Dans nos obscurites, alume le feu qui ne s'eteint jamais, qui ne s'eteint jamais.
In our darkest night, light up the flame that never dies away, that never dies away. (music of Taize)
They say God only reveals to you what you are ready to cope with, and then helps you to cope. Much of the stupidity of my youth, and so many wrong paths and bad decisions I have taken, have remained hidden from me, wrapped up deep in the recesses of memory, safely hidden, until now. Suddenly, I see. I recall events, moments, crossroads, where the wrong path was taken, by me or those close to me, or those with power over me. Or when no path was taken at all. This is no better. When the good do nothing, the bad step in.
I remember a saint I knew at a hundred years of age regretting her past life, her shallowness as she described it. I couldn't believe she was ever so, and felt so sorry to hear the remorse in her voice as she looked back at what could not be changed. She was blind now, but she could see clearly the path she had followed, and some places she'd gone wrong. She was sharing her humanity. And trying to teach us as well. To teach both that we should look honestly at ourselves, and that it is painful. For all. Even saints. And so much more for the rest of us. But still we should.
The light never dies. Sometimes it illuminates dark places. And in the dark I cower, dreading such illumination, and yet I turn my face. I see what you show me.
(You can play the flames video over the music from Taize.)
I waited patiently for the Lord;
he inclined to me and heard my cry.
He drew me up from the desolate pit,
out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock,
making my steps secure.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God...
For evils have encompassed me without number;
my sins have overtaken me,
till I cannot see;
they are more than the hairs of my head;
my heart fails me...
Please, Lord, save me.
May all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your saving grace never cease to say,
"God Is Good!"
As for me, I am poor and needy;
but the Lord thinks of me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
hurry, O my God!
from psalm 40
And so the flame burns away the deadwood. It warms and it cleanses. And I am left with the flickering and the certainty of more than can be said.
St Jude is the patron saint of hopeless cases. He was one of the twelve apostles, and a kinsman of Jesus. He was overlooked as his name was like Judas. He came to be seen as the saint who understood the feeling of being left behind and marginalised. So very many of us are.
The Shrine of St Jude is a place for those who feel bereft, in despair, without hope. The world is difficult and dangerous, the economy and politics are fragile. So many of us are suffering for all sorts of reasons. I can't believe that I was once taught that St Jude was the one to ask if you needed a parking place on a busy Saturday. I asked him a lot, and usually managed to park. It must be part of the business of being St Jude, to be misunderstood on this ridiculous scale, and just be there anyway. Waiting for the day it really matters. A friend in heaven, who'll come to the gate to meet you, and walk you in through the garden.
Here is Father Wilfrid McGreal describing St Jude and the shrine at Faversham, a place to find food for the journey. He begins with simple ordinary facts, and all of a sudden, just when you think you don't need to listen further, he gets to the essentials. It is worth listening a few times.
Everyone who writes to the shrine gets a personal reply.
In this day and age, the homeliness and the gentleness, and the openness to all, especially to the hopeless, gives me hope.
The good shepherd will go a thousand miles a thousand times for his lost sheep.
YOU ARE READING
Carmel Reflections
SpiritualEver wonder what it's all about? I need to try and work it out. I'll just begin with the deer. This is about what and who and where strength comes from.
