There is nothing uncertain and there is nothing unreasonable about Catholic faith. The proper meaning of belief is to accept truth on the testimony of another. Since in ordinary cases, our informant may be in error or may mislead us, there may be room for uncertainty. But in supernatural faith, we accept truth on the testimony of God Himself, so that it leads to absolute certainty.
-- M. Eugene Boylan, O. Cist. R., This Tremendous Lover
Showing posts with label faithfulness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faithfulness. Show all posts
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Psalm 106
O give thanks to the Lord for he is good;
for his love endures for ever.
Who can tell the Lord's mighty deeds?
Who can recount all his praise?
for his love endures for ever.
Who can tell the Lord's mighty deeds?
Who can recount all his praise?
Canticle of Zechariah; Luke 1: 68-79
Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel;
he has come to his people and set them free.
He has raised up for us a mighty savior,
born of the house of his servant David.
Through his hold prophets he promised of old
that he would save us from our enemies,
from the hands of all who hate us.
He promised to show mercy to our fathers
and to remember his holy covenant.
This was the oath he swore to our father Abraham:
to set us free from the hands of our enemies,
free to worship him without fear,
holy and righteous in his sight
all the days of our life.
You, my child, shall be called the prophet
of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way,
to give his people knowledge of salvation
by the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness
and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
he has come to his people and set them free.
He has raised up for us a mighty savior,
born of the house of his servant David.
Through his hold prophets he promised of old
that he would save us from our enemies,
from the hands of all who hate us.
He promised to show mercy to our fathers
and to remember his holy covenant.
This was the oath he swore to our father Abraham:
to set us free from the hands of our enemies,
free to worship him without fear,
holy and righteous in his sight
all the days of our life.
You, my child, shall be called the prophet
of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way,
to give his people knowledge of salvation
by the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness
and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
Isaiah 54: 10
Though the mountains leave their place
and the hills be shaken,
My love shall never leave you
nor my covenant of peace be shaken,
says the Lord, who has mercy on you.
and the hills be shaken,
My love shall never leave you
nor my covenant of peace be shaken,
says the Lord, who has mercy on you.
Prayer for Hope
O God, we dare not place our hope in you
because we have no hope to place.
We have forgotten mercy, like the dew;
we have lost sight of days of grace.
Our heart's bowl brims with hollow emptiness.
Our dreams have vanished like the smoke
of incense burned to gods of faithlessness
upon an altar stone that broke.
O God, you have stirred up the darkened heart
with promises of light to come.
The embers of our cold hearth shift and start
a flicker that may yet become
the fire we fear because we shy from burns
our soul once suffered at the hands
of our own treachery. If life returns
for us, we dread rebirth's demands.
O God, ignore our plea for cold despair,
its ashes undisturbed, its chill
unwarmed by any hint borne on the air
by unseen angels, crying still
that promises are kept. Grant us instead
that small perturbing flick of flame
that wakens even in the living dead
just hope enough to call your name!
because we have no hope to place.
We have forgotten mercy, like the dew;
we have lost sight of days of grace.
Our heart's bowl brims with hollow emptiness.
Our dreams have vanished like the smoke
of incense burned to gods of faithlessness
upon an altar stone that broke.
O God, you have stirred up the darkened heart
with promises of light to come.
The embers of our cold hearth shift and start
a flicker that may yet become
the fire we fear because we shy from burns
our soul once suffered at the hands
of our own treachery. If life returns
for us, we dread rebirth's demands.
O God, ignore our plea for cold despair,
its ashes undisturbed, its chill
unwarmed by any hint borne on the air
by unseen angels, crying still
that promises are kept. Grant us instead
that small perturbing flick of flame
that wakens even in the living dead
just hope enough to call your name!
Psalm 95
Come, let us sing joyfully to the Lord;
let us acclaim the rock of our salvation.
Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving;
let us joyfully sing psalms to him.
Come, let us bow down in worship;
let us kneel before the Lord who made us.
For he is our God,
and we are the people he shepherds, the flock he guides.
Oh, that today you would hear his voice:
"Harden not your hearts as at Meribah,
as in the day of Massah in the desert,
Where your fathers tempted me;
they tested me though they had seen my works."
let us acclaim the rock of our salvation.
Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving;
let us joyfully sing psalms to him.
Come, let us bow down in worship;
let us kneel before the Lord who made us.
For he is our God,
and we are the people he shepherds, the flock he guides.
Oh, that today you would hear his voice:
"Harden not your hearts as at Meribah,
as in the day of Massah in the desert,
Where your fathers tempted me;
they tested me though they had seen my works."
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Rose Round: The fourfold living signs of the soul
Signs of mystery, Theo had said, when he had seen the eagle in the north, before the hard winter and the time he had fallen off the roof. Theo wore an eagle in his ring, on his hand; it was his sign as well as St. John's, the great bird king of the air who flew unblinded towards the sun. But this bull-head was not less his, nor the lion and the man looking west, and Matt felt that they were his own too, and any man's, and in every man they lived.
But bulls are dangerous and wild, Matt thought, and lions too: they were beasts of the forest and the great plains and of desert and mountain, and were they hiding inside people, inside himself? Suppose the bull charged? The lion roared upon its prey? The eagle swooped on its victim? Suppose the man should change his face and become any or all of these, and no longer human? He was suddenly afraid; it was not only dangerous, it was terrifying to be alive, to be someone with all these unknown powers in his heart.
Then he saw Theo come through the western arch on the other side of the fountain, looking at the sun rising, and at him too.
"Theo," he said, holding on to the stone basin with his hands and looking through the falling water. "I was thinking about the bull, and the others, how dangerous they are. Suppose they got loose? I know they're not real animals, but they are sort of real inside, aren't they? Suppose they did?"
"Well, they do sometimes," said Theo, smiling. He came up to the fountain. "They get very wild. Why do you think our world is in such confusion, with nations all quarreling and fighting, and people grabbing everything they can from each other, and making silly excuses to justify themselves? The beasts inside have got loose."
"I don't like them then," said Matt. Yet he had, in fact, felt only wonder and delight when he had seen them, and a kind of awe.
"Yes, you do like them," said Theo. "They are splendid. They are all kings. They are what makes you a king too. You are a man in your mind, an eagle in your spirit, a lion in the courage of your will."
"But the bull?"
"He's in the power of love," said Theo.
Matt said, "But they do go wild, you said so."
"Yes, they go wild," said Theo. "But look at the garden: it's a square, but a square in a circle. It has a center. Don't you remember talking about it on the tower?"
"The sun," said Matt. "The sun is the center."
"The sun is the center outside," said Theo. "It is the image of the one who is inside: Lux umbra Dei."
Matt looked at the golden sun rising. "If he's in the center, all's well with the sacred beasts," said Theo. "The Phoenix is their Lord."
The sun was shining in his nest of clouds, brighter and brighter, like the Phoenix in the rose of fire. Matt looked back at the fountain, the water that sprang up and fell back for ever.
"Then why is it our Lady who is here in the middle of the garden, Theo? Why not him?"
"Because this is our world," said Theo. "He chose to come into it through her. He is too great to fit into the ring of the world, this little pattern of our sun and our hearts, except by becoming her child, and so one of us. And yet if you look at it inside out you will see that all this, the solar circle, the seasons of time, the fountain of life, the fourfold living signs of the soul, and the Lady herself who said yes to the will of love, are all in him, only in him, and we see them clearer when we look at them in him. There are some people who will only see everything in themselves, but don't be one of them. Our selves are only moons to his sun: in his light all things are revealed as they are."
But bulls are dangerous and wild, Matt thought, and lions too: they were beasts of the forest and the great plains and of desert and mountain, and were they hiding inside people, inside himself? Suppose the bull charged? The lion roared upon its prey? The eagle swooped on its victim? Suppose the man should change his face and become any or all of these, and no longer human? He was suddenly afraid; it was not only dangerous, it was terrifying to be alive, to be someone with all these unknown powers in his heart.
Then he saw Theo come through the western arch on the other side of the fountain, looking at the sun rising, and at him too.
"Theo," he said, holding on to the stone basin with his hands and looking through the falling water. "I was thinking about the bull, and the others, how dangerous they are. Suppose they got loose? I know they're not real animals, but they are sort of real inside, aren't they? Suppose they did?"
"Well, they do sometimes," said Theo, smiling. He came up to the fountain. "They get very wild. Why do you think our world is in such confusion, with nations all quarreling and fighting, and people grabbing everything they can from each other, and making silly excuses to justify themselves? The beasts inside have got loose."
"I don't like them then," said Matt. Yet he had, in fact, felt only wonder and delight when he had seen them, and a kind of awe.
"Yes, you do like them," said Theo. "They are splendid. They are all kings. They are what makes you a king too. You are a man in your mind, an eagle in your spirit, a lion in the courage of your will."
"But the bull?"
"He's in the power of love," said Theo.
Matt said, "But they do go wild, you said so."
"Yes, they go wild," said Theo. "But look at the garden: it's a square, but a square in a circle. It has a center. Don't you remember talking about it on the tower?"
"The sun," said Matt. "The sun is the center."
"The sun is the center outside," said Theo. "It is the image of the one who is inside: Lux umbra Dei."
Matt looked at the golden sun rising. "If he's in the center, all's well with the sacred beasts," said Theo. "The Phoenix is their Lord."
The sun was shining in his nest of clouds, brighter and brighter, like the Phoenix in the rose of fire. Matt looked back at the fountain, the water that sprang up and fell back for ever.
"Then why is it our Lady who is here in the middle of the garden, Theo? Why not him?"
"Because this is our world," said Theo. "He chose to come into it through her. He is too great to fit into the ring of the world, this little pattern of our sun and our hearts, except by becoming her child, and so one of us. And yet if you look at it inside out you will see that all this, the solar circle, the seasons of time, the fountain of life, the fourfold living signs of the soul, and the Lady herself who said yes to the will of love, are all in him, only in him, and we see them clearer when we look at them in him. There are some people who will only see everything in themselves, but don't be one of them. Our selves are only moons to his sun: in his light all things are revealed as they are."
Thursday, January 19, 2012
"She kept all these things in her heart"
His mother kept all these things in her heart. (Lk 2:"51)
Mary "kept" the word of God in two ways: by reflecting on it often and by living it with utmost fidelity.
Mary "kept" the word of God in two ways: by reflecting on it often and by living it with utmost fidelity.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Psalm 137
By the streams of Babylon
we sat and wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the aspens of that land
we hung our harps.
Though there our captors asked of us
the lyrics of our songs,
And our despoilers urged us to be joyous:
“Sing for us the songs of Zion!”
How could we sing a song of the LORD
in a foreign land?
If I forget you, Jerusalem,
may my right hand be forgotten!
May my tongue cleave to my palate
if I remember you not,
If I place not Jerusalem
ahead of my joy.
we sat and wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the aspens of that land
we hung our harps.
Though there our captors asked of us
the lyrics of our songs,
And our despoilers urged us to be joyous:
“Sing for us the songs of Zion!”
How could we sing a song of the LORD
in a foreign land?
If I forget you, Jerusalem,
may my right hand be forgotten!
May my tongue cleave to my palate
if I remember you not,
If I place not Jerusalem
ahead of my joy.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Complete your work
Complete your work, O Lord, and as you have loved me from the beginning, so make me to love you unto the end.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Suffering
When Peter objected to Jesus' prediction of his passion, he did not yet know the end of the story. Our faith, illuminated by the resurrection, is challenged to see the cross not as death but life, not as defeat but victory, not as tragedy but triumph. We can see that transformation in Jesus' story. Can we trust that it lies at the heart of our own?
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
John 20:27
Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe."
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Stabat Mater
At the cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.
Through her heart, his sorrow sharing,
All his bitter anguish bearing,
Now at length the sword had passed.
Oh, how sad and sore distressed
Was that Mother highly blessed
Of the sole begotten One!
Christ above in torment hangs,
She beneath beholds the pangs
Of her dying, glorious Son.
Is there one who would not weep,
'Whelmed in miseries so deep,
Christ's dear Mother to behold?
Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that mother's pain untold?
Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled,
She beheld her tender Child,
All with bloody scourges rent.
For the sins of his own nation
Saw him hang in desolation
Till his spirit forth he sent.
O sweet Mother! font of love,
Touch my spirit from above,
Make my heart with yours accord.
Make me feel as you have felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ, my Lord.
Holy Mother, pierce me through,
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Savior crucified.
Let me share with you his pain,
Who for all our sins was slain,
Who for me in torments died.
Let me mingle tears with you,
Mourning him who mourned for me,
All the days that I may live.
By the cross with you to stay,
There with you to weep and pray,
Is all I ask of you to give.
Virgin of all virgins blest!
Listen to my fond request:
Let me share your grief divine.
Let me to my latest breath,
In my body bear the death
Of that dying Son of thine.
Wounded with his every wound,
Steep my soul till it has swooned
In his very Blood away.
Be to me, O Virgin, nigh,
Lest in flames I burn and die,
In his awful judgment day.
Christ, when you shall call me hence,
Be your Mother my defense,
Be your cross my victory.
While my body here decays,
May my soul your goodness praise,
Safe in heaven eternally.
Amen.
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.
Through her heart, his sorrow sharing,
All his bitter anguish bearing,
Now at length the sword had passed.
Oh, how sad and sore distressed
Was that Mother highly blessed
Of the sole begotten One!
Christ above in torment hangs,
She beneath beholds the pangs
Of her dying, glorious Son.
Is there one who would not weep,
'Whelmed in miseries so deep,
Christ's dear Mother to behold?
Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that mother's pain untold?
Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled,
She beheld her tender Child,
All with bloody scourges rent.
For the sins of his own nation
Saw him hang in desolation
Till his spirit forth he sent.
O sweet Mother! font of love,
Touch my spirit from above,
Make my heart with yours accord.
Make me feel as you have felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ, my Lord.
Holy Mother, pierce me through,
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Savior crucified.
Let me share with you his pain,
Who for all our sins was slain,
Who for me in torments died.
Let me mingle tears with you,
Mourning him who mourned for me,
All the days that I may live.
By the cross with you to stay,
There with you to weep and pray,
Is all I ask of you to give.
Virgin of all virgins blest!
Listen to my fond request:
Let me share your grief divine.
Let me to my latest breath,
In my body bear the death
Of that dying Son of thine.
Wounded with his every wound,
Steep my soul till it has swooned
In his very Blood away.
Be to me, O Virgin, nigh,
Lest in flames I burn and die,
In his awful judgment day.
Christ, when you shall call me hence,
Be your Mother my defense,
Be your cross my victory.
While my body here decays,
May my soul your goodness praise,
Safe in heaven eternally.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Psalm 27
The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom should I fear?
The Lord is my life's refuge;
of whom should I be afraid?
One thing I ask of the Lord;
this I seek:
To dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
That I may gaze on the loveliness of the Lord
and contemplate his temple.
I believe that I shall see the bounty of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord with courage;
be stouthearted, and wait for the Lord.
whom should I fear?
The Lord is my life's refuge;
of whom should I be afraid?
One thing I ask of the Lord;
this I seek:
To dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
That I may gaze on the loveliness of the Lord
and contemplate his temple.
I believe that I shall see the bounty of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord with courage;
be stouthearted, and wait for the Lord.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
James 2:14-18
What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or a sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, "Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well," but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it? So also faith of itself, if it does not have works, is dead.
Indeed someone might say, "You have faith and I have works." Demonstrate your faith to me without works, and I will demonstrate my faith to you from my works.
Indeed someone might say, "You have faith and I have works." Demonstrate your faith to me without works, and I will demonstrate my faith to you from my works.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Isaiah 49:13
Sing out, O heavens, and rejoice, O earth,
break forth into song, you mountains.
For the Lord comforts his people
and shows mercy to his afflicted.
break forth into song, you mountains.
For the Lord comforts his people
and shows mercy to his afflicted.
Psalm 116:10-19
I trusted, even when I said;
"I am sorely afflicted,"
and when I said in my alarm:
"No man can be trusted."
How can I repay the Lord
for his goodness to me?
The cup of salvation I will raise;
I will call on the Lord's name.
My vows to the Lord I will fulfill
before all his people.
O precious in the eyes of the Lord
is the death of his faithful.
Your servant, Lord, your servant am I;
you have loosed my bonds.
A thanksgiving sacrifice I make:
I will call on the Lord's name.
My vows to the Lord I will fulfill
before all his people,
in the courts of the house of the Lord,
in your midst, O Jerusalem.
"I am sorely afflicted,"
and when I said in my alarm:
"No man can be trusted."
How can I repay the Lord
for his goodness to me?
The cup of salvation I will raise;
I will call on the Lord's name.
My vows to the Lord I will fulfill
before all his people.
O precious in the eyes of the Lord
is the death of his faithful.
Your servant, Lord, your servant am I;
you have loosed my bonds.
A thanksgiving sacrifice I make:
I will call on the Lord's name.
My vows to the Lord I will fulfill
before all his people,
in the courts of the house of the Lord,
in your midst, O Jerusalem.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Make Us Worthy, Anthony Esolen
"Lord," said the centurion, abashed that Jesus had offered to visit his dying servant, "I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my servant shall be healed." For to enter under a man's roof is to submit to his hospitality, and the centurion -- a Gentile, and a leader of men -- knew that he could provide Jesus nothing to justify such a visit.
"Such faith I have not seen in all Israel!" Jesus exclaimed. "Go, your servant is healed."
We repeat the words of the centurion before receiving the Eucharist at Mass, as we repeat his act of faith, for just as he affirmed the sovereignty of Jesus -- he knew that Jesus did not have to be physically present to heal his servant, for the Lord commands, and his ministers obey -- so we affirm that Christ is present in the sacrament, though we cannot see him by our senses, and that Christ will heal our souls, which otherwise must lie sick unto death. So in the Eucharist Jesus enters under our roofs; but something else happens, more astonishing than that. We enter under his. We are given a foretaste of the wedding feast of the Lamb, the eternal Eucharist of joy and peace.
Won over by Christ
We of all people should know that if we are not worthy to open our homes to Christ, we are surely not worthy that he should open his home, which is Father and Son and the Spirit of Love they breathe, to us, dressed our rags of mortality and sin. But our sense of unworthiness may lead us along one of two paths. We may take the path of pride, disguised as humility, and beg the Lord to ignore us, even to cast us out of the feast into the darkness, where we will be more comfortable, we suppose, wailing and gnashing our teeth. That is, we will take only those gifts we think we deserve, ashamed to accept more. Or, despite our pride, despite even our shame, we will allow ourselves to be won over by Christ, and let him work the great miracle at the heart of the Eucharist. That miracle is not that he should be present to us under the species of bread and wine. It is, finally, that we should be made present to him, as worthy guests, cleansed of sin, well dressed, fit for that wedding feast.
That is the consummate miracle we see performed, quietly, in the final poem of George Herbert's posthumous volume, The Temple. It is well that this poem, simply called "Love," comes last, as if we had proceeded through the church doors and up the aisle, to kneel at last at the communion rail of death, or of that first moment beyond death, when we see the face of the Beloved. So Herbert imagines himself greeted by Love, and his reaction -- in full awareness of his sin -- is to hang back to turn aside. We think that mercy is a sweeter and easier thing than justice, but it is not so; for justice takes us as we are, but mercy assaults us and batters at the gates of our heart, demanding that we be made new. Face to face with Love, the speaker in Herbert's poem, torn by both love and shame, wants to retreat, to go to that place more deserving of his sins. Sometimes sorrow is easier than joy, and despair more comforting than hope.
The feast of Love
But Jesus will not let us go! He who sweat blood in Gethsemane, who was flogged and crowned with thorns, who carried the bitter cross up Calvary, who hung there till his heart burst, who was pierced with a lance for our offenses -- he is going to yield because we are shy? Not so. He took the initiative then, and takes the initiative now. He comes to us before we come to him. He takes us by the hand. He clears our eyes that we may see. He shuts fast the gates of hell so that we may not run away to hide there. He wants us to serve him always by allowing him to serve us, even with that food which is himself. He wants us to enjoy the feast of Love, because that is what he is, and what he would have us be:
Love bade me welcome, but my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here."
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and, smiling, made reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marred them -- let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
And that is all, in language so simple a child could understand. But children know they are little, and feel neither pride nor shame in the presence of love. Let us be made such worthy children, to join the feast of the Lamb.
Anthony Esolen is a professor of English at Providence College, and a senior editor of Touchstone Magazine, and a regular contributor to Magnificat. He is the translator and editor of Dante's Divine Comedy, and the author of Ironies of Faith.
"Such faith I have not seen in all Israel!" Jesus exclaimed. "Go, your servant is healed."
We repeat the words of the centurion before receiving the Eucharist at Mass, as we repeat his act of faith, for just as he affirmed the sovereignty of Jesus -- he knew that Jesus did not have to be physically present to heal his servant, for the Lord commands, and his ministers obey -- so we affirm that Christ is present in the sacrament, though we cannot see him by our senses, and that Christ will heal our souls, which otherwise must lie sick unto death. So in the Eucharist Jesus enters under our roofs; but something else happens, more astonishing than that. We enter under his. We are given a foretaste of the wedding feast of the Lamb, the eternal Eucharist of joy and peace.
Won over by Christ
We of all people should know that if we are not worthy to open our homes to Christ, we are surely not worthy that he should open his home, which is Father and Son and the Spirit of Love they breathe, to us, dressed our rags of mortality and sin. But our sense of unworthiness may lead us along one of two paths. We may take the path of pride, disguised as humility, and beg the Lord to ignore us, even to cast us out of the feast into the darkness, where we will be more comfortable, we suppose, wailing and gnashing our teeth. That is, we will take only those gifts we think we deserve, ashamed to accept more. Or, despite our pride, despite even our shame, we will allow ourselves to be won over by Christ, and let him work the great miracle at the heart of the Eucharist. That miracle is not that he should be present to us under the species of bread and wine. It is, finally, that we should be made present to him, as worthy guests, cleansed of sin, well dressed, fit for that wedding feast.
That is the consummate miracle we see performed, quietly, in the final poem of George Herbert's posthumous volume, The Temple. It is well that this poem, simply called "Love," comes last, as if we had proceeded through the church doors and up the aisle, to kneel at last at the communion rail of death, or of that first moment beyond death, when we see the face of the Beloved. So Herbert imagines himself greeted by Love, and his reaction -- in full awareness of his sin -- is to hang back to turn aside. We think that mercy is a sweeter and easier thing than justice, but it is not so; for justice takes us as we are, but mercy assaults us and batters at the gates of our heart, demanding that we be made new. Face to face with Love, the speaker in Herbert's poem, torn by both love and shame, wants to retreat, to go to that place more deserving of his sins. Sometimes sorrow is easier than joy, and despair more comforting than hope.
The feast of Love
But Jesus will not let us go! He who sweat blood in Gethsemane, who was flogged and crowned with thorns, who carried the bitter cross up Calvary, who hung there till his heart burst, who was pierced with a lance for our offenses -- he is going to yield because we are shy? Not so. He took the initiative then, and takes the initiative now. He comes to us before we come to him. He takes us by the hand. He clears our eyes that we may see. He shuts fast the gates of hell so that we may not run away to hide there. He wants us to serve him always by allowing him to serve us, even with that food which is himself. He wants us to enjoy the feast of Love, because that is what he is, and what he would have us be:
Love bade me welcome, but my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here."
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and, smiling, made reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marred them -- let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
And that is all, in language so simple a child could understand. But children know they are little, and feel neither pride nor shame in the presence of love. Let us be made such worthy children, to join the feast of the Lamb.
Anthony Esolen is a professor of English at Providence College, and a senior editor of Touchstone Magazine, and a regular contributor to Magnificat. He is the translator and editor of Dante's Divine Comedy, and the author of Ironies of Faith.
Psalm 98
The Lord has made his salvation known:
in the sight of the nations he has revealed his justice.
He has remembered his kindness and faithfulness
toward the house of Israel.
All the ends of the earth have seen
the salvation by our God.
Sing joyfully to the Lord, all you lands;
break into song; sing praise.
Sing praise to the Lord with the harp,
with the harp and melodious song.
With trumpets and the sound of the horn
sing joyfully before the King, the Lord.
in the sight of the nations he has revealed his justice.
He has remembered his kindness and faithfulness
toward the house of Israel.
All the ends of the earth have seen
the salvation by our God.
Sing joyfully to the Lord, all you lands;
break into song; sing praise.
Sing praise to the Lord with the harp,
with the harp and melodious song.
With trumpets and the sound of the horn
sing joyfully before the King, the Lord.
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