Sunday, April 2, 2017

To have one’s cake and eat it too

So, why is a cloistered, penitential nun thinking about cake on the Fifth Sunday of Lent?  Well, Easter is only two weeks away…And, following the venerable Franciscan tradition of taking a positive, sacramental view of creation, we do eat cake on Easter!  A liturgical feastday is also just that at the Poor Clare monastic table:  a feast!  Our cake on Easter Day is shaped in the form of a lamb in order to remind us that the Paschal Lamb, sacrificed for us is sweet.  Forming this special cake is the challenge and the joy of the baker during Holy Week, and we always pray fervently for her intentions!
But our thoughts turn now to Jesus, the true Lamb of God, whose bloody sacrifice on Calvary we shall soon be commemorating during the holiest week of the year.  Why did He do it?  To overcome sin which separates us from Him and to lead us to eternal happiness with Him in heaven.  Scripture pictures heaven as a banquet where all enjoy each other and the main course is God Himself.  All desires for love, friendship and joy will be satisfied forever and ever.  But won’t it get boring?  After all, it is our constant experience that whenever we get what we want to full satiety, we quickly lose interest.  In fact, sometimes the excitement of anticipation is actually more pleasurable than the enjoyment of the good thing itself!  So it must be in this life, but not in the next.
The incredible truth is that we poor, finite human beings have an infinite capacity that can only be filled with the immeasurable goodness of God.  Yet at the same time we remain finite and limited in our ability to know and experience the fullness that is divinity.  Will we then remain eternally frustrated at the heavenly banquet?  No!  At that wondrous feast, we will have at the same moment, the joy of complete fulfillment and the pleasure of anticipating the next revelation, the new touch, the deepening of relationship.  On this side of eternity, anticipation and fulfillment succeed one another, but in the kingdom of God, we shall have our cake and eat it too.  Isaiah tells us, "Come without paying and without cost".  All are invited!  See you there!

Coming back down to earth, we would like to share with you that we now anticipate the happiness of our Postulant Kathryn who will be receiving the Holy Habit of our Mother St. Clare on June 15th.  Pray for her as she prepares her soul and we prepare her habits!  Before that blessed event we will celebrate the Paschal Mysteries and will also be remembering you in our prayers.  May our Crucified and Risen Lord bless you with the gift of His Easter peace!

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Lent 2017

The picture above captures the moment of repose after we celebrated the Lord’s Passion on Good Friday one year.  Mother Abbess had the inspiration to position the cross we had venerated as is shown.  The relic of the True Cross is displayed with two red vigil lights, and the sanctuary is bereft of every other adornment.

Here we are at the beginning of this Lenten season.  But even now, our faces are set towards Jerusalem and a certain hill outside the city where the drama of Christ’s redemptive love will reach its culmination.  Those of us who are privileged to live by the liturgy and especially to sing the Church’s Gregorian Chant, are always energized with a new vitality.  Lent is not only about lamenting our sins and mourning the pain of our loving Savior.  It is that, to be sure.  But if this rather negative orientation is not to become moribund, it must be balanced with the confident assuredness of God’s tender mercy.  The Letter to the Hebrews tells us that we should approach the throne of mercy with boldness.  On Ash Wednesday, we chanted:  “You have mercy on all, O Lord, and nothing do you hate of the things that you have made, dissimulating the sins of men for the sake of penance and sparing them, for you are the Lord our God” [my own translation of the Latin text].  These are not words of a slave trembling with fear before a harsh taskmaster.  Rather, these are declarations of a well beloved child before his Father.  They are audacious, considering that he is talking to God, after all!  He even says that God dissimulates when He is forced to regard our sins, because of our repentance.  The child has indeed been naughty, but he is sorry and he knows the Father will forgive him for love’s sake.

At the start of today’s Mass of the First Sunday of Lent, we have the Father speak:  “He will invoke me and I will listen to him.  I will rescue him and glorify him.  With length of days I will fulfill him”.  Jesus is the first object of the Father’s regard, and through Him we are included.  The price of our salvation was Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross.  He, the well Beloved Son, was willing to suffer the seeming abandonment of the Father so that we could return to Him whom we had abandoned.  Our first parents sinned, breaking their love relationship with God; and we the children of Adam and Eve have followed in their footsteps.  But Jesus has come after us, taking our nakedness and death upon Himself, crying out with our voice and our dereliction.  The Father has listened.  He rescued Jesus from death by glorifying Him and raising Him from the dead.  If we are joined with Jesus in His death by faith, then we will rise with Him in His life.  We are children of God!  Length of days, even to eternity, is our destiny, if we but suffer a little while.  This is Lent.  Let us begin!

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Presentation of the Lord, Candlemas Day

 In many ways, the feast of the Presentation of the Lord is a transitional day, coming as it does almost exactly midway between the Christmas and Lenten seasons. This feast encompasses elements of both celebrations; on the one hand, we contemplate once again the Child Jesus in the arms of His mother Mary, and on the other, we hear the prophetic utterance of the aged Simeone who foretells the future sufferings of the Messiah.  Joy and sorrow are mingled here as they always are in this life, all tending toward the glorious victory of Easter anticipated in faith and hope.
The poetic image that unites the mysteries of the Incarnation and Redemption is the candle.  How well it symbolizes Christ, the Word made flesh, shining meekly in the darkness which cannot overcome Him!

 Candles are everywhere in our monastery during Christmas, and are a major part of our decorations.  During Lent, they are almost the only d├ęcor around our altar while potted green plants soberly replace our usual floral arrangements.  Finally, nothing can surpass the climactic moment at the Easter Vigil, when we all follow the Paschal candle into our dark monastic choir to sing “Lumen Christi!” (Light of Christ!) to celebrate the definitive victory of Divine Light over the darkness of sin and death.

Today’s Gospel, when Jesus exhorts His followers to let their light shine for all to see, is often quoted against us who live hidden in the cloister.  Are we not putting our lamp under a bushel basket?  No!  Our light does shine, but like sunlight, it is invisible except for its effects.  Or it is like a lamp that is doing its job well and so does not call attention to itself.  You only notice a lamp when something is wrong with it; there is a flickering, or it is too bright or too dim.  When it is just right, you forget all about it and are just happy to be able to see what you are doing or whom you are loving.
We bless candles at the beginning of Mass on February 2nd and honor the Lord’s presentation with a candlelight procession into choir that recalls the Holy Family’s coming into the temple with Jesus for the first time.  It also prefigures the Palm Sunday and Easter Vigil procession.  We pray that we ourselves, may be true candles, alive with the light of faith, consumed in the fire of divine love, to be beacons of hope for a world that often seems lost in darkness, that all may find their way to Christ, their true home.

Sunday, January 1, 2017

Christmas Sharing

Those who recite the Liturgy of the Hours are very familiar with Ps. 95, as it is chanted each day at the beginning of Matins.  On Christmas, we sing it in Latin, just before the celebration of our Midnight Mass.  It felt especially appropriate, sung with the angels on the Holy Night.  Here is part of the psalm (English translation):

“Come, let us sing to the Lord
and shout with joy to the Rock who saves us!
 Let us approach Him with praise and thanksgiving
and sing joyful songs to the Lord. 
The Lord is God, the mighty God,
the great King over all the gods. 
He holds in His hands the depths of the earth 
and the highest mountains as well,
He made the sea, it belongs to Him,
the dry land too, for it was formed by His hands. 
Come then, let us bow down and worship,
bending the knee before the Lord our Maker. 
For He is our God and we are His people the flock He shepherds. 
Today, listen to the voice of the Lord…
At this point in the psalm, while I continued to chant, my brain inserted a question:  What was the voice of the Lord on this Christmas night?  Answer:  an infant’s cry!  So, this has been my meditation during the Christmas Octave, culminating on this feast of the Motherhood of Mary.
The God whom we contemplate as “mighty”, is a weak baby crying for milk.
The “great King over all the gods” is least among men, an infant warmed in the arms of His mother.
He who “holds in His hands” all the world, reaches for His mother’s breast
The Infinite has become small.
The Boundless is wrapped in swathing bands.
The Eternal is born in time.

We who grasp at divinity in all the wrong ways, by being powerful, and independent, would do well to see what divinity  really is.  God is love.  And love is that which pours itself out in sacrifice for the sake of a beloved other.  “If God has loved us so, then we must have the same love for one another”.  Blessed New Year!  May it truly be a “year of the Lord” and a year under the protecting mantle of His Blessed Mother.