Today marks the 800th post for the Pauca Verba blog. And here is a photo of the monastery chapel in Cyprus dedicated to the Mother of God Trooditissa. The doors are wide open, inviting us to enter our own inner room, our secret place, to pray. Like open doors, that's all these 800 posts have hoped to do.
After the shepherds visited the cave of Bethlehem and returned home praising God, Saint Luke tells us: But Mary treasured up all these sayings and reflected on them in her heart. Luke 2:19
To treasure. To reflect. To ponder. To turn the things of God over and over in our hearts. Thanks to all who enter here with me. I send good wishes and a blessing.
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Here is the icon of the Trooditissa Mother of God found in the high-altitude Cyprus monastery bearing her name. The monk who painted the icon spared no effort, wrapping the Holy Mother and Her Christ-Child in great folds of embroidered fabric. Angels burst through the clouds placing heaven's crown; the Child sits in the crook of his Mother's arm as if on a throne. Mary seems to stand at heaven's window looking out at us happily, while Jesus wondrously reads his open book. Maybe he is reading the ancient prophecies which tell of his birth or maybe his favorite psalm.
But the Trooditissa icon has a specialty. Under this title, Mary is invoked by women who can't conceive. "Women who are infertile," the tradition says. And while this is notable and many couples will give testimony about the wonder-working icon, I'd suggest the Trooditisssa might understand fertility as a matter of the heart even more than obstetrics.
So to explore this larger sense, I looked up the word fertile, discovering many synonyms and other beautifully related words that can deepen our prayer and help us to advance in spiritual understanding.
From the infertility of so much arguing - deliver us, O Lady.
From the sterility of cynicism and complacency - deliver us, O Lady.
From the barren inner world of suspicion - deliver us, O Lady.
From fruitless opinion-ating and arrogance - deliver us, O Lady.
From the unproductive rehearsing of resentments - deliver us, O Lady.
From the impoverishment of harboring old wounds - deliver us, O Lady.
From the fallow mind of fevered imaginings - deliver us, O Lady.
From the death of ingratitude - deliver us, O Lady.
O Lady, make us bountiful in love,
and rich in mercy.
O Lady, give us a high yield of hope;
bring forth goodness in us.
O Lady, guide us to plentiful rejoicing,
generative of trust in God
and the child-ing of kindness.
O Lady, that we would flower compassion,
and be fruitful in good deeds.
O Lady, that we would be birth-ers of love,
our minds teeming with good thoughts of others,
our words bearers of peace.
O Lady, mother something new of Jesus in us;
smile into us an abundance of joy-carrying faith.
From the infertility of so much arguing - deliver us, O Lady.
From the sterility of cynicism and complacency - deliver us, O Lady.
From the barren inner world of suspicion - deliver us, O Lady.
From fruitless opinion-ating and arrogance - deliver us, O Lady.
From the unproductive rehearsing of resentments - deliver us, O Lady.
From the impoverishment of harboring old wounds - deliver us, O Lady.
From the fallow mind of fevered imaginings - deliver us, O Lady.
From the death of ingratitude - deliver us, O Lady.
O Lady, make us bountiful in love,
and rich in mercy.
O Lady, give us a high yield of hope;
bring forth goodness in us.
O Lady, guide us to plentiful rejoicing,
generative of trust in God
and the child-ing of kindness.
O Lady, that we would flower compassion,
and be fruitful in good deeds.
O Lady, that we would be birth-ers of love,
our minds teeming with good thoughts of others,
our words bearers of peace.
O Lady, mother something new of Jesus in us;
smile into us an abundance of joy-carrying faith.
