The Lord draws all men...

  I'm in a place that I've never been.  I am not a leader, but a true follower, but now here I am; leading a group of men and women who are striving to become Third Order Franciscans.  I will not ask 'Why me?'  I refuse to ask.  I will ask Him 'How', though.  How do I bring the best spirit of Francis to the group?  How do I keep it fresh?  We are going backward in time, into somewhat, for us, uncharted territory.  This coming Monday will be our first meeting and I'm not prepared.  The members are committed to following the old Roman Breviary instead of the Liturgy of the Hours.  We don't really have one!  My copy, purchased on E-Bay is still in the mail.  A reproduction of the original is $295.00.  We've decided to, when called for during the meeting, when praying the Our Father and the Hail Mary to recite them in Latin.  I will learn them both in the tongue of the Church.  Lord, You've given me a full plate, and I hope to fulfill Your every wish.  I know this is You, Lord, working in and through me.  The Lord draws all men to Him!  I can feel you drawing me to you through these difficult challenges you put before me.  How can I resist this life, Lord?  I would be worthless if I did. 

Reflection...

For more than a month now we've had a young Haitian girl (9 years old) named Jodelin staying with us, along with a nun, Sr. Cadet, also from Haiti.  Jodeline lost her leg below the knee in the earthquake, and she's here to receive a new prosthesis from the Children's Hospital.  There is so much to say about having them here for the last month, but the experience is still too real, too close to me right now to write about it in any detail.  For me, it's the New Testament come to life.  It's my Franciscan calling being lived out everyday, right here, in my home.  H has been bringing them to all the doctor's appointments while I've been at work.  Monday Jodeline gets her real prosthesis and then she is done, they'll be ready to return to Haiti.  I've only now been able to bring myself to write only this much about this experience, which God has graced us with.  He knows all of our weaknesses and uses them to give others strength.  I was and still am the most unworthy of vessels for this job, but I have seen the face of Our Lord so often that my whole way of thinking has been turned around.  Words without actions are worthless.  Into my world that I thought I knew stepped three women who showed me the meaning of love and action; Helen, Sr. Cadet and of course, Jodeline.

A different path...

After many months of prayer, prayer which came to me in many different forms and from many varied places H and I have decided to  take a slightly different yet parallel road on our journey to Heaven.  Our Lord called us to join the Secular Franciscan Order many years ago, and now He calls again, directing us to the path of Third Order Franciscans.  The reasons are too many to post; God draws us to Him and we respond, most times in ways we would never imagine.  In discerning this new path I have tried to humble myself in my thoughts and actions to the utmost of what I can know, meaning, I have tried to give everything over to Our Lord through Our Blessed Virgin Mother.  I am nothing, and in that nothingness I garner my strength.  When I think, even abstractly, that I am in charge, in charge without knowing I call it, when the will takes over my thinking, instead of letting the soul do the work, I become terrified.  I cannot do this, I cannot start a chapter.  Yes, not only to become TOF, but to start a chapter here at our parish.  Tomorrow, the 23rd, we'll be having a 'Meeting of Inquiry', just a small get together to see who might be interested in what we are doing.  Many people have inquired to us about the Third Order, knowing we are Franciscans, and if we could provide information to them.  The desire is there, in people we know.  I believe the Latin Mass has brought this idea of a Third Order into the beginnings of a birth, of sorts.  Pray for us as we begin again down the to Our God, following in the footsteps of Jesus, holding the hand of Francis.

Week One

Who was there, Lord,
in that first week of Lent?
When I, at the prayer service,
(not even a Mass)
listened, dissapointed, (in myself)
as a deacon spoke of you.
I hope he was a deacon but it was not my church
and I did not know the man.
Who was there?
Was I, as I went away angry, for not having been satisfied,
not fulfilled?


I had forgotten about the desert.


My Lents have always been filled with someone elses dreams,
of stories of such spiritual times
of joy, of trials.
Mine were mostly nothing to rejoice about,
to tell ones friends about.
Again, I'd missed the point.


I had forgotten
the silence of the silence.


The silence that enwraps you at times you don't expect,
like when that passage from the Bible strikes a chord.
As this past Thursday evening when at Adoration
one hour slipped to two...

...and the slow re-dawn of silence.

The Fount of Grace

Oh God,
so hollow is my cry to you
yet you hear, for no reason than
out of love
for me.

  The statue of the Blessed Virgin rests to the side of the small Latin Mass altar.  She is on the globe and her bare foot is standing on the neck of the serpent, right behind his head.  His head is raised up, mouth wide, fangs dull white in the quiet light of the church.  The master of lies has been slithering through the lives of men since ancient times, since being swept away, since failing the test.  Look around.  What times are these that we live in, where does not satan show his vile head?  He is in our neighborhoods, in our government and even in our churches.  Does he believe it is time for him to really raise his head, to come in for the kill?
  All graces flow through  Mary, our Mother.  We must go to Her now more than ever before.  Satan knows that too, more than anyone, and will confuse us in every way to make us think that She is irrelevant, that God is gone, Jesus is no more...
  The dark one's final destination is Mary, who waits for the word from God to finish this epic battle. It is the ages old battle for souls, and the devil's hatred of God drives him to destroy us, since he cannot touch God.  For us, it is our souls that are at stake, and always has been. 

For even with my sandals on
trodding through deep snow
and my hood pulled up
to focus thoughts
still
the mind will wander
where only darkness waits.
And ideas that are blown like dust,
left behind when morning comes,
 prayers and strength
return
to lead me to the Fount of Grace.

Week 1

WEEK I

SUNDAY

Evening Prayer I

Ant. 1  Like burning incense, Lord, let my prayer rise

           up to you.

Such beautiful words, and coming (or beginning) where they are, front and center at the start of The Four-Week Psalter.  I don't analyze the Office much, H and I just do them, and it's enough to just let the readings and psalms sink into the fiber and be there, to swim just beneath the surface all day.  Some days the readings are read and they go, fading from sight and mind like an old conversation, while other days the voice of the Apostle will stay with me all day, pointing out my faults and reminding me of things I don't even know.  Lately, maybe because I've added Mid-Day prayer to my lunch half-hour the feel of the whole reading seems to be of caution,of wariness and do not fall!  Guidance, always guidance.  6 months from now I'll probably feel much different, Maybe then, the theme will be one of rejoicing, but I doubt it.  The darkness of the world is only becoming more prevalent, I'm afraid, and our God seems only more than content in letting His plan run it's course.  No matter.  Whoever has ears ought to hear.   Ant. 2  You are my refuge, Lord; you are all that I desire in life.  For me a summing up of where I try to stand, but usually am not.  Where is that Ant. at 9:45am at a busy day at work?  Usually far from my mind.  Those are precisely the times we should remember them, but, at the same time, if we forget, we must let God take over, consciously or unconsciously, and let Him guide us, whether we know it or not.  I only know if this has happened when, at the end of the day, during my examination of conscience God gives me the grace to see His work in the day that has passed, to see the good (if any!) and the bad.  In the silence of silence He speaks, showing us, bending our will to His ways. 

...in prayer

 Trust.  This one word has seemingly filled my head since this past Sundays' Latin Mass gospel reading.  Matthew 8, 23-27.  Good, experienced fisherman all, and still they were terrified. Lord, save us, we perish.  We perish.  Am I perishing now?  I might be.  All my trust is in God, but after this gospel reading and the realization of how much God is asking of us, I don't know anymore.  Lord, save us.  Peter, James, John, they had Jesus right there with them, teaching them, opening their eyes; we, 2,000 plus years later, centuries of examples of tremendous trust by ordinary people and Saints, and we/I still am trying to go it alone.  
 
In my weakness, Lord, I cry out to you.

Not a voice that is heard, but a silent cry that wells up in bitterness, a bitterness in knowing that I have not done enough, have not tried hard enough to let go of this world I've vowed to let go of, to embrace Him who is asleep in the stern of my life, watching over me, and I almost ignore Him.  
  Why are you fearful, O ye of little faith? 
I'm fearful because I've not given everything over to Him.  I'm fearful that I'm fooling myself, in my so-called humbleness I'm actually just, smug.  I am still tossed constantly, as soon as the next squall comes up.  Will it take a million years for me to figure this out?  Probably.  As long as a part of me thinks above the slug-like existence that I know I am, I will not be at rest.  Always filled with uneasiness, I advance through the day.  Again, it is a realization that I must meet head-on, head-on, in prayer. 

O Lord,
help me to let go
of my firm grip
on this world,
and help me
to wrench the hands
from my soul,
that slow my journey
to You.