I see the Cross

When I see him, beautiful soul, I behold the Cross bathed in Glory. I see love, pure, unsullied. He, truly and wonderfully made in His image and likeness, reflecting the agony of the Messiah and becoming one with it. His life, an offering of one battered self in union with the Suffering Servant, for redemption.

God so often chooses those whom the world deems too weak and not good enough. He calls them by name, inviting them to become the hands and the feet of Christ in this world that so desperately needs Him. He bids them to bring food to the starving; to be light in the darkness; to bring about His kingdom by transforming hearts and minds. And they answer, Here am I.

My brother is a visible contradiction to this world that refuses to see and  tragically cannot recognize the perfect beauty of the Cross. He, with stammering speech, unsteady gait, ears that don't hear, understands how suffering can lift us, make us like Christ. Often patently moved by the anguish of others, his compassion is singular, immense. Having been misunderstood, he understands. Having been outcast, he welcomes. Having been ridiculed, he exalts. Having been wounded, he heals. He opens his heart wide and embraces the afflicted, the troubled, the brokenhearted. This is the man I know, although some may only see a body deformed, hear deficient speech and wonder if he is indeed capable. They may speculate, "is he good enough?"  But didn't God choose Noah, who got drunk; Abraham, who was too old; Moses, who stuttered and lost his temper, Peter who denied Him; Thomas, who doubted Him - to name only a few? Like the twelve who walked with Him, and the long succession of holy men to follow, God chose my brother to be one of His own priests. He has been empowered by the Holy Spirit to bring Christ to others, to be Christ to others - in persona Christi - despite his impediments. Rather, Wisdom uses his imperfection and nails it right to that Cross, so that he, too, may draw others to the hope and the splendor of the Resurrection when Christ will raise our mortal bodies and make them like his own in glory ... and every tear will be wiped away. (From The Roman Missal, Catholic Book Publishing Co., New York, 1985).

Where is your Favorite Place to listen to Jesus?

The title of the article actually read, "Where is your favorite place to listen to jazz?" but even with my reading glasses on, I read it the other way. Funny how that happens sometimes, funny how He does that. So, I started thinking about it. Whether or not we actually hear His voice, Jesus chooses to speak to us in a variety of ways; in myriad places - wherever and whenever He wills. Through sacred Scripture - His Word. Through the writings of saints and other holy people. Sometimes He uses the words or actions of others - family members, friends, or even strangers - to speak to us. Sometimes, He is silent, allowing only His Presence to proclaim His message of love and promise.

Where is my favorite place to listen to Him?

Is it in the Blessed Sacrament chapel where I go to meet Him for one hour each week?  It is there, before His Eucharistic Presence, where I adore, praise, petition, or simply be. Where I listen as He speaks ... not always in words, not always in whispers, but so, so often in His gentle gaze.

Is it in the confessional where I beg His pardon? Garbed in humility and in hope, I listen to His words of love, of mercy and forgiveness as my sins and imperfections melt away in His tender embrace. And I am grateful, always for the miracle of the sacrament, but for the words, too, God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins ...

My very favorite place? It is, decidedly, at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass; the celebration of the Eucharist, the source and summit of every Christian life, where I listen to His sacred words, while remembering  His command, Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. (John 6:54)

And then the words, the glorious words of consecration invoked at every Mass - anyone who has ears to hear ought to hear (Mark 4:23) ...

 

The day before he suffered he took bread in his sacred hands and looking up to heaven, to you, his almighty Father, he gave you thanks and praise. He broke the bread, gave it to his disciples, and said:

Take this all of you and eat it: this is my body, which will be given up for you.

When supper ended, he took the cup. Again he gave you thanks and praise, gave the cup to his disciples, and said:

Take this, all of you, and drink from it: this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all men so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me.

A Holy Communion. Two becoming one. The bride and the Bridegroom. He empties himself and fills my famished soul. I take and I eat and I listen to the rhythm of His voice as our hearts beat as one.

My Forever Valentine

To My Dear and Loving Husband

by Anne Bradstreet

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee;

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me ye women if you can.

I prize thy love more then whole Mines of gold,

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence.

Thy love is such I can no way repay,

The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.

Then while we live, in love let's so persever,

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Daybook on a February First Friday

FOR TODAY

Outside my window

Winter hangs on, reluctant to release her shivery grip. Patches of scrappy earth poke up through holes melted through a carpet of lingering snow.

On Pandora

Norah Jones crooning 'Sunrise'

Around the house

A few little vestiges left of Christmas/winter decorations. They need to be packed away. The wreath came off my front door this morning.

From the kitchen

Last night, Bourbon Brown Sugar Pork Loin. 

The recipe appears in the January 2011 issue of Southern Living magazine. And you can probably search for it here.

YUMMY!

I am hearing

The Wailin' Jennys harmonizing 'Bright Morning Stars'

now on Pandora. And fat cat padding around the kitchen.

I am reading

 Happily, the mailman (he is a man) very gingerly squished a box from Amazon into my mailbox yesterday. One book is a gift for someone, so I will not mention it here. 

The other two, I am eager to fall into and be swept away:

A Place on Earth a novel by Wendell Berry (thanks Katie & Sam for introducing me to this marvelous writer) and the other, What's Wrong with the World by G.K. Chesterton.

I am pondering

The entire Gospel of John, particularly chapter 6.

I am hoping and praying

for His will to reign

I am grateful for

His real, true, Eucharistic presence

His Word

Jim

Katie, Sam, Isaac

Erin, Kevin, Megan

Friends

Co-workers

my Mama

brothers and sisters

Holly's snuggles and puppy kisses

Books

reading glasses
tooth aches

melting snow quenching a sleepy earth

promises kept

A few plans

Super Bowl party this Sunday! Time with best-ever friends.  
Go Pack!

A truly moving moment this week

Co-workers lining Elden Street in loving support for the wife and family of a deceased Sergeant, as a police motorcade escorted them and his body to Adams-Green, in respect and gratitude for his life; his 25 years of service to the HPD and the citizens of Herndon, Virginia. May his soul, and all the souls of the faithful departed, rest in peace.

A picture thought

So very grateful!