is usual in iconography, the main event is moved to the foreground, free of its surroundings. So the cave is placed behind rather than around Mary and her child.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The Gospel records that Christ’s birth occurred in a cave that was being used as a stable. In fact the cave still exists in Bethlehem. Countless pilgrims have prayed there over the centuries. But it no longer looks like the cave it was. In the fourth century, at the Emperor Constantine’s order, the cave was transformed into a chapel. At the same time, above the cave, a basilica was built.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We see in the icon that Christ’s birth is not only for us, but for all creation. The donkey and the ox, both gazing at the newborn child, recall the opening verses of the Prophet Isaiah: 'An ox knows its owner and a donkey its master's manger..." They also represent “all creatures great and small,” endangered, punished and exploited by human beings. They too are victims of the Fall. Christ’s Nativity is for them as well as for us.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">There is something about the way Mary turns away from her son that makes us aware of a struggle different than Joseph is experiencing. She knows very well her child has no human Father, but is anxious about her child’s future. She can see in the circumstances of his birth that his way of ruling is nothing like the way kings rule. The ruler of all rules from a manger in a stable. His death on the cross will not surprise her. It is implied in his birth.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We see that the Christ child’s body is wrapped “in swaddling clothes.” In icons of Christ’s burial, you will see he is wearing similar bands of cloth. We also see them around Lazarus, in the icon of his raising by Christ. In the Nativity icon, the manger looks much like a coffin. In this way, the icon links birth and death. The poet Rilke says we bear our death within us from the moment of birth. The icon of the Nativity says the same. Our life is one piece and its length of much less importance than its purity and truthfulness.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Some versions of the icon show more details, some less.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Normally in the icon we see several angels worshiping God-become-man. Though we ourselves are rarely aware of the presence of angels, they are deeply enmeshed in our history and we know some of them by name. This momentous event is for them as well as us.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Often the icon includes the three wise men who have come from far off, whose close attention to activity in the heavens made them come on pilgrimage in order to pay homage to a king who belongs not to one people, but to all people; not to one age, but to all ages. They represent the world beyond Judaism.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Then there are the shepherds, simple people who have been summoned by angels. Throughout history it has in fact been the simple people who have been most uncompromised in their response to the Gospel, who have not buried God in footnotes. It was not the wise men, but the shepherds who were permitted to hear the choir of angels singing God’s praise.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">On the bottom right of the icon often there are one or two midwives washing the newborn baby. The detail is based on apocryphal texts concerning Joseph’s arrangements for the birth. Those who know the Old Testament will recall the disobedience of midwives to the Egyptian Pharaoh; thanks to a brave midwife, Moses was not murdered at birth. In the Nativity icon the midwife’s presence has another still more important function, underscoring Christ’s full participation in human nature.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Iconographers may leave out or alter various details, but always there is a ray of divine light that connects heaven with the baby. The partially revealed circle at the very top of the icon symbolizes God the Father, the small circle within the descending ray represents the Holy Spirit, while the child is the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, the Son. At every turn, from iconography to liturgical text to the physical gesture of crossing oneself, the Church has always sought to confess God in the Holy Trinity.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The symbol is also connected with the star that led the magi to the cave.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Orthodoxy often speaks of Christ in terms of light and this, too, is suggested by the ray connecting heaven to the manger. “Our Savior, the dayspring from on high, has visited us, and we who were in shadow and in darkness have found the truth,” the Church sings on Christmas, the Feast of Christ’s Nativity According to the Flesh.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The iconographic portrayal of Christ’s birth is not without radical social implications. Christ’s birth occurred where it did, we are told by Matthew, “because there was no room in the inn.” He who welcomes all is himself unwelcome. From the moment of his birth, he is something like a refugee, as indeed he soon will be in the very strict sense of the word, fleeing to Egypt with Mary and Joseph, as they seek a safe distance from the murderous Herod. Later in life he will say to his followers, revealing the criteria of salvation, “I was homeless and you took me in.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The icon reminds us that we are saved not by our achievements, but by our participation in the mercy of God — God’s hospitality. If we turn our backs on the homeless and those without the necessities of life, we will end up with nothing more than ideas and slogans and find ourselves lost in the icon’s starless cave.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We return at the end to the two figures at the heart of the icon. Mary, fulfilling Eve’s destiny, has given birth to Jesus Christ, a child who is God incarnate, a child in whom each of us finds our true self, a child who is the measure of all things. It is not the Messiah the Jews of those days expected — or the Christ many Christians of the modern world would have preferred. God, whom we often refer to as all-mighty, reveals himself in poverty and vulnerability. Christmas is a revelation of the self-emptying love of God.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">(Text from "Praying With Icons" by Jim Forest. Photo of the icon taken by Br Paul Quenon, monk of the Abbey of Gethsemani.) </span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-77491981158553866132023-12-15T11:03:00.003-05:002023-12-15T11:03:46.103-05:003rd Sunday of Advent 2023<p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; line-height: 1.714286; margin: 0px 0px 1.714286rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXU875D0guhr3D_dyldGcF3bQ86kbR9XF_D2fpe8V_va9I1TBl-qTOUBbSkKod1b_YFkeBUT8j7r-mARFgKMFfFkYstszTSl67LhWpndNgwe1e2hZeaninTbTCDU1RVI0EprhtdhGAK19Qqq4XKAslFO62AF3BVApiQqAUVDSBQlkKe22pOJIFLx9Dv5b/s3318/IMG_1370.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3318" data-original-width="2212" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaXU875D0guhr3D_dyldGcF3bQ86kbR9XF_D2fpe8V_va9I1TBl-qTOUBbSkKod1b_YFkeBUT8j7r-mARFgKMFfFkYstszTSl67LhWpndNgwe1e2hZeaninTbTCDU1RVI0EprhtdhGAK19Qqq4XKAslFO62AF3BVApiQqAUVDSBQlkKe22pOJIFLx9Dv5b/w266-h400/IMG_1370.jpeg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://johnpwalshblog.com/2017/12/23/the-prison-meditations-of-alfred-delp-s-j-1907-1945-for-advent-and-christmas/" target="_blank">John P. Walsh</a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; line-height: 1.714286; margin: 0px 0px 1.714286rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">From Alfred Delp, S.J., “Meditation for the Third Sunday of Advent Written in Tegel Prison, Berlin, December 1944” (adapted), </span><em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Advent of the Heart</em><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">, Ignatius Press, San Francisco, 2006:</span></p><h2 class="wp-block-heading" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); clear: both; color: #444444; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.6; margin: 1.714286rem 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">“Mankind is challenged again to stand and deliver. Only man does not merely exchange one set of chains for another – God’s calls are always creative. They increase the very reality within us that is called upon – precisely because of their realness and authenticity…Freedom is the breath of life. We sit in musty bomb cellars and cramped prisons and groan under the bursting and destructive blows of fate. We should finally stop giving everything a false glamour and unrealistic value and begin to bear it for what it is – unredeemed life. As soon as we do this, the jangling of chains and the trembling of nerves and the faintness of heart transform themselves into a small prayer – “Drop down, dew…” We should much more definitively unite our concrete destiny with those kind of connections and call upon God’s redeeming freedom. Then the narrowness widens, our lungs breathe in fresh air again, and the horizon has promises again. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Existence still weeps and mourns, but already a soft, joyous melody of longing and knowledge is ringing through the mourners’ broken voices. With this knowledge and attitude humanity releases itself from the lonely relationship to things and circumstances. A person finds wholesomeness and healing – not the goal-oriented, cool distance of calculation, mechanization, and organization. It is rather that higher level of freedom, the perspective given to someone looking from the heights to what lies below. The voice of such a person is not so quickly silenced!”</span></h2><h2 class="wp-block-heading" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); clear: both; color: #444444; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.6; margin: 1.714286rem 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">“The conditions for true joy have nothing to do with conditions of our exterior life but consist of humanity’s interior frame of mind and competence, which make it possible now and again <span style="font-family: inherit;">for the person to sense, even in adverse circumstances, what life is really about…And the </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">first answer is found in the figure of John the Baptist who personifies Advent. Humanity must be brought to an absolute clarity about himself and honestly before himself and others. He must come down from all the pedestals of arrogance onto which he always climbs…From the high-horses of vanity and self-deception that, for a time, let themselves be trotted out so proudly. Those horses though finally throw off their “master” in the wilderness…Two criteria identify whether we are following an authentic impulse or not…Both are found once again in John the Baptist. The first is service – human honesty requires a person to see himself as a servant and perceive his reality as mission and an assignment…The second criterion keeps us on track- annunciation, which calls us to praise of God. An extended personal effort is required to keep giving oneself the impulse to rise above, move away from self. But at the same time this is how a human being attains the necessary openness in which he or she must continue if sincerely wanting to strive toward the great realities God has prepared for him or her.” </span></h2>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-12359113549091328152023-12-09T12:35:00.006-05:002023-12-09T12:36:40.171-05:002nd Sunday of Advent 2023<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5RV8HGTQj8ELQjiBOVXJbR5nvPB2iUYe8LUyLtvFJOl7jv82w6IBXEyT0lfei219cR_E363RyIlUvcr9jJos7RsYk9j5SzeM2Vcef-y4Dt6HYMhTXRZA15lZGK2H3rjo5SXIjAj_hq927zzhSgAb_eCC3zSRl7fP1jKNL_66SMeYz0dSdO3O3HcMBTJx/s2734/IMG_1338.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2734" data-original-width="1855" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5RV8HGTQj8ELQjiBOVXJbR5nvPB2iUYe8LUyLtvFJOl7jv82w6IBXEyT0lfei219cR_E363RyIlUvcr9jJos7RsYk9j5SzeM2Vcef-y4Dt6HYMhTXRZA15lZGK2H3rjo5SXIjAj_hq927zzhSgAb_eCC3zSRl7fP1jKNL_66SMeYz0dSdO3O3HcMBTJx/w271-h400/IMG_1338.jpeg" width="271" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://johnpwalshblog.com/2017/12/23/the-prison-meditations-of-alfred-delp-s-j-1907-1945-for-advent-and-christmas/" target="_blank">John P. Walsh</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">F<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">rom Alfred Delp S.J.,</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;"> </span><em style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Prison Writings</em><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, New York, 2004:</span></span></p><h2 class="wp-block-heading" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); clear: both; color: #444444; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.6; margin: 1.714286rem 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">“So this Sunday we must again fold our hands and kneel humbly before God in order that his salvation may be active in us and that we may be ready to call upon him and be moved by his presence. The arrogance so typical of modern men and women is deflated here. At the same time, the icy loneliness and helplessness into which we are frozen melts under the divine warmth that fills and blesses us …If we are terrified by a dawning realization of our true condition, that terror is completely calmed by the certain knowledge that God is on the way and actually approaching. Our fate, no matter how much it may be entwined with the inescapable logic of circumstance, is still nothing more than the way to God, the way God has chosen for the ultimate consummation of his purpose, for his permanent ends. Light your candles – such candles as you possess – for they are the appropriate symbol for all that must happen in Advent if we are to live.”</span></h2><div><span><a name='more'></a></span><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; line-height: 1.714286; margin: 0px 0px 1.714286rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">For Fr. Delp, according to Merton, the stark choice before human beings remained the crucial one of global order or global destruction. Father Delp observed that even religious people in his time had fallen into the militaristic government’s syllogistic trap of “conquest first and a new and better world later.” </span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; line-height: 1.714286; margin: 0px 0px 1.714286rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Fr. Delp’s concern when making this sort of choice is that “if the person who says it tolerates or helps further conditions which are fatal to mankind…or weakens his or her own spiritual, moral, and religious sense” – then even “the most pious prayer can become a blasphemy.” (ibid.) Fr. Delp proposed that any human indifference to honesty and justice originating in passionate conviction vitiates human nature which is left to then express itself in a vicious circle of fear and arrogance. </span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; line-height: 1.714286; margin: 0px 0px 1.714286rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">From Fr. Delp’s perspective, his active participation in Kreisauer Kreis for which he was executed by the Nazis in February 1945 pointed to the eschatological character of the Advent drama by the young Jesuit priest’s hope in his time for the political and social ruin of Germany which had sunk into bitter darkness and that it would find its way ahead by the light of each person’s burning candle “for honesty and justice.”</span></p></div>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-6322131174529875012023-12-04T16:56:00.004-05:002023-12-04T16:56:24.185-05:00The Stuff of Contemplation (Joan Chittister)<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijm_G9WU5LqT2pfRoQD4XZiLXjyW1nEy9AMthJ_P5w21djwiAh3cDmSmKoA6APjqlkDTYKt5qcMdUyWLpGR2dar3BlfqjJ_Rivs8V_TryeEF-Lr7DWAbRYs2bmnbRp7y8EG42PQsGMSNKENTtXUWgj8AMOltlIhuI_PranqOeZ6WcaKj4iKhrmfxwWxBHS/s817/IMG_1335.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="817" data-original-width="580" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijm_G9WU5LqT2pfRoQD4XZiLXjyW1nEy9AMthJ_P5w21djwiAh3cDmSmKoA6APjqlkDTYKt5qcMdUyWLpGR2dar3BlfqjJ_Rivs8V_TryeEF-Lr7DWAbRYs2bmnbRp7y8EG42PQsGMSNKENTtXUWgj8AMOltlIhuI_PranqOeZ6WcaKj4iKhrmfxwWxBHS/w284-h400/IMG_1335.jpeg" width="284" /></a></span></div><span style="caret-color: rgb(81, 62, 62); color: #513e3e; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thomas Merton, Trappist, died December 10, 1968</span></p></span><p></p><p style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(81, 62, 62); color: #513e3e; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Thomas Merton entered the Abbey of Gethsemane in Bardstown, Kentucky, at the age of twenty-six, on December 10, 1941, a convert of three years, a pacifist, and a very experienced young man. <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Merton was a man with a monastic soul who brought new levels of meaning to the oldest elements of monastic life. Merton knew what had often been forgotten in monastic history: that monasticism is not about withdrawal; monasticism is about depth.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Merton’s new understanding of the stuff of contemplation led him beyond the boundaries of the order and into the very center of the contemplative vocation. As wars raged and racism consumed the country and feminism began to critique the established order, Merton began to look for bridges across the human divide. He became more and more interested in the monasticism of the Eastern religions, reaching out always for the intangibles that transcend boundaries and races and denominations in favor of that one unity that sanctifies us all, humanity.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Contemplation, Merton knew, was the key to experiencing that unity because contemplation, whatever its denominational origin, is simply coming to view life through the heart of God. It is coming to see the world as God sees the world. As one.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />In an age when all of religious life itself was bursting at the seams, shedding one period of history, trying to become leaven in another, Merton began to live into the new model right before our eyes. Merton knew that the role of religious life in the modern world was to develop people of substance who were immersed in questions of social significance. Merton knew that religious life was not the fine art of maintaining monastic museums. On the morning of his death, Merton delivered his last public paper, “Marxism and Monastic Perspectives,” to the Bangkok conference of Benedictines and Cistercians. The monastic, he said, “is essentially someone who takes up a critical attitude toward the world and its structures…(saying) that the claims of the world are fraudulent.”<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Merton the man taught the world that the spiritual life is not the elimination of struggle; it is the sanctification of struggle. It is struggle transformed to wisdom.</span></p><p style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(81, 62, 62); color: #513e3e; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Merton the monk taught the world that withdrawal is not of the essence of a holy life. The essence of a holy life is immersion in the spiritual and commitment to the significant.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Merton the contemplative taught the world that we know that we will have come to see God when we have come to see people as sacred.</span></p><p style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(81, 62, 62); color: #513e3e; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> —from <a class="ext" data-extlink="" href="https://joanchittister.us6.list-manage.com/track/click?u=0bcd62516ffe48a23a1231c56&id=e352132f72&e=3145276bab" rel="noreferrer" style="background: repeat; box-sizing: border-box; color: #990000; text-decoration: none;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">A Passion for Life </em></a>(Orbis)<em style="box-sizing: border-box;">,</em> by Joan Chittister </span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-36534103645194654352023-12-03T11:53:00.006-05:002023-12-03T12:14:08.074-05:00First Sunday of Advent 2023<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpx5DwHkRDY8nWybPw9PHhG42STaxLvHJ0aTZeCp29kVs2x5hjZwMoFASqpj9WKlGe8PYIUhZ8ZCrGrDf1X5c3ldzugk6dmcDO6D2HjCE6k9A4SJ5xihBSqG2b_X-QD81jwhZVLSSg6dadjeEclgBRC-ucsYspc0Gk9J_EDYwObgiyzP7SpELzpOWqZgD/s2127/IMG_1331.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2127" data-original-width="2095" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpx5DwHkRDY8nWybPw9PHhG42STaxLvHJ0aTZeCp29kVs2x5hjZwMoFASqpj9WKlGe8PYIUhZ8ZCrGrDf1X5c3ldzugk6dmcDO6D2HjCE6k9A4SJ5xihBSqG2b_X-QD81jwhZVLSSg6dadjeEclgBRC-ucsYspc0Gk9J_EDYwObgiyzP7SpELzpOWqZgD/w394-h400/IMG_1331.jpeg" width="394" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by<a href="https://johnpwalshblog.com/"> John P. Walsh</a></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"></span></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I see this year’s Advent (December 1944 in Berlin’s Tegel Prison) with an intensity and discomposure like never before….Along with these thoughts comes the memory of an angel that a good person gave me for Advent in 1942. It held a banner: ‘Rejoice, for the Lord is near.’ </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“A war bomb destroyed the angel as well as that good person although I often sense that she continues to do angel-services for me. It is the knowledge of the quiet angels of annunciation, who speak their message of blessing into the distress of our world situation and scatter their blessing’s seeds which begin to grow in the middle of the night which informs and encourages us of the truth of a situation. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“These angels of Advent are not loud angels of public jubilation and fulfillment but, silent and unnoticed, they come into private and shabby rooms and appear before our hearts as they did long ago. Silently they bring the questions of God and proclaim to us the miracles of God, with whom nothing is impossible. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Advent is a time of refuge because it has received a message – and so to believe in God’s auspicious seeds that the angels offer an open heart are the first things we must do with our lives. The next is to go through the days as announcing messengers ourselves. We wait in faith for the abundance of the coming harvest – not because we trust the earth or the stars or our own good sense and courage – but only because we have perceived God’s messages and know about His herald angels – and even have ourselves encountered one.”</span></span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">From Alfred Delp, S.J., “Figures of Advent,” </span><em style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Advent of the Heart</em><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">, Ignatius Press, San Francisco, 2006 (adapted)</span></span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-84720497547898285162023-10-12T17:36:00.003-05:002023-10-12T17:39:56.027-05:00 Secular Monk: Fenton Johnson<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjVKwgPBb9jt1qZOzUPEqy_DIe8RpNGVBJnVPj61SPbxGRUeAKbcES9BQiUwweJyfOKi8Ge1rOh_DEhFHbgkFnU90CH6PWKXP4UKwdmXLtErFIzpLv6EP2Iup0BPFMZEjFiJs_1nW2LwQ1g000Ua18WshmaexPBoMiQFqpoOTDGAljGyTCzsaE6KaUuaa/s2000/IMG_1199.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1446" data-original-width="2000" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjVKwgPBb9jt1qZOzUPEqy_DIe8RpNGVBJnVPj61SPbxGRUeAKbcES9BQiUwweJyfOKi8Ge1rOh_DEhFHbgkFnU90CH6PWKXP4UKwdmXLtErFIzpLv6EP2Iup0BPFMZEjFiJs_1nW2LwQ1g000Ua18WshmaexPBoMiQFqpoOTDGAljGyTCzsaE6KaUuaa/w400-h289/IMG_1199.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Montaigne Saint-Victoire, Paul Cezanne</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Full disclosure: I sort of “know” Fenton Johnson. I grew up in Bardstown, the town down the road from New Haven, where Fenton grew up. We knew some of the same people. I knew his sister, I dated his cousin, a cousin of his cousin was one of my best high school friends. I don’t have any distinct memory of Fenton (he was 3 years younger than me), rather an awareness of him; I knew he was around. And who forgets a name like “Fenton”?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By the 1990s I was an avid reader of all things Merton and dipped into the more serious magazines. I noticed an article by Fenton Johnson and immediately knew it was Fenton. He was a good writer. I became a follower / reader. Not exactly a “fan”, but when I came across something he had written, I read it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>
to be continued ...beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-72879757589409361982023-08-06T11:00:00.005-05:002023-08-06T11:00:46.058-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAJKUt2HPh5SLhYKSxEHreoaOHX7KlS5672zihYLSFNXopH0kANtM1lA1BZctJdCSbr-565qhrFsHIiBYhmUX33N4NvlTRuLQRdXs7964waFr0rThEqwmtkmZiOQr8uJLlSOXqpWgsu_KUcAQ-Mdtf3k2YdqEesF33a--TBjH-8i6qcjxOYgmLAMHyr0eS/s1628/IMG_1098.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1628" data-original-width="1353" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAJKUt2HPh5SLhYKSxEHreoaOHX7KlS5672zihYLSFNXopH0kANtM1lA1BZctJdCSbr-565qhrFsHIiBYhmUX33N4NvlTRuLQRdXs7964waFr0rThEqwmtkmZiOQr8uJLlSOXqpWgsu_KUcAQ-Mdtf3k2YdqEesF33a--TBjH-8i6qcjxOYgmLAMHyr0eS/w333-h400/IMG_1098.jpeg" width="333" /></a></div><br /><p>From Dorothy Day’s editorial in the Catholic Worker on the atomic bombing of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwSV2a_BgqRsV7NVaIaSPwmCkhf86n6_H9pBtRci9ONxBHAz3srLJaCR-7ApqK6chr5XaA4Ocn4ITcPKlqMQStrQNzzSd1JWWKuffWYiF7nYknHQuj0VrFJx0Ipvnjxn7hcFJ3Zof4n9tqwI5YwB3XAvaBMNom5uPqE6zMHWIpqPssz2RwUz44t2iocUfA/s1628/IMG_1097.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1628" data-original-width="1212" height="485" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwSV2a_BgqRsV7NVaIaSPwmCkhf86n6_H9pBtRci9ONxBHAz3srLJaCR-7ApqK6chr5XaA4Ocn4ITcPKlqMQStrQNzzSd1JWWKuffWYiF7nYknHQuj0VrFJx0Ipvnjxn7hcFJ3Zof4n9tqwI5YwB3XAvaBMNom5uPqE6zMHWIpqPssz2RwUz44t2iocUfA/w361-h485/IMG_1097.jpeg" width="361" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-66163481787007677502023-04-22T12:44:00.007-05:002023-04-22T13:24:14.927-05:00The Healing Path by Jim Finley<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PS7yb1O0xWdV3evfGq_2U0zJEDzkI-laql4EeF6q9GoicP0djwBc8-sQFrQ-IyYCsklJv6o-R_12zwnUX-NPghLFyvrtT28ijfbRSn6PdOGlPWRs-hTTokJ98x3tSQ1Ly93OuWG2czPm62VfuOmW73D-FNh_0KZ6yLIUPj1QU0aBCmWChUCOMflazA/s1537/929EEA7D-98C8-4927-B066-4E44E8E5B0FD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="1537" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PS7yb1O0xWdV3evfGq_2U0zJEDzkI-laql4EeF6q9GoicP0djwBc8-sQFrQ-IyYCsklJv6o-R_12zwnUX-NPghLFyvrtT28ijfbRSn6PdOGlPWRs-hTTokJ98x3tSQ1Ly93OuWG2czPm62VfuOmW73D-FNh_0KZ6yLIUPj1QU0aBCmWChUCOMflazA/w400-h100/929EEA7D-98C8-4927-B066-4E44E8E5B0FD.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whoo boy … (another book review):</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve been sort of following Jim Finley since I read his “Merton’s Palace of Nowhere” book. I loved reading that book. Not only did Finley get Merton, he was able to express Merton’s spiritual world in a poetic and beautiful way. It felt as if my heart were resonating with his words and he was saying things that I knew in my own soul but had never heard said out loud before. Merton did that too, but Merton’s words were more reasonable. Finley’s words dipped a little deeper into the Unknown and he made some daring leaps. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I never came across another book by Jim Finley. I saw Finley on some YouTube videos, and knew that he was giving retreats, had become a psychotherapist, heard the rumors about the monk abuse at Gethsemane, listened to a podcast or two, but as far as I knew he hadn’t written another book until this one: “The Healing Path”. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I read the book in about 2 days. It’s short. Finley is still pious and can droll on and on with mystical insights. But what is astounding about this book is the humility and rock bottom honesty. Finley takes his place among the screwed up human beings on the earth. He owns his place among the deeply wounded and scarred, who makes hurtful and lasting mistakes in his relationships.</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At times I found myself wanting to criticize Finley. Correct him. His passivity and passive aggression is maddening. Get up, man, fight back. He’s supposed to be a “mystic” for God’s sake. One who has wisdom and integrity. Instead, he shows how downright creepy he can be, unable to engage with or respond emotionally to his wife. He checked out. Let her carry the load of blame. The episode that rings most true is when his wife breaks a beloved framed picture of a Japanese Mary and Christ child over his head. This was a moment of grace. Finley says nothing and picks up the pieces of shattered glass. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gushing about how he made love to his new girlfriend with 10 minutes of filing his divorce papers left me cold. </span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the end, I am left, again, astounded and grateful to Jim Finley for laying this all out. There are nuggets of wisdom and real spiritual guidance here, like: “do not do violence to yourself while you wait for healing”. Once again, in writing this book, Jim Finley has gone where few have gone before him.</span></p><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not many people could write a book like this, exposing the wounds and also the wounding, and daring to suggest that this is where we might find our way to God. Only, perhaps, a real mystic. I will be mulling over this book for awhile. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">UPDATE: I guess I did read another book by Jim Finley, “The Contemplative Heart”, and have quoted from it a few times in this blog over the years. </span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-16064458126463628122023-04-08T17:05:00.002-05:002023-04-08T17:05:22.880-05:00Judas<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1211" data-original-width="898" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITdT75_E_QHiVzU9ZBWFr8ttl5H-Bj2nRZ3nUzBBQc4vTPBg793pRzGJhL3V3bN1KQVoniGoFuDuixOXa2jQvJVpfm2a4OmfrphCtGZTfdLxoRKuLato5wcsN8dSseghdoa3wMbpY70IoV21QP5lji56dXaPxaHQ7ZsQ5gVwdnJVTYvnT-_HBQhrFag/w296-h400/9FC99BC6-16C3-4EB6-887D-B449AA8DC160.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="296" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Judas by Paul-Henri Bourguignon</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-89928875512673249652023-04-08T16:50:00.001-05:002023-04-08T16:56:42.023-05:00He is Risen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXaNTHA7nhgAaeXv-qTJMFOWnzlpH5HaDBIkLAtrrX_pEkTif_UVrWlcTVOrOt_AVI0CgI7iEhoIZuomdKS6YxI-MFXQ9V_zFG0E9yz2f0BKFE0JsXOZLSQdUKEzjPT00I-V65VkBqqe4qM6mcFrqJJKd_X9Aas1QXjsc-KuPXkM3YfoFWnKIjdjY-JQ/s1801/0C77D2B5-9B22-435B-A785-4D3BDAF5C88C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1801" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXaNTHA7nhgAaeXv-qTJMFOWnzlpH5HaDBIkLAtrrX_pEkTif_UVrWlcTVOrOt_AVI0CgI7iEhoIZuomdKS6YxI-MFXQ9V_zFG0E9yz2f0BKFE0JsXOZLSQdUKEzjPT00I-V65VkBqqe4qM6mcFrqJJKd_X9Aas1QXjsc-KuPXkM3YfoFWnKIjdjY-JQ/w400-h284/0C77D2B5-9B22-435B-A785-4D3BDAF5C88C.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The March by Paul-Henri Bourguignon</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Just came across this </span><a href="http://merton.org/itms/annual/09/Merton1-7.pdf?fbclid=IwAR2Jgo3_OW5_KAX8vxs2gs_PQTaunIcOF8ywvG7DENqGrhcI2GbmfSjMnok" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">Easter homily from Merton</a><span style="text-align: left;"> (from where else but Facebook). I love the way Merton steers us away from superstition toward a living reality. This excerpt doesn’t do it justice, you have to read the whole homily.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Homily is <a href="http://merton.org/itms/annual/09/Merton1-7.pdf?fbclid=IwAR2Jgo3_OW5_KAX8vxs2gs_PQTaunIcOF8ywvG7DENqGrhcI2GbmfSjMnok" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></div><div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">"When the holy women arrived at the tomb, they found the stone was rolled away. But the fact that the stone was rolled away made little difference, since the body of Jesus was not there anyway. The Lord had risen. So too with us. We create obscure religious problems for ourselves, trying desperately to break through to a dead Christ behind a tombstone. Such problems are absurd. Even if we could roll away the stone, we would not find his body because he is not dead. <br /><br />"He is not an inert object, not a lifeless thing, not a piece of prop- erty, not a super-religious heirloom: HE IS NOT THERE, HE IS RISEN. <br /><br />"The Christian life, Christian worship, Christian community, the Eucharist, all these have been obscured by a limited ritualistic piety that insists on treating the Risen Lord as if he were a dead body, a holy object, not Spirit, and Life, and Son of the Living God. <br /><br />"Today let us come with faith to the banquet of the Lamb, the Risen Savior, to the Bread of Life that is not the food of the dead but the true and Risen Body of Christ. He who encounters the Risen Christ in the banquet of his Body and Blood will live forever! <br /><br />"Come, People of God, Christ our Passover is sacrificed, and in sharing his banquet we pass with him from death to life! He has risen. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"> "He is going before us into his Kingdom! Alleluia!"</div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"></div></blockquote>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-23062505158951882023-02-11T10:54:00.001-05:002023-02-11T10:54:02.747-05:00The Merton Center<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBD1f5vQRg0Zcyd4WiVbs1P5rAdSVA8_UAhVOf88eFcYSnI07MIB3msiOBo1PHBFRNV_x6Ux4EhRu2tPEG_BOCkgo_f3edhHKDFSxQaDvdtgTJc2MQaBvBZnz9pmTbvs9av9cd7rSVp7l2U0DZC2LCCjmNotEoMOrdylcd4dUe35O1wb6OXjrtadFwaQ/s2048/52465662793_1316a98700_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="445" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBD1f5vQRg0Zcyd4WiVbs1P5rAdSVA8_UAhVOf88eFcYSnI07MIB3msiOBo1PHBFRNV_x6Ux4EhRu2tPEG_BOCkgo_f3edhHKDFSxQaDvdtgTJc2MQaBvBZnz9pmTbvs9av9cd7rSVp7l2U0DZC2LCCjmNotEoMOrdylcd4dUe35O1wb6OXjrtadFwaQ/w334-h445/52465662793_1316a98700_k.jpg" width="334" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p>I don't know why it took me so long to get to The Merton Center in Louisville. I've been in and out of KY several times over the years. I have a very good friend who lives within walking distance to the Bellarmine campus. I even stay over night with her, and her husband is a professor at Bellarmine.</p><p>Anyway, I finally got there this past autumn, and enjoyed everything I saw there. All of Merton's books, audios of his talks to the novices, many, many photos (both his photos and those taken of him). Photos of his brother, John Paul. His Calligraphies. Original typed manuscripts. The statue of the Virgin and Child he had Jaime Andrade sculpt. His denim jacket. The icon. The stole Pope John XXIII sent to him. It's all there.</p><p>All of my photos are on a Flickr site <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/shoofoo/albums/72177720303282910/with/52468605125/" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</p><p>I am so late getting this up because I have been very ill the last few months. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDFtLWukk_bG9MGIZLsjpsexLzcygDWXC4bW7Mtun1wLsOcp0SsUyTHzkg3lyFXHlhcgedQu1gtVd7rM208IWhNyEKkHvE_DMPKvnm1SFNPU9SFFHonhekG-XM0B296BUFUh_u2kYpcFGBGL0GVcZIfBGZawj98HQOi9VEemooIZCXd8K1EGdEaKH_Q/s800/52467561342_ae1569cfbc_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDFtLWukk_bG9MGIZLsjpsexLzcygDWXC4bW7Mtun1wLsOcp0SsUyTHzkg3lyFXHlhcgedQu1gtVd7rM208IWhNyEKkHvE_DMPKvnm1SFNPU9SFFHonhekG-XM0B296BUFUh_u2kYpcFGBGL0GVcZIfBGZawj98HQOi9VEemooIZCXd8K1EGdEaKH_Q/s320/52467561342_ae1569cfbc_c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZWyKGlHPf5sPR5W2osW7Je-yalGRCAWep-3bNYHPCpHsPtzvt3MGpxj1nuLI-m4CQkh_mpKzUL6oGA-H0m6IAKsnDwRsk-0eMvsxiuURvQlOTxgV2xCEJZ1SX3euie6iBny7VKiTDBxPFCeNPiPq9mHwEyrVqT-SU_8cafLcIKguacCWIVgFK-D6uw/s800/52468165381_d640b45127_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZWyKGlHPf5sPR5W2osW7Je-yalGRCAWep-3bNYHPCpHsPtzvt3MGpxj1nuLI-m4CQkh_mpKzUL6oGA-H0m6IAKsnDwRsk-0eMvsxiuURvQlOTxgV2xCEJZ1SX3euie6iBny7VKiTDBxPFCeNPiPq9mHwEyrVqT-SU_8cafLcIKguacCWIVgFK-D6uw/s320/52468165381_d640b45127_c.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jbtmciFG_bIgJe2tUGksydDSZkTh96QYKyqcsKDoqPBgGjj8Xyq9pyjlQ493WaUflpEKi5ULE4nfqp5tmGuZJdCz1TIElpJJFlXNxWQE-l02cZ2I9u3ZRwlgy24_kuL29yTHFejU5dNUd0VmCps3EBmMn-kiFNHaAoB_Fp98rJUFK48SPk6vztfkLA/s800/52468336199_8d1923c817_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="800" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jbtmciFG_bIgJe2tUGksydDSZkTh96QYKyqcsKDoqPBgGjj8Xyq9pyjlQ493WaUflpEKi5ULE4nfqp5tmGuZJdCz1TIElpJJFlXNxWQE-l02cZ2I9u3ZRwlgy24_kuL29yTHFejU5dNUd0VmCps3EBmMn-kiFNHaAoB_Fp98rJUFK48SPk6vztfkLA/s320/52468336199_8d1923c817_c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJM__WT1jWYGGmsYnyccvM7e-XF6YT7hLGtAlYwR8VCZLPG6oFw2-8P-vv4Ie9oMKOvlp0wE4GCLq97e5uEYObLefRG1zEbO2iKRcbM9pJDheaoc6o9aXqnSLsJzQMc--B66Y8SA1_YD-oFqlJxcy5w623RVyXVq5f6owjwE-5H6KEgfe6CPBRMnDDCg/s800/52468640958_0e57b96e34_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJM__WT1jWYGGmsYnyccvM7e-XF6YT7hLGtAlYwR8VCZLPG6oFw2-8P-vv4Ie9oMKOvlp0wE4GCLq97e5uEYObLefRG1zEbO2iKRcbM9pJDheaoc6o9aXqnSLsJzQMc--B66Y8SA1_YD-oFqlJxcy5w623RVyXVq5f6owjwE-5H6KEgfe6CPBRMnDDCg/s320/52468640958_0e57b96e34_c.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p><br /></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-55370649002953763852023-02-11T10:35:00.003-05:002023-02-11T10:56:09.213-05:00A good monk<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDHfr2Nu0FfE4rWAULVTkfMTaHDIszr5CyZ3nIHLoc_UekcZGABbQWhqFfV3lbmPpZF4ejQ7MGvb0FqQao3V6hzLKQQzceAbuLWF4_n1v2dq8vqlcEMSzrSgjBZ4agEmvMKsLquiCfqJdqTOtpJn4HFvlm51QwYc7cJXbaxWbhFk0JFljZySU6JX2nsg/s2000/brjoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1429" data-original-width="2000" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDHfr2Nu0FfE4rWAULVTkfMTaHDIszr5CyZ3nIHLoc_UekcZGABbQWhqFfV3lbmPpZF4ejQ7MGvb0FqQao3V6hzLKQQzceAbuLWF4_n1v2dq8vqlcEMSzrSgjBZ4agEmvMKsLquiCfqJdqTOtpJn4HFvlm51QwYc7cJXbaxWbhFk0JFljZySU6JX2nsg/w400-h286/brjoe.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #857e7b; font-family: karlaregular; font-size: 12px;">Photo via Mepkin Abbey</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><h1 class="pageTitle" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #3f0d12; letter-spacing: -0.0125rem; line-height: 3.125rem; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://www.americamagazine.org/faith/2023/02/09/monk-funeral-trappist-244673" target="_blank">Celebrating Brother Joseph’s simple and holy life</a></span></h1><div><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica;">A beautifully written tribute to a simple and holy Trappist monk, Brother Joseph OSCO, from the Mepkin Abby in South Carolina. A hidden, unknown and deeply contemplative life.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></div><div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></p></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #4a4a4a; font-family: FFTisaWeb; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><blockquote>His innocence was his hallmark, a man at home with himself in any situation, even those in which the more scrupulous might blanch. He was simple in the best sense of that word, which is so freighted in normal usage. For simple was what a monk was to be, unheralded by others, not even his fellow monks, his gaze on a more significant reward.</blockquote></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #4a4a4a; font-family: FFTisaWeb; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #4a4a4a; font-family: FFTisaWeb; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Read more <a href="https://www.americamagazine.org/faith/2023/02/09/monk-funeral-trappist-244673" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</span></div>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-31601676405303719732022-10-20T07:30:00.009-05:002022-10-20T07:40:10.861-05:00Awake and Alive<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDF0srbv0v8eDYXK3aiyaVcNpciScFM0HFIDsBempCB_3vWOQEoEu_ZIMU7rN3YNqr1lS5eKEct4Wb3EhKCh9u0c0XadaENaRH5voAuAAIKVK041WiRMqWTDWST8z6q9KSwv0hOvvz5r7DakHfpgTLRmWsJWMgDMRXIkuuPielFmJ25DFIEdpCC28Pg/s500/E12DE551-C49A-497F-828D-B91576649320.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="327" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDF0srbv0v8eDYXK3aiyaVcNpciScFM0HFIDsBempCB_3vWOQEoEu_ZIMU7rN3YNqr1lS5eKEct4Wb3EhKCh9u0c0XadaENaRH5voAuAAIKVK041WiRMqWTDWST8z6q9KSwv0hOvvz5r7DakHfpgTLRmWsJWMgDMRXIkuuPielFmJ25DFIEdpCC28Pg/w261-h400/E12DE551-C49A-497F-828D-B91576649320.jpeg" width="261" /></a></div><p>This book wasn’t what I was expecting either.</p><p>I haven’t bought a Merton book for awhile. I suppose it was the title that attracted me. Being “awake” is something that I look for in a spiritual guide. Someone who is HERE, fully alive. This is what I reach for in my own life, so I gravitate toward writers who might show me the way, or some shortcuts. </p><p>Merton said once that he felt closer to the writers and artists around the world that he corresponded with than with his fellow monks at the abbey. I suppose that he meant that he felt closer to fellow artists in thought and spirit with what he was trying to do with his life. As a monk AND as an artist. This book gives voice to what Merton’s fellow monks thought of Merton. </p><p>Having just finished <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1626984751/ref=ox_sc_saved_image_1?smid=&psc=1" target="_blank">“Dearest Sister Wendy”</a>, I could see Merton through the eyes of someone who took her monastic vocation seriously. Sister Wendy didn’t give Merton much slack. Neither do his fellow monks. They are kind, and they give Merton credit for his efforts to teach and guide the novices. But they don’t <i>idolize</i> Merton. </p><p>In some off the cuff and unedited remarks (probably transcribed for oral interviews) from some of the men (now old men) who had been novices while Merton was Novice Master (the 1950s and early 1960s) we hear honest portrayals of a complex and flawed man, nothing really special. Just one of us. </p><p>As a super Merton fan (just look at this blog), I found this refreshing. I think that Merton, himself, would too. </p><p></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-31822523258927594262022-10-08T10:05:00.005-05:002022-10-10T04:49:54.118-05:00 Sister Wendy, Contemplative<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_774e_9670_cc44_39d5"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ2alOmydHycXVMsvJp0ZpufhwRG_F7wGADsYMC9T5YdPRReNs8AOL040hcceovj0jVRQIWrkTz8cgGd2xqKFgZ0-Hnc3ycPjLPzAfjhKM5z4Qe_hXSrJBzV4BIouLRwUKSYcZI8Dget9G8cSJbtylYHhOt9-G4yDnmTgf4YySMj-dsCNbOcfozzEQsg/s900/sister-wendy-beckett-327-william-hart-mcnichols.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="702" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ2alOmydHycXVMsvJp0ZpufhwRG_F7wGADsYMC9T5YdPRReNs8AOL040hcceovj0jVRQIWrkTz8cgGd2xqKFgZ0-Hnc3ycPjLPzAfjhKM5z4Qe_hXSrJBzV4BIouLRwUKSYcZI8Dget9G8cSJbtylYHhOt9-G4yDnmTgf4YySMj-dsCNbOcfozzEQsg/w314-h400/sister-wendy-beckett-327-william-hart-mcnichols.jpeg" width="314" id="id_e20e_9da1_2ae1_6e0c" style="width: 314px; height: auto;"></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Sister Wendy Becket, Icon by <a href="https://frbillmcnichols-sacredimages.com/featured/sister-wendy-beckett-327-william-hart-mcnichols.html" target="_blank">William Hart McNichols</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-d7cb711b-7fff-4304-7598-09c072a984d7" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I knew her as the art nun, but I also knew that she lived alone as a hermit. When I caught wind that a book was coming out about her (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1626984751/ref=ox_sc_saved_image_1?smid=&psc=1" id="id_983b_b47a_b2d3_712a">“Dearest Sister Wendy”, Robert Ellsberg</a></span>) I was intrigued. </p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The book was not what I expected. I was expecting to enhance my appreciation of art, at least a little. Wasn't art the love of her life? But there is very little art commentary in this book, or spiritual insight into the art world. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead, there is personal honesty: a deep look at the inner world of an odd and holy woman who is called to a solitary life of prayer. And her miraculous opening out and sharing of herself in an almost daily correspondence with Robert Ellsberg during the last 2 years of her life. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It turns out that God is the love of Sister Wendy's life. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sister Wendy is delightfully funny. And odd. And very smart. And humble. I'd almost say that she had no ego. Those 7 hours of daily praying must have been at a high order of meditation. And yet, in so many words, without words, she lets you know about this simple prayer of hers.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve been intrigued with solitary monastic life for awhile, most of my life. When I was a child it was the Carmelite monastery in Louisville that most caught my attention. What did the nuns do in that walled and silent place? I’m odd, too - introverted - so I sort of can identify with and understand Sister Wendy.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sister Wendy knew her way early in life. She joined an order of teaching nuns when she was just 16 years old. She never doubted this move or looked back. She followed the rules; she obeyed. Her life was totally in the hands of God and she trusted that the circumstances of life would guide her to where God wanted her to be. And they did. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After about 20 years in a teaching role Sister Wendy had a physical breakdown of sorts. Seizures that were diagnosed as epilepsy. She was given permission to live as a consecrated virgin and hermit. Secluded in a trailer on the grounds of a Carmelite monastery in Quidenham, England, Sister Wendy lived her life alone and in prayer. She went to the monastery for Mass every day, but otherwise she was in her little trailer, praying for at least 7 hours a day. She read - about art, about religion, about Thomas Merton, Pope Francis, and others. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sister Wendy took the rules of monasticism seriously, which is probably one of the reasons she had such a hard time with Merton. Merton talked a lot about the monastic life, but he broke most of the rules. His engagement with “the world” was relentless. She wondered why his writing did not convey much joy in his life. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reading Sister Wendy’s takes on Merton is revealing. Even at 88 years old and in failing health, her mind is still sharp and penetrating. Her insights in to what is happening in the world are compassionate and wise. Most of her life has been spent in silent prayer, away from the world. Not talking to people. When her correspondence with Mr. Ellsberg begins, Sister Wendy is hesitant. How does one speak of a life of silent prayer? There are no words. Nothing, as she would say. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And yet, over the course of 2 years and possibly for the first time in her life, Sister Wendy relates from a deep and authentic place in herself who she is and who God is for her.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br></span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1k4Liv3oToxufs2VWBGrRXwfCl0vcvGrElyucyQ_5PrzbIGz7PP_Nf1w-C74pOLFkPo3lAQCftHK6WdUv9H64EyL2yFXp_CG5pwK8kA2758JrrzTJlyY1ZIK-TKKPkwsEJp13aF8cCooHnzG8twkI6YDOL0RP-GTUh1CDhej5NPvKnmzS3Jwne_K4Fg/s624/wendy.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="624" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1k4Liv3oToxufs2VWBGrRXwfCl0vcvGrElyucyQ_5PrzbIGz7PP_Nf1w-C74pOLFkPo3lAQCftHK6WdUv9H64EyL2yFXp_CG5pwK8kA2758JrrzTJlyY1ZIK-TKKPkwsEJp13aF8cCooHnzG8twkI6YDOL0RP-GTUh1CDhej5NPvKnmzS3Jwne_K4Fg/w400-h225/wendy.jpeg" width="400" id="id_65d1_287d_63b8_b6c5" style="width: 400px; height: auto;"></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/26/obituaries/sister-wendy-beckett-dead.html?smid=nytcore-ios-share&referringSource=articleShare" id="id_5b0e_39ba_5ad7_3629">Obituary for Sister Wendy in the New York Times, December 26. 2018</a></div></span><p></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-33431270979596415192022-08-16T06:59:00.003-05:002022-08-16T06:59:37.691-05:00the new person<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7brDlyFpbDlQwGtJoow4Twl2eMIUl28A3424AMOs4SZdV8GUD5yVtL0mSpQWhwat5TiNChVoPUbdD2o2TKyGipXMJyBgRJ2KaBORTyL02TsY-gpk1B79HUiP9t4FwfjQyyNXXUJCrd6Kx_yho4WjTX-LqC68TxQzw6l4a8QFhvVponvqWlyGPvQyjFg/s985/web_first_images_release.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="985" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7brDlyFpbDlQwGtJoow4Twl2eMIUl28A3424AMOs4SZdV8GUD5yVtL0mSpQWhwat5TiNChVoPUbdD2o2TKyGipXMJyBgRJ2KaBORTyL02TsY-gpk1B79HUiP9t4FwfjQyyNXXUJCrd6Kx_yho4WjTX-LqC68TxQzw6l4a8QFhvVponvqWlyGPvQyjFg/w400-h231/web_first_images_release.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div class="caption" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;">This landscape of “mountains” and “valleys” speckled with glittering stars is actually the edge of a nearby, young, star-forming region called NGC 3324 in the Carina Nebula. Captured in infrared light by NASA’s new James Webb Space Telescope, this image reveals for the first time previously invisible areas of star birth.</div><div class="credits" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Credits: NASA, ESA, CSA, and STScI</div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #74767e; font-family: "Fira Sans"; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bolder; max-width: unset;"></span></p><div class="link" style="background-attachment: inherit; background-clip: inherit; background-color: white; background-image: inherit; background-origin: inherit; background-position: inherit; background-repeat: inherit; background-size: inherit; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; padding: 0px;"><a href="https://www.nasa.gov/image-feature/goddard/2022/nasa-s-webb-reveals-cosmic-cliffs-glittering-landscape-of-star-birth" style="background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #317ab9;">Learn more about this image.</a></div><p><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #74767e; font-family: "Fira Sans"; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bolder; max-width: unset;">Ilia Delio</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #74767e; font-family: "Fira Sans"; font-size: 20px;"> (The Hours of the Universe) talks about “the new person” emerging in evolution, who is embracing pluralities of gender, race and religion; who is called into a “new type of consciousness where things are first seen together and then as distinct within this togetherness.” (The Hours of the Universe, p. 98.) She affirms that we are being rewired for belonging to the cosmic whole. We are more and more aware that we are one earth community; we have a planetary consciousness that, according to Ilia, evokes a deep concern, especially in younger generations, for the planet and for those who are impoverished or marginalized. She calls younger generations – many of you – “digital natives” because they (you) were “born into a networked world and … think across lines of relationships.” In fact, Ilia says, “we are beginning to see that systems in nature do not work on principles of competition and struggle but on cooperation and sympathy.”</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #74767e; font-family: "Fira Sans"; font-size: 20px;">An excerpt from the acceptance speech by Marie Dennis chosen as the “Teacher of Peace 2022” by Pax Christi USA at its 50th Anniversary National Conference, August 7, 2022.</span></p><p> </p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-72348146481487980292022-08-08T13:53:00.000-05:002022-08-08T13:53:01.676-05:00Merton's letter to the Mayor of Hiroshima, August 9, 1962<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2mLDPfFyk4Y1EUZltuVexGbERKDlF1bhQlPvrZ2YCtLcrWQXkmU9AA-gCSsVYDka589diSdEG0uzmaDYgtQC0IxFVmNQTJSm9y4d1DbzRlgQjVooRjO6udAIVtBA_JXxC2kWwGiaQ_HREU5Ou-0Tl_Hqn4Oz8293QQMPaeK06T--zk8I1OKXVcDAGw/s800/MertonLetterHiroshima.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="618" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2mLDPfFyk4Y1EUZltuVexGbERKDlF1bhQlPvrZ2YCtLcrWQXkmU9AA-gCSsVYDka589diSdEG0uzmaDYgtQC0IxFVmNQTJSm9y4d1DbzRlgQjVooRjO6udAIVtBA_JXxC2kWwGiaQ_HREU5Ou-0Tl_Hqn4Oz8293QQMPaeK06T--zk8I1OKXVcDAGw/w309-h400/MertonLetterHiroshima.jpeg" width="309" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "system-ui", ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">60 years ago near the anniversaries of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Thomas Merton wrote the Mayor of Hiroshima, Japan:</span><p></p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "system-ui", ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">"In a solemn and grave hour for humanity I address this letter to you and to your people... The events or August 6th 1945 give you the most solemn right to be heard and respected by the whole world. But the world only pretends to respect your witness. In reality it cannot face the truth which you represent. But I wish to say on my own behalf and on behalf of my fellow monks and those who are like minded, that I never cease to face the truth which is symbolized in the names of Hiroshima, Nagasaki. Each day I pray humbly and with love for the victims of the atomic bombardments which took place there. All the holy spirits of those who lost their lives then, I regard as my dear and real friends."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "system-ui", ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "system-ui", ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "system-ui", ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><a class="oajrlxb2 g5ia77u1 qu0x051f esr5mh6w e9989ue4 r7d6kgcz rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 nc684nl6 p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of lzcic4wl gpro0wi8 py34i1dx" href="https://merton.bellarmine.edu/s/Merton/item/59475?fbclid=IwAR3IHrXXHVFwnLg_37SNPmR2jYtAnta2T2WZazvGQX6reHQX_Z64f8qTpMw" rel="nofollow noopener" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0" target="_blank">https://merton.bellarmine.edu/s/Merton/item/59475</a></span>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-68814004284816774642022-08-08T13:40:00.005-05:002022-08-08T14:15:21.604-05:00 I am the utter poverty of God<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09W4byv6-2h48lWWzSBPNHFxAhRLTDFb6jHpw_g1PwyX9RCAto0PW35qh6S1Fe1Cd1TIAMLa-_XH1A_Q69ODIcbSdtLryZ_FhdZkaFC3SnXp3Bbd2mOh6PM1t77WYXnO35iUqsFpOUUJcLJ5o_66tEJlJjOLCa8ITLxK7dnVSqXeJ7GQnZ3r_4xkhZQ/s823/MertonRinpoche.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="823" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09W4byv6-2h48lWWzSBPNHFxAhRLTDFb6jHpw_g1PwyX9RCAto0PW35qh6S1Fe1Cd1TIAMLa-_XH1A_Q69ODIcbSdtLryZ_FhdZkaFC3SnXp3Bbd2mOh6PM1t77WYXnO35iUqsFpOUUJcLJ5o_66tEJlJjOLCa8ITLxK7dnVSqXeJ7GQnZ3r_4xkhZQ/w400-h361/MertonRinpoche.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This came to me via the </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/95569468310" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;" target="_blank">Facebook International Merton Society site</a><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">, who got it from the "</span><a href="http://spiritualnotreligious.blogspot.com/2011/05/thomas-merton-encounter-with-buddhism.html" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;" target="_blank">Spiritual ... But Not Religious"</a><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> blog site. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">...The most influential contact Thomas Merton made was with the Buddhist teacher, <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chatral_Sangye_Dorje" target="_blank">Chatral Rinpoche</a></b>, a monk who had spent more than thirty years in the solitary contemplation that was Merton's only real home in this world.<br /></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">It was Chatral Rinpoche who identified Merton as a <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pratyekabuddhay%C4%81na" target="_blank">pratyekabhudda</a></b>, and with whom Merton would take a variant of the Boddhisatva's vows, in which he dedicated himself to do all he could to reach enlightenment for the benefit of all beings, in this lifetime or the next.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">Merton was already far along that path, as the following entry written in his journal several months before he set out to Asia demonstrates:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">"I am the utter poverty of God," he wrote.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">"I am His emptiness, littleness, nothingness, lostness.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">"When this is understood, my life in His freedom,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">the self-emptying God of me, is the fullness of grace.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">Love for all, hatred of none, is the fruit and manifestation</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">of love of God, peace and satisfaction."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">Chatral Rinpoche identified Merton as an independently enlightened being. In doing so, they highlight the Buddhist acceptance of ultimate teachings, irrespective of what religious or spiritual tradition in which they arise.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #050505;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;">The Buddha consistently said that his path was not the only path to enlightenment, and that every being must find his own path. His teachings, he noted, were meant only to be guides, and he encouraged all to investigate for him or herself the truth of what he said, rather than merely taking his word for it."</span></span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-18336409095553658842022-04-26T08:38:00.000-05:002022-04-26T08:38:35.169-05:00Jesus and Buddha as Brothers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFHhiiotNWzU2yByl3t-p8URPhONeaF681m2oye_83jtusBzXCvmBZUSfKEH8rQJsXHd_ATpoSkDC05vh44EmqyKmwIgS2MXkrwLuYwOWqjRDP5yAyN3632xmO7Y96IINnmpEAn44LCsLqYi_eMqx6Rar2JPBywazVZApw2RvYYWuyMrtpIbcW80tRw/s1280/PIA16875_medium.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="1280" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFHhiiotNWzU2yByl3t-p8URPhONeaF681m2oye_83jtusBzXCvmBZUSfKEH8rQJsXHd_ATpoSkDC05vh44EmqyKmwIgS2MXkrwLuYwOWqjRDP5yAyN3632xmO7Y96IINnmpEAn44LCsLqYi_eMqx6Rar2JPBywazVZApw2RvYYWuyMrtpIbcW80tRw/w498-h274/PIA16875_medium.jpeg" width="498" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://images.nasa.gov/details-PIA16875" target="_blank">Map of Matter in the Universe</a></p><p style="text-align: center;">Full sky map from ESA Plank mission showing matter between the earth and the edge of the observable universe.</p><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">The bread that Jesus handed to you, to us, is real bread, and if you can eat real bread you have real life. But we are not able to eat real bread. We only try to eat the word</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><em style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: inherit;">bread</em><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">or the notion of bread. Even when we are celebrating the Eucharist, we are still eating notions and ideas. “Take, my friends, this is my flesh, this is my blood.” Can there be any more drastic language in order to wake you up? What could Jesus have said that is better than that? You have been eating ideas and notions, and I want you to eat real bread so that you become alive. If you come back to the present moment, fully alive, you will realize this is real bread, this piece of bread is the body of the whole cosmos.</span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-top: 20px; text-size-adjust: auto;">If Christ is the body of God, which he is, then the bread he offers is also the body of the cosmos. Look deeply and you notice the sunshine in the bread, the blue sky in the bread, the cloud and the great earth in the bread. Can you tell me what is not in a piece of bread? The whole cosmos has come together in order to bring to you this piece of bread. You eat it in such a way that you become alive, truly alive. . . . Eat in such a way that the Holy Spirit becomes an energy within you and then the piece of bread that Jesus gives to you will stop being an idea, a notion.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p></blockquote><p style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-top: 20px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-top: 20px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; text-size-adjust: auto;">- Thich Nhat Hanh,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><em style="font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit; text-size-adjust: auto;">Going Home: Jesus and Buddha as Brothers</em><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(New York: Riverhead Books, 1999), 106–107</span></span></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(20, 20, 20); color: #141414; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-top: 20px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; text-size-adjust: auto;">HT: Richard Rohr OFM</span></span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-79705216609447590082022-04-21T15:06:00.006-05:002022-04-25T06:51:02.679-05:00A dreadful hatred of life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfJ0Y3apsgHEYeuq7OLO9ipT9Xi3yHiuO0i9NGdEXG8PhSHV5x-aPr4mMZjunRphKB552OjXmPJAKWM4fBjxf5gEIl8RfueRByr1d7-GmRGddkbUvBnvZPHPMtTGRC7gn1Qfw-99ljB4ic7rPsoKtIv7ax_VJ6s4Ppgs3RBQDno2yuER0ctTNHXY4tg/s292/Screen%20Shot%202022-04-21%20at%203.55.52%20PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="292" data-original-width="214" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfJ0Y3apsgHEYeuq7OLO9ipT9Xi3yHiuO0i9NGdEXG8PhSHV5x-aPr4mMZjunRphKB552OjXmPJAKWM4fBjxf5gEIl8RfueRByr1d7-GmRGddkbUvBnvZPHPMtTGRC7gn1Qfw-99ljB4ic7rPsoKtIv7ax_VJ6s4Ppgs3RBQDno2yuER0ctTNHXY4tg/w366-h500/Screen%20Shot%202022-04-21%20at%203.55.52%20PM.png" width="366" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">cover of the <i>Manifesto </i>pamphlet</div><br />On this Earth Day, I post a Merton writing that was never published in America, indeed not much known about. It appeared in a small pamphlet published in England in the summer of 1966.<br /><blockquote><b>A STATEMENT ON FACTORY FARMING: </b><br /><br />Since factory farming exerts a violent and unnatural force upon the living organisms of animals and birds, in order to increase production and profits, and since it involves callous and cruel exploitation of life, with implicit contempt for nature and for life, I must join the protest which is being uttered against it. It does not seem that these methods have any really justifiable purpose except to increase the quantity of production at the expense of quality: if that can be called a justifiable purpose. However, this is only one aspect of a more general phenomenon: the increasingly destructive and irrational behaviour of technological man. Our society seems to be more and more oriented to overproduction, to waste, and finally to production for destruction. Its orientation to global war is the culminating absurdity of its inner logic, or lack of logic. The mistreatment of animals in “intensive husbandry” is the part of this larger picture of insensitivity to genuine values and indeed to humanity and to life itself – a picture which more and more comes to display the ugly lineaments of what can only be called by its right name: barbarism. </blockquote><br />Monica Weiss SSJ, unearths the origins and context of this writing in an article in The Merton Seasonal <a href="#">HERE</a>. Monica is the author of the forthcoming book, <i>The Environmental Vision of Thomas Merton</i>.<br /><div><br /></div><div><blockquote>"Here once again, Thomas Merton is in the forefront of eco-justice, encouraging us to develop
an ecological consciousness. How is it that Merton, with his propensity for contemplation and the
hermit life, can envision the negative ramifications of apparently salvific and cutting-edge human
activity? If ever we doubted that Merton was ahead of his time or supposed that he was prophetic
only on the dangers of nuclear war, this issue of factory farming should dispel any doubt." - Monica Weiss SSJ</blockquote></div>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-84514002250425992482022-04-18T09:07:00.005-05:002022-04-18T09:27:00.986-05:00still as trees in Spring<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1a-5Hl8iFdWRwSyJbFifEFb0PLwSD1nVLePyflIKunef9cALN3az-jBTBddB0edanFI5QknbwHwAGs1AoV7VU1ORxoDZ1OOVn0BSP4uf28Pie2R9F7yXVLoUxBXpU1KN8toyB-R6dg0COlMtxGYqL6WVwnz61FiCnK4aElKVVYsuHsx1T_9MjQ9jldw/s2907/IMG_0406.JPG"><img border="0" data-original-height="2907" data-original-width="2048" height="467" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1a-5Hl8iFdWRwSyJbFifEFb0PLwSD1nVLePyflIKunef9cALN3az-jBTBddB0edanFI5QknbwHwAGs1AoV7VU1ORxoDZ1OOVn0BSP4uf28Pie2R9F7yXVLoUxBXpU1KN8toyB-R6dg0COlMtxGYqL6WVwnz61FiCnK4aElKVVYsuHsx1T_9MjQ9jldw/w328-h467/IMG_0406.JPG" width="328" /></a><span face=""Helvetica Neue Bold Web", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #121212; font-variant-ligatures: no-common-ligatures;"> </span><span face=""Helvetica Neue Bold Web", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #121212; font-variant-ligatures: no-common-ligatures;"> </span><span face=""Helvetica Neue Bold Web", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #121212; font-variant-ligatures: no-common-ligatures;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #121212; font-family: "Helvetica Neue Bold Web", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: no-common-ligatures;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Line engraving by R. Strange, 1773, after himself, 1764, after G.F Barbieri, il Guercino, </span></span><span style="color: #121212; font-family: "Helvetica Neue Bold Web", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-variant-ligatures: no-common-ligatures;">Guercino, 1591-1666, Date 1773</span></div><h1 aria-live="polite" class="no-margin font-hnb font-size-2 inline-block" id="work-info" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #121212; display: inline-block; font-family: "Helvetica Neue Bold Web", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-variant-ligatures: no-common-ligatures; margin: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br />“Consolation of Mary with Christ Arisen” by Rainer Maria Rilke</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div></h1><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">What they felt then: is it not<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">before all secrets sweet and yet still earthly:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">as he, a little pale still from the grave,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">relieved stepped up to her:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">at every point arisen.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">O to her first. How were they then</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Inexpressibly being healed.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Yes, they were healing, that was it. They had no need<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">firmly to touch each other.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He laid for a second<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">scarcely his soon to be<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">eternal hand to her womanly shoulder.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And they began,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">still as trees in Spring,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">infinitely together,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">this season of their ultimate communing.</span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-16940462860045231652022-04-16T09:44:00.004-05:002022-04-16T09:52:58.457-05:00the Lord of History <p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://static.independent.co.uk/s3fs-public/thumbnails/image/2016/12/03/15/tomb.jpg?quality=75&width=990&auto=webp&crop=982:726,smart" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="800" height="355" src="https://static.independent.co.uk/s3fs-public/thumbnails/image/2016/12/03/15/tomb.jpg?quality=75&width=990&auto=webp&crop=982:726,smart" width="480" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="sc-edUIhV whTMY" style="color: #646464; display: inline; font-family: "Indy Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">The tomb where Jesus's body is believed to have been laid, inside the Edicule in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem</div><div class="sc-jvLaUc bIjIwo copyright" style="color: #646464; display: inline; font-family: "Indy Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; text-align: left;"> (Getty)</div></div><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span>"He is risen . . . he is not here. He is going before you to Galilee." (Mark 16:6-7)</span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span> Christ is risen. Christ lives. Christ is the Lord of the living and the dead. He is the Lord of history.</span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span> Christ is the Lord of a history that moves. He not only holds the beginning and the end in his hands, but he is in history with us, walking ahead of us to wherever we are going. He is not always in the same place.</span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span> The cult of the Holy Sepulchre is Christian only insofar as it is the cult of the place where Jesus is no longer found. But such a cult can be valid only on one condition: that we are willing to move on, to follow him to where we are not yet, to seek him where he goes before us -- "to Galilee".</span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">---</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Read the rest at the link below ...</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Short booklet, <a href="http://merton.org/itms/annual/09/Merton1-7.pdf" target="_blank">"He is Risen"</a>, written by Merton in 1967 is <a href="http://merton.org/itms/annual/09/Merton1-7.pdf">HERE</a>. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://merton.org/itms/annual/09/Merton1-7.pdf">He is Risen</a></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-53322338541827454792022-04-10T08:39:00.005-05:002022-04-10T09:39:41.961-05:00conscious suffering<p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLANaZd8ieeD4SV2DMtAKtuwF76L5gD-6LIUkeew9nuSuhz-_hP7iFhsEo0syBNDT47_caCkVvIeWj5iPEYP0MJAKQh1_lX5b4Auzn-DpcTN91pHyY3PqRBNyfpL0hkHF1U8NJO9eX3UgNU8j5Ej9jBFcIyve5z_37GWHt-evB548dm-RQW_3dDGF9g/s992/FP_HutrX0AItCfA.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="559" data-original-width="992" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLANaZd8ieeD4SV2DMtAKtuwF76L5gD-6LIUkeew9nuSuhz-_hP7iFhsEo0syBNDT47_caCkVvIeWj5iPEYP0MJAKQh1_lX5b4Auzn-DpcTN91pHyY3PqRBNyfpL0hkHF1U8NJO9eX3UgNU8j5Ej9jBFcIyve5z_37GWHt-evB548dm-RQW_3dDGF9g/w526-h296/FP_HutrX0AItCfA.jpeg" width="526" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.03); color: #0f1419; font-size: 15px; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;">Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, 1842-1848 - Jean-Hippolyte Flandrin</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"There is a piece of suffering which is a river that flows through the human condition and is part and parcel of our arising itself. Eckhart Tolle talks about it as the 'collective pain body of humanity.' Conscious awakening does not put a final end to suffering, but rather, allows us to bear it in a way that is luminous, generous, and ultimately sacramental. Through our prayers and our presence, we take our part in bearing the cost of this precious divine finitude, in which and through which infinite love is revealed. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"What we do know is that great injustice, cruelty, physical pain, or betrayal, when consciously accepted and generously borne, can give rise to a peculiarly luminous and healing quality of love, and that this love radiates out from the site of the pain as a source of healing and hope for the entire cosmos."</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">- </span><span style="font-size: large;">Palm Sunday, Cynthia Bourgeault from 'Conscious Suffering'</span></p>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822894759353679437.post-31959789763568515292022-03-25T13:52:00.002-05:002022-03-25T14:35:20.794-05:00The Annunciation<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5B7GMi5AywjWfK544O0UMpOVvTS-pDwDbmzUzQPIwYFqcYlcCZhUHcS6UbHcRjq3H59XxfxrETTkfgLQIeJT0VTvV93pmtKfzduLYdqygOAaFpgAoYV2b6-JptSLBYI6PMkQE4SqJlinMMJk9UMqqexga0vh3kLPYcI9Hz2WwWZ60o7t-EQBv5SRJ2Q/s1296/Annunciation-Fra-Angelico-Florence-Museum-of-San.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="941" data-original-width="1296" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5B7GMi5AywjWfK544O0UMpOVvTS-pDwDbmzUzQPIwYFqcYlcCZhUHcS6UbHcRjq3H59XxfxrETTkfgLQIeJT0VTvV93pmtKfzduLYdqygOAaFpgAoYV2b6-JptSLBYI6PMkQE4SqJlinMMJk9UMqqexga0vh3kLPYcI9Hz2WwWZ60o7t-EQBv5SRJ2Q/w457-h331/Annunciation-Fra-Angelico-Florence-Museum-of-San.jpeg" width="457" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Fra Angelico</span></div><span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><i>Annunciation</i> by Denise Levertov</span></span><p></p><div style="caret-color: rgb(38, 40, 42); color: #26282a; text-size-adjust: auto;"><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">almost always a lectern, a book; always<br />the tall lily.<br />Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,<br />the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,<br />whom she acknowledges, a guest.</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions<br />courage.<br />The engendering Spirit<br />did not enter her without consent.<br />God waited.</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">She was free<br />to accept or to refuse, choice<br />integral to humanness.</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">____________________________</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Aren’t there annunciations<br />of one sort or another<br />in most lives?<br />Some unwillingly<br />undertake great destinies,<br />enact them in sullen pride,<br />uncomprehending.<br />More often<br />those moments<br />when roads of light and storm<br />open from darkness in a man or woman,<br />are turned away from<br />in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair<br />and with relief.<br />Ordinary lives continue.<br />God does not smite them.<br />But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">______________________________</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">She had been a child who played, ate, slept<br />like any other child – but unlike others,<br />wept only for pity, laughed<br />in joy not triumph.<br />Compassion and intelligence<br />fused in her, indivisible.</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Called to a destiny more momentous<br />than any in all of Time,<br />she did not quail,<br />only asked<br />a simple, ‘How can this be?’<br />and gravely, courteously,<br />took to heart the angel’s reply,<br />perceiving instantly<br />the astounding ministry she was offered:</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">to bear in her womb<br />Infinite weight and lightness; to carry<br />in hidden, finite inwardness,<br />nine months of Eternity; to contain<br />in slender vase of being,<br />the sum of power –<br />in narrow flesh,<br />the sum of light.<br />Then bring to birth,<br />push out into air, a Man-child<br />needing, like any other,<br />milk and love –</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">but who was God.</span></p><p style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">This was the moment no one speaks of,<br />when she could still refuse.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="color: #111111; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">A breath unbreathed,<br /> Spirit,<br /> suspended,<br /></span></p><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> waiting.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEsZfiMLSl9giEF5iyvYufSWLEucTeh3oBGC3qKaAnOEKChDHalqR5xHxWOI0wFszlJg8xiLLr1_Pev43AzkfFKoq6KFBZGCOyOsWpZbK0NG4NnMq3dqKbb6Udi11Jdls_a7_Dl3LV3qN9dkTvhJ9-85PFMDcHzW0PtJq0oUrbKczGkJYdR7DFGescHw/s1600/IMG_3482.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1212" data-original-width="1600" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEsZfiMLSl9giEF5iyvYufSWLEucTeh3oBGC3qKaAnOEKChDHalqR5xHxWOI0wFszlJg8xiLLr1_Pev43AzkfFKoq6KFBZGCOyOsWpZbK0NG4NnMq3dqKbb6Udi11Jdls_a7_Dl3LV3qN9dkTvhJ9-85PFMDcHzW0PtJq0oUrbKczGkJYdR7DFGescHw/w417-h315/IMG_3482.jpeg" width="417" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 24px; text-align: center;"><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px;">Merton with Wendall Berry & Denise Levertov, photo probably by Gene Meatyard</span></div><p style="font-family: "times new roman", "new york", times, serif; font-size: 24px;"></p></div>beth cioffolettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09300116274007165612noreply@blogger.com5