1,000 Darts

'As soon as worldly people see that you wish to follow a devout life, they aim a thousand darts of mockery and even detraction at you. The most malicious of them will slander your conversion as hypocrisy, bigotry, and trickery. They will say that the world has turned against you and being rebuffed by it you have turned to God. Your friends will raise a host of objections which they consider very prudent and charitable. They will tell you that you will become depressed, lose your reputation in the world, be unbearable, and grow old before your time, and that your affairs at home will suffer and you must live in the world like one in the world. They will say that you can save your soul without going to such extremes, and a thousand similar trivialities.' 

St. Francis de Sales

Painting: Stefano Novo, The Gossips

Blest Am I, Still

It is one of my favorite scenes in Scripture.

Thomas, who had not been present when Jesus appeared to the disciples just after His Resurrection, was skeptical. "'I will never believe it,' said he, 'without probing the nailprints in His hands, without putting my finger in the nailmarks and my hand into His side.' A week later, the disciples were once more in the room, and this time Thomas was with them. Despite the locked doors, Jesus came and stood before them. 'Peace be with you,' He said; then, to Thomas: 'take your finger and examine My hands. Put your hand into My side. Do not persist in your unbelief, but believe!' Thomas said in response, 'my Lord and my God!'" (John 20:25-29)

What strikes me most about this is Jesus' tender mercy to Thomas. There are no reprimands. Our Lord doesn't say "oh you of little faith, why do you doubt? You've got to exercise faith, Thomas! You can do it! Just make up your mind!"

No. Jesus simply offers Thomas the precise help he needs. He invites the disciple to probe and examine His sacred wounds. What an act of mercy! "Yes, it is I." Come and see.

Thomas, as we know, cried out "my Lord and my God!" To which Jesus responded "You became a believer because you saw Me. Blest are they who have not seen and have believed."

Blest are you. Blest am I. We haven't had the privilege of probing Our Lord's wounds, yet we have believed. We've had other privileges. We have been given the gift of faith. Perhaps at times we've doubted God's love or even His reality, and maybe we've told Him this. I certainly did, years ago, when I said "God, I don’t believe in you, but if you’re real, and if you can hear me, I’m asking you to show me once and for all who or what you are." (the story of that can by found by clicking here). 

Years later, I still want to fall on my face in thanksgiving for Our Lord's response to my pleading. He gave me the precise help I needed, help that was tailor made for me, at that exact time.

I remember thinking, when I cried out to God that day, that maybe He would show up in the room so I could see Him.  He did not do that. He even let me go on doubting for a tiny bit longer, but He did not leave me alone.

He led me not to probe His physical wounds, but to probe His scriptures.

He drew me to examine and appreciate the truth of His Church.

He let me experience not His nailprints, but His presence.

Thanks to His great mercy, I believe. Blest am I.

This is a repost from our archives. It is linked to Reconciled to You  and Theology is a Verb for 'It's Worth Revisiting Wednesday.'



Text not in quotes © 2015-2016 Nancy Shuman
thecloisteredheart.org 

Reopening The Advent Window

In the past, I've shared a post I called 'The Advent Window.' It seems only natural to do so this year (edited a bit) for Worth Revisiting Wednesday.

My 'Advent Window' opened when I was twenty years old. I was in what I call my 'God doesn't bother me and I don't bother Him' phase. There was, you see, so much to do... friends to hang out with, boys to date, parties to go to. I took no time to think about God; in fact, I was ignoring Him altogether. God, however, was 'thinking' of me, and began reminding me of Himself through a series of little seasonal things. A song heard on the radio, a nativity scene featured on the court house steps, Christmas songs piped into stores to draw customers, strains of O Come Let Us Adore Him wedged between Have a Holly Jolly Christmas and Here Comes Santa Claus. One song in particular stood out to me that year, with its announcement that 'Jesus the Savior is Born.' I didn't know what was happening to me when I heard those five simple words on the radio. I only knew my heart felt strangely warmed.

I've heard discussions about whether or not Christmas should be celebrated before the 25th.  After all, it's still Advent. In the Church, it is a time for quiet, for prayer, for gentle shades of purple. In the physical monastery, hearts wait in hushed anticipation.

But most of us live out in the red and green neon of the world. We're where bells jingle, songs jangle, nerves frazzle, patience frays. Because of my long ago 'Advent window,' however, I believe these weeks before Christmas bring moments when the love of Christ can be smoothly shared with neighbors, co-workers, family members, store clerks, acquaintances, friends.

In the midst of a secular, godless, 'we're-doing-fine-by-ourselves' world, there appears in this one season a window of opportunity. There is a slot, a crack in the Everyday. A few short weeks during which the whisper of God might be heard through carol or card.

In recent years, we have seen that crack narrow. The court house steps of my youth haven't seen a nativity display in years. But even now, somewhere between shoppers lined up for black Friday and the queues awaiting after-Christmas sales, there is still a window of opportunity. A time when someone rushing through a store might catch the strains of an old familiar carol, one she's heard every Christmas since childhood. Yet this time, the words sound different. She remembers a Babe in a manger, and her heart is strangely warmed.

This is a season when we can acknowledge (like at no other time) the One Who was born for us. After all, few friends would toss out cards that have nativity scenes on them. Neighbors visiting our homes won't be offended by the words of  'Silent Night.' It's all just part of the season, part of the holidays, part of the fun.

The Church will begin Christmas music and celebrations on the 25th, but out here in the world, the Advent window is now wide open.

This is when scenes and songs normally found only in Church can spill out into the world.

And who knows? Someone years from now might look back on a card you or I sent this season, and recall that 2015 was her own special Advent. We just never know.

The following video captures (externally) what can happen to us (internally) when the Advent Window begins to open...






(ads that might pop up on this video were not chosen by me)

This is linked to Reconciled to You and Theology is a Verb for 'It's Worth Revisiting Wednesday.'

© 2015 N Shuman
thecloisteredheart.org    

The Call of Little You and Little Me

I am not going far back into the archives for today's 'Revisiting Wednesday' - only to this past January. I ran across this yesterday, just when I needed some encouragement...

I have been looking (here) into our calls to be heroes of the faith in our everyday lives. 

Little you and little me: heroes of the faith.

Imagine.

Throughout history, there have been those who actually could imagine such possibilities. St. Therese, the little flower who practiced a very little way, wrote "already God sees us in glory and takes joy in our eternal beatitude. How this thought helps my soul!"

This thought helps my soul too, as does the realization that Therese was not always a great saint. From most accounts, she was a willful little girl given to occasional tantrums.  But of course, that was in her youth. What about those of us who carried our willfulness and rebellion all the way into adulthood? Is there any hope for us?

There was hope for a man named Augustine, even as he was pleading "Lord, make me chaste - but not yet!" Anyone who heard him say these words would be unlikely to think "now, that is a saint." 

But there was hope. There is always hope.

''To him who still remains in this world, no repentance is too late. The approach to God's mercy is open." (St.Cyprian)

"In the moment of temptation think of the Love that awaits you in heaven: foster the virtue of hope." (St. Josemaria Escriva)

We are all called to be with God in heaven, for all eternity. We are invited to begin (or to begin anew), answering that call at this very moment.

We were created to be more than just nice people, more than folks who are fun to be around. We are called and graced by God to become true heroes of the faith.

Little you and little me.

Imagine.



This is a repost from our archives. It is linked to Reconciled to You and Theology is a Verb for 'It's Worth Revisiting Wednesday.
© 2015 N Shuman thecloisteredheart.org 

Painting: Olga Boznańska, 1898, in US public domain due to age

As Long as We Have That Map

'There's a tremendous satisfaction in having a map. That is what the truth of Christ is like in the Church. We may get off the road; we may get off it by sin; we may get off it by error. But as long as we have that map, we can get back on the road.'

Archbishop Fulton Sheen



















Painting: Julius Sergius Klever, 1908

These Heroic Stones

Debbie at Saints 365 has written an immensely practical series of posts on living heroically one minute at a time. One minute of heroism added to another added to another added to another.

And it occurs to me.

Minute by minute heroics is a good way to cooperate with God in constructing the monastery of the heart. 

'Have you seen how that imposing building was built? One brick upon another. Thousands. But, one by one. And bags of cement, one by one. And blocks of stone, each of them insignificant compared with the massive whole. And beams of steel. And men working, the same hour, day after day.... Have you seen how that imposing building was built? ... By dint of little things!' (St. Josemaria Escriva, The Way 823) 

I am being given thousands, millions, of minutes to live on this earth. Each is insignificant compared with the whole .. but each one, added to each other one, is absolutely necessary to make up my life. I have the minutes, I have the mortar of free will, and I have the Architect's plan of Scripture.

In recent weeks, I have recognized one seemingly inconsequential way in which I haven't been following the plan all that well. Sometimes I grab a few perfectly good, newly minted minutes, and slap the mortar on them with a snarl. I have not considered this activity significant at all, because my snarls have been directed at "things." At inanimate objects like misbehaving computers, spoons that leap out of my hand onto the floor, remotes that play hide-and-seek.

I am anything but heroic when these items play their tricks. Huffs and grumbles and loud sighs pop right out of me in search of the offending object. "Take THAT snarl, you rotten, jumping spoon!"

I don't do this when others are around. At least - not when they're in the same room. Or, well, not when anyone is actually paying attention. Or, well, that's how it started. It began as a casual hrrumph here, an innocent snap there.  So what if it's becoming more of a habit?  It isn't as if it's hurting anything. Except, of course, a few hyperactive spoons.

But the development of such behavior is far from heroic. It is pulling me away from "heroism" toward a grumbling, critical habit of internal whining. If I let it, it can alter the way I look at life. It certainly is not seeing things "through the grille."

Having suddenly realized this, I am asking for grace to overcome my misuse of minutes. Minutes, each one precious, each one individual, in which I have the chance to be heroic. Not just passably good enough, but heroic. I don't have to give in to big sins, and I don't have to indulge in moments of whining.

If I am tempted to grumble - why, look at the opportunity I'm being given! I can resist the temptation, and I can thank God in that very moment. Thank You, Lord, that I have a computer on which to write of Your goodness, and if that device is acting up right now, give me patience to deal with it and to turn this moment to good. Thank you for a TV... may we use it to Your glory.  And thank You, Lord, for plenty of food to eat - I truly don't thank You enough for that. And thank You that I don't have to eat it with my hands.

Thank You for a nice, washable floor to catch all my spoons.

Painting (including detail): Henri Martin, in US public domain due to age

A Gradual Courage

Hero: someone admired for great courage. Thus says my dictionary.

Heroic saints: those in Heaven who had the courage to get there. Which is everyone who IS there. Thus says me.

Yes, that second is my own definition and it's cumbersome, but I believe it's accurate.

After all, it takes courage to...

1. admit I am a sinner in need of a Savior
2. put my faith in Jesus Christ, especially  when the world around considers Him insignificant
3. choose to believe Scripture
4. choose to believe 2,000 years of authentic Church teaching
5. choose to live according to Scripture and Church teaching
6. choose to live according to the teachings of Christ, no matter what
7. overcome obstacles to living for Christ

Every saint we've ever read about, every Christian martyr, has had this kind of courage. They became saints because they lived heroically. Some were martyred on scaffolds, or by stoning, or in lions' dens. Some endured imprisonments for their faith. Some led the most ordinary of lives, caring for those around them, unnoticed by the world. 

Not one of the saints we read of was born with heroic, saint-making courage. The courage most often came gradually, step after baby step, followed sometimes by a defining leap or two. Along the path there were missteps, moments of caution, roadblocks. Each saint grew in courage, step by step by step.

"Francis' conversion did not happen overnight. God had waited for him for twenty-five years and now it was Francis' turn to wait. Francis started to spend more time in prayer. He went off to a cave and wept for his sins. Sometimes God's grace overwhelmed him with joy. But life couldn't just stop for God. There was business to run, customers to wait on. One day while riding through the countryside, Francis, the man who loved beauty, who was so picky about food, who hated deformity, came face to face with a leper. Repelled by the appearance and the smell of the leper, Francis nevertheless jumped down from his horse and kissed the hand of the leper......" (from Catholic Online)

St. Augustine "spent many years of his life in wicked living and false beliefs.... he heard about two men who had suddenly been converted on reading the life of St. Antony, and he felt terribly ashamed of himself. 'What are we doing?' he cried to his friend Alipius. 'Unlearned people are taking Heaven by force, while we, with all our knowledge, are so cowardly that we keep rolling in the mud of our sins!' Full of bitter sorrow, Augustine flung himself into the garden and cried out to God, 'how long more, O Lord? Why does not this hour put an end to my sins?' Just then he heard a child singing, 'take up and read!'  Thinking that God intended him to hear these words, he picked up the book of the Letters of St. Paul and read the first passage his gaze fell on. It was just what Augustine needed, for in it, St. Paul says to put away all impurity and to live in imitation of Jesus. That did it! From then on, Augustine began a new life...." (from Catholic Online)  

I would like to spend some time here, over the next few days, looking at courage. And at our call  - yes, your and my call - to be heroic.  If the world is in need of anything right now, it is a hefty dose of heroism.

In the tiny, hidden, day to day circumstances of our ordinary lives, imagine becoming "heroic!" It sounds presumptuous, doesn't it? But it isn't. It is not presumptuous at all.

Everyone in Heaven is a saint. So do we really want to be, eternally, anything less? 

"Make up your mind to become a saint," said St. Mary Mazzarello.

I'm taking another step, today, toward heroism. I am making up my mind.



Top painting: Domenico Ghirlandaio, Santo Stefano
Bottom painting: Helen Allingham, Harvest Moon  


This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup

And Your Mighty Voice

'When I loved darkness, then I knew You not,
but wandered on from night to night.
But You led me out at last from that blindness.
You took me by my hand,
and You called me, then, to You.
And now I can thank You,
and Your mighty voice,
which has penetrated
to my inmost heart.'

St.  Augustine





Painting of St. Augustine, Caravaggio 
click here to leave comments in the Parlor