Day 21: An Oratory of the Heart

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Friday of the Third Week in Lent

You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind and with all your strength. Mark 12:30

To live a spiritual life is to live in the presence of God. This very straightforward truth was brought home to me forcefully by Brother Lawrence, a French Carmelite brother who lived in the seventeenth century. The book The Practice of the Presence of God contains four conversations with Brother Lawrence and fifteen letters by him.

He writes: “It is not necessary for being with God to be always at church. We may make an oratory of our heart wherein to retire from time to time to converse with him in meekness, humility, and love. Everyone is capable of such familiar conversation with God, some more, some less .He knows what we can do. Let us begin, then. Perhaps he expects but one generous resolution on our part. Have courage.”

“I know that for the right practice of it [the presence of God] the heart must be empty of all other things, because God will possess the heart alone; and as he cannot possess it alone without emptying it of all besides, so neither can he act there, and do in it what pleases, unless it be left vacant to him.”

Brother Lawrence’s message, in all its simplicity, is very profound. For him who has become close to God, all is one. Only God counts, and in God all people and all things are embraced with love. To live in the presence of God, however, is to live with purity of heart, with simplemindedness, and with total acceptance of his will. That, indeed, demands a choice, a decision, and great courage. It is a sign of true holiness.

Our Prayer

Dear Lord, you once said,
”The will of him who sent me
is that I should lose nothing
of all that he has given to me.”
These words are a source of consolation this day.
They show that you are doing all that can be done
to keep me in your love.
They demonstrate that indeed
you entered this world to save me,
to free me from the bonds of evil and sin,
and to lead me to your Father’s house.
They reveal that you are willing
to struggle against the strong powers
which pull me away from you.
Lord, you want to keep me, hold on to me,
fight for me, protect me, help me, support me,
comfort me, and present me to your Father.
It indeed is your divine task not to lose me!
And yet I am free.
I can separate myself from you,
and you will never take this freedom away from me.
Oh, what a wonder of love,
what a mystery of divine grace!
Please, Lord, let me freely choose for your love
so that I will not be lost to you.
Amen.

Day 20: Spiritual Discipline

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Thursday of the Third Week in Lent

Anyone who is not with me is against me; and anyone who does not gather in with me throws away. Luke 11:23

The spiritual life is a gift. It is the gift of the Holy Spirit, who lifts us up into the kingdom of God’s love. But to say that being lifted up into the kingdom of love is a divine gift does not mean that we wait passively until the gift is offered to us. Jesus tells us to set our hearts on the kingdom. Setting our hearts on something involves not only serious aspiration but also strong determination. A spiritual life requires human effort. The forces that keep pulling us back into a worry-filled life are far from easy to overcome.

“How hard it is,” Jesus exclaims, “to enter the kingdom of God!” (Mark 10:23). And to convince us of the need for hard work, he says, “If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matt. 16:24).

Here we touch the question of discipline in the spiritual life. A spiritual life without discipline is impossible. Discipline is the other side of discipleship. The practice of a spiritual discipline makes us more sensitive to the small, gentler voice of God. The prophet Elijah did not encounter God in the mighty wind or in the earthquake or in the fire, but in the small voice (see 1 Kings 19:9-13). Through the practice of a spiritual discipline we become attentive to that small voice and willing to respond when we hear it.

From all that I said about our worried, overfilled lives, it is clear that we are usually surrounded by so much inner and outer noise that it is hard to truly hear our God when he is speaking to us. We have often become deaf, unable to know when God calls us and unable to understand in which direction he calls us. Thus our lives have become absurd. In the word absurd we find that Latin word surdus, which means “deaf.” A spiritual life requires discipline because we need to learn to listen to God, who constantly speaks but whom we seldom hear. When, however, we learn to listen, our lives become obedient lives. The word obedient comes from the Latin word audire, which means “listening.” A spiritual discipline is necessary in order to move slowly from an absurd to an obedient life, from a life filled with noisy worries to a life in which there is some free inner space where we can listen to our God and follow his guidance. Jesus’ life was a life of obedience. He was always listening to the Father, always attentive to his voice, always alert for his directions. Jesus was “all ear.” That is true prayer: being all ear for God. The core of all prayer is indeed listening, obediently standing in the presence of God.

A spiritual discipline, therefore, is the concentrated effort to create some inner and outer space in our lives, where this obedience can be practiced. Through a spiritual discipline we prevent the world from filling our lives to such an extend that there is no place left to listen. A spiritual discipline sets us free to pray or, to say it better, allows the Spirit of God to pray in us.

Our Prayer

Almighty God,
grant that we may heed the call of your grace
and ready ourselves all the more fervently
to celebrate the mysteries of Easter,
as the feast of our redemption
comes closer and closer.

Day 19: Life-Giving Memory

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Wednesday of the Third Week in Lent

But take care, as you value your lives! Do not forget the things which you yourselves have seen, or let them slip from your heart as long as you live; teach them, rather, to your children and to your children’s children. Deut. 4:9

It is in memory that we enter into a nurturing and sustaining relationship with Christ. In his farewell discourse Jesus said to his disciples, “It is for your own good that I am going, because unless I go, the Advocate will not come to you. . . . But when the Spirit of truth comes he will lead you to the complete truth” (John 16:7, 13). Here Jesus reveals to his closest friends that only in memory will real intimacy with him be possible, that only in memory will they experience the full meaning of what they have witnessed.

They listened to his words, they saw him on Mount Tabor, they heard him speak about his death and resurrection, but their ears and eyes remained close and they did not understand. The Spirit, his spirit, had not yet come, and although they saw and heart, smelled and touched him, they remained distance. Only later when he was gone could his true Spirit reveal itself to them. In his absence a new and more intimate presence became possible, a presence that nurtured and sustained in the midst of tribulations and that created the desire to see him again. The great mystery of the divine revelation is that God entered into intimacy with us not only by Christ’s coming, but also by his leaving. Indeed, it is in Christ’s absence that our intimacy with him is so profound that we can say he dwells in us, call him our food and drink, and experience him as the center of our being.

That this is far from a theoretical idea becomes clear in the lives of people like Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Alfred Delp, who, while in Nazi prisons waiting for death, experienced Christ’s presence in the midst of his absence. Bonhoeffer writes: “The God who is with us is the God who forsakes us (Mark 15:34). . . . Before God and with God we live without God.” Thus the memory of Jesus Christ is much more than the bringing to mind of past redemptive events. It is a life-giving memory, a memory that sustains and nurtures us here and now and so gives us a real sense of being rooted amid the many crises of daily life.

In Jesus no division existed between his words and his actions, between what he said and what he did. Jesus’ words were his actions, his words were events. They not only spoke about changes, cures, new life, but they actually created them. In this sense, Jesus is truly the Word made flesh; in that Word all is created and by that Word all is re-created.

Saintliness means living without division between word and action. If I would truly live in my own life the word I am speaking, my spoken words would become actions, and miracles would happen whenever I opened my mouth.

Our Prayer

We give thanks to you, God,
we give thanks to you,
as we call upon your name,
as we recount your wonders.
But I shall speak out for ever,
shall make music for the God of Jacob.
   — Ps, 75:1, 9

Day 18: God-with-Us

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Tuesday of the Third Week in Lent

 Then the master sent for the man and said to him, “You wicked servant, I cancelled all that debt of yours when you appealed to me. Were you not bound, then, to have pity on your fellow servant just as I had pity on you?” And in his anger the master handed him over to the torturers till he should pay all his debt. And that is how my heavenly Father will deal with you unless you each forgive your brother from your heart. Matt. 18:32-35

God’s compassion is not something abstract of indefinite, but a concrete, specific gesture in which God reaches out to us. In Jesus Christ we see the fullness of God’s compassion. To us who cry out from the depth of our brokenness for a hand that will touch us, an arm that can embrace us, lips that will kiss us, a word that speaks to us here and now, and a heart that is not afraid of our fears and tremblings; to us who feel our own pain as no other human being feels it, has felt it, or ever will feel it and who are always waiting for someone who dares to come close — to us a man has come who could truly say, “I am with you.” Jesus Christ, who is God-with-us, has come to us in the freedom of love, not needing to experience our human condition.

In Jesus Christ the obedient servant, who did not cling to his divinity but emptied himself and became as we are, God has revealed the fullness of his compassion. He is Immanuel, God-with-us. The great cal we have heard is to live a compassionate life. . . .

As long as we live on this earth, our lives as Christians must be marked by compassion. But we must realize that the compassionate life is not our final goal. In fact, we can live the compassionate life to the fullest only when we know that it points beyond itself. We know that he who emptied and humbled himself has been raised high and has been given a name above all other names, and we know too that he left us to prepare a place for us where suffering will be overcome and compassion no longer necessary. There is a new heaven and a new earth for which we hope with patient expectation. This is the vision presented in the Book of Revelation:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; the first heaven and the first earth had disappeared now, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the holy city, and the new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, as beautiful as a bride all dressed for her husband. Then I heard a loud voice call from the throne, “You see this city? Here God lives among men. He will make his home among them; they shall be his people, and he will be their God; his name is God-with-them. He will wipe away all tears from their eyes; there will be no more death, and no more mourning or sadness. The world of the past has gone.” Rev. 21:1-4

This is the vision that guides us. This vision makes us share one another’s burdens, carry our crosses together, and unite for a better world. This vision takes the despair out of death and the morbidity out of suffering, and opens new horizons. This vision also gives us the energy to manifest its first realization in the midst of the complexities of life. This vision is indeed of a future world. But it is no utopia. The future has already begun and is revealed each time strangers are welcomed, the naked are clothed, the sick and prisoners are visited, and oppression is overcome. Through these grateful actions the first glimpses of a new heaven and a new earth can be seen.

Our Prayer

Dear Lord, help me keep my eyes on you.
You are the incarnation of divine love,
you are the expression
of God’s infinite compassion,
you are the visible manifestation
of the Father’s holiness.
You are beauty, goodness, gentleness,
forgiveness, and mercy.
To you I want to give all that I am.
Let me be generous, not stingy or hesitant.

Day 17: A Hidden God

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Monday of the Third Week in Lent

“In truth I tell you, no prophet is ever accepted in his own country.” . . .
When they heard this everyone in the synagogue was enraged. They sprang to their feed and hustled him out of the town; and they took him up to the brow of the hill their town was built on, intending to throw him off the cliff, but he passed straight through the crowd and walked away. Luke 4:24, 28-30

He became a human being among a small, oppressed people, under very difficult circumstances. He was held in contempt by the rulers of his country and was put to a shameful death between two criminals.

There was nothing spectacular about Jesus’ life. Far from it! Even when you look at Jesus’ miracles, you find that he did not heal or revive people in order to get publicity. He frequently forbade them even to talk about it. His resurrection too was a hidden event. Only his disciples and a few of the women and men who had known him intimately before his death saw him as the risen Lord.

Now that Christianity has become one of the major world religions and millions of people utter the name of Jesus every day, it’s hard for us to believe that Jesus revealed God in hiddenness. But neither Jesus’ life nor his death nor his resurrection were intended to astound us with the great power of God. God became a lowly, hidden, almost invisible God. . . .

That’s a mystery that is difficult to grasp in an age that attaches so much value to publicity. We tend to think that the more people know and talk about something, the more important it must be. That’s understandable, considering the fact that great notoriety often means big money, and big money often means a large degree of power, and power easily creates the illusion of importance. In our society, it’s often statistics that determine what’s important: the best-selling LP, the most popular book, the richest man, the tallest building, the most expensive car.

It strikes me again and again that, in our publicity-seeking world, a lot of discussions about God take it as their starting point that even God has to justify himself. People often say: “If that God of yours really exists, then why doesn’t he make his omnipotence more visible in this chaotic world of ours?” God is called to account, as it were, and mockingly invited to prove, just for once, that he really does exist. Again, you often hear someone say: “I’ve no need whatever for God. I can perfectly well look after myself. As a matter of fact, I’ve yet to receive any help from God with my problems!” The bitterness and sarcasm evident in remarks of this sort show what’s expected: that God should at least be concerned about his own popularity. People often talk as though God has as great a need for recognition as we do.

Now look at Jesus, who came to reveal God to us, and you see that popularity in any form is the very thing he avoids. He is constantly pointing out that God reveals himself in secrecy. It sounds very paradoxical, but accepting and, I would venture to say, entering into that paradox sets you on the road of the spiritual life.

Our Prayer

Lord, I pray for all
who witness for you in this world:
ministers, priests, and bishops,
men and women
who have dedicated their lives to you,
and all those who try to bring
the light of the Gospel
into the darkness of this age.
Give them courage, strength,
perseverance, and hope;
fill their hearts and minds
with the knowledge of your presence,
and let them experience your name
as their refuge from all dangers.
Most of all, give them the joy of your Spirit,
so that wherever they go and whomever they meet
they will remove the veil
of depression, fatalism, and defeatism
and will bring new life to the many
who live in constant fear of death.
Lord, be with all who bring the Good News.
Amen.

Week 3: Eat and Drink

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Third Sunday in Lent

Whoever drinks this water
will be thirsty again;
but no one who drinks the water
that I shall give him
will ever be thirsty again;
the water that I shall give him
will become in him a spring of water,
welling up for eternal life.
     — John 4:14

In the midst of Lent I am made aware that Easter is coming again: the days are becoming longer, the snow is withdrawing, the sun is bringing new warmth, and a bird is singing. Yesterday, during the night prayers, a cat was crying! Indeed, spring announces itself. And tonight, O Lord, I heart you speak tot he Samaritan woman. You said: “Anyone who drinks the water that I shall give will never be thirsty again; the water that I shall give will turn into a spring inside him, welling up to eternal life.” What words! They are worth many hours, days, and weeks of reflection. I will carry them with me in my preparation for Easter. The water that you give turns into a spring. Therefore, I do not have to be stingy with your gift, O Lord. I can freely let the water come from my center and let anyone who desires drink from it. Perhaps I will even see this spring in myself when others come to it to quench their thirst.

In the Eucharist God’s love is most concretely made present. Jesus has not only become human; he has also become bread and wine in order that, through our eating and our drinking, God’s love might become our own. The great mystery of the Eucharist is that God’s love is offered to us not in the abstract, but in a very concrete way; not as a theory, but as food for our daily life. The Eucharist opens the way for us to make God’s love our own. Jesus himself makes that clear to us when he says:

… my flesh is real food
and my blood is real drink.
Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood
lives in me and I live in that person.
As the living Father sent me
and I draw life from the Father,
so whoever eats me will also draw life from me.

Whenever you receive the body and blood of Jesus in the Eucharist, his love is given to you, the same love that he showed on the cross. It is the love of God for all people of all times and places, all religions and creeds, all races and classes, all tribes and nations, all sinners and saints.

On the cross, Jesus has shown us how far God’s love goes. It’s a love which embraces even those who crucified him. When Jesus is hanging nailed to the cross, totally broken and stripped of everything, he still prays for his executioners: “Father, forgive them; they do not know what they are doing.” Jesus’ love for his enemies knows no bounds. He prays even for those who are putting him to death. It is this, the enemy-loving love of God, that is offered to us in the Eucharist. To forgive our enemies doesn’t lie within our power. That is a divine gift. That’s why it’s so important to make the Eucharist the heart and center of your life. It’s there that you receive the love which empowers you to take the way that Jesus has taken before you: a narrow way, a painful way, but the way that gives you true joy and peace and enables you to make the nonviolent love of God visible to this world.

Our Prayer

As a deer yearns
for running streams,
so I yearn
for you, my God.
In you is the source of life,
by your light we see the light.
   — Ps. 42:1; 36:9

Day 16: Returning

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Saturday of the Second Week in Lent

 I will leave this place and go to my father and say: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired men.” So he left the place and went back to his father.

While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity. He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him. Luke 15:18-20

The parable of the prodigal son is a story about returning. I realize the importance of returning over and over again. My life drifts away from God. I have to return. . . .  Returning is a lifelong struggle.

It strikes me that the wayward son had rather selfish motivations. He said to himself, “How many of my father’s paid servants have more food than they want, and here am I dying of hunger! I will leave this place and go to my father.” He didn’t return because of a renewed love for his father. No, he returned simply to survive. He had discovered that the way he had chosen was leading him to death. Returning to his father was a necessity for staying alive. He realized that he had sinned, but this realization came about because sin had brought him close to death.

I am moved by the fact that the father didn’t require any higher motivation. His love was so total and unconditional that he simply welcomed his son home.

This is a very encouraging thought. God does not require a pure heart before embracing us. Even if we return only because following our desires has failed to bring happiness, God will take us back. Even if we return because being a Christian brings us more peace than being a pagan, God will receive us. Even if return because our sins did not offer as much satisfaction as we had hoped, God will take us back. Even if we return because we could not make it on our own, God will receive us. God’s love does not require any explanations about why we are returning. God is glad to see us home and wants to give us all we desire, just for being home.

In my mind’s eye I see Rembrandt’s painting The Return of the Prodigal Son. The dim-eyed old father holds his returned son close to his chest with an unconditional love. . . . He seems to think only one thing: “He is back home, and I am glad to have him with me again.”

The voice of despair says, “I sin over and over again. After endless promises to myself and others to do better next time, I find myself back again in the old dark places. Forget about trying to change. I have tried for years. It didn’t work and it will never work. It is better that I get out of people’s way, be forgotten, no longer around, dead.”

This strangely attractive voice takes all uncertainties away and puts an end to the struggle. It speaks unambiguously for the darkness and offers a clear-cut negative identity.

But Jesus came to open my ears to another voice that says, “I am your God, I have molded you with my own hands, and I love what I have made. I love you with a love that has no limits. Do not run away from me. Come back to me — not once, not twice, but always again. You are my child. How can you ever doubt that I will embrace you again, hold you against my breast, kiss you and let my hands run through your hair? I am your God — the God of mercy and compassion, the God of pardon and love, the God of tenderness and care. Please do not say that I have given up on you, that I cannot stand you any more, that there is no way back. It is not true. I so much want you to be with me. I so much want you to be close to me. I know all your thoughts. I hear all your words. I see all of your actions. And I love you because you are beautiful, made in my own image, an expression of my most intimate love. Do not judge yourself. Do not condemn yourself. Do not reject yourself. Let my love touch the deepest, most hidden corners of your heart and reveal to you your own beauty, a beauty that you have lost sight of, but that will become visible to you again in the light of my mercy. Come, come, let me wipe your tears, and let my mouth come close to your ear and say to you, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’”

This is the voice that Jesus wants us to hear. It is the voice that calls us always to return to the one who has created us in love and wants to re-create us in mercy.

 Our Prayer

O Lord, my Lord,
help me to listen to your voice
and to decide for your mercy.