In the Month of May

 12th c Fontenay Mother of God

At midday I see the church open,

It draws me within.

I come, Mother of Jesus Christ,

Not to pray,

I have nothing to bring you,

Or to ask of you.

I only come, O Mother,

To gaze at you,

To see you,

To cry simply out of joy,

Because I know that I am your child,

and that you are there...

Paul Claudel

Prayer Before the Pochaev Mother of God

 

In our early Lenten reflecting upon the paintings of Fritz von Uhde, a prayer interlude...

The Pochaev (Ukrainian) Icon of the Mother of God dates back to 1340. The story relates that the Virgin Mary appeared to two monks and a young shepherd. Hint! We might think of the shepherds of Bethlehem — the first to hear of Christ's birth and the shepherd children of Fatima.  When the apparition ended a single footprint was left in the rock. Hint! We might think of the Virgin Mary Guadalupe who appeared barefoot and the Lord's mandate to service in the washing of feet. As often happens, a monastery was established at the site. Two hundred years later a visiting Greek bishop gave the original Pochaev icon to the monks as a gift. This icon is of the Tenderness style. Doesn't the world need more tenderness? The icon became known as Wonder-Working as a result of the miracles which accompanied it—most notably the healing of a woman's blindness and a captured monk's wondrous release from slavery.

Prayer for Deliverance Before the Pochaev Mother of God  Icon

O Mother of God, as Anna Hoyska was cured of her blindness, deliver the powerful from the blindness which refuses to see the God-bestowed dignity of each human person.

As the holy monk, dungeon-enslaved, was freed and restored to his Pochaev monastery, deliver persons imprisoned in war-torn cities, bombarded and enflamed. 

As you turned back the Turkish invaders intent on capturing the monastery, O Mother of Christ,  deliver the nation of your bright appearing from the assault of those who rain down flame and terror.

As the Christ in your arms leans on your shoulder, blessing our weary world with his right hand, deliver those struggling to hold on to their faith in God.

As you hold a white handkerchief in your left hand, O Lady, deliver those who know only anguish and tears — the littlest ones and their mothers exhausted with weeping.

As your icon is called the Sacred Relic Between East and West, deliver us from the dividers, the doubters, the hate-stokers, the apologists, the minimizers. Deliver us from all foolish, even stupid media-talk, which frustrates restoration and peace.

As your icon is celebrated as Wonder-Working, deliver us from the fears which weaken faith. Show yourself for the cessation of this horror, this overwhelming awfulness.

Deliver us from the shelling of schools, maternity homes, orphanages, ambulances, playgrounds, churches and hospitals. 

Deliver the women and children hiding in subways, basements, underground shelters and even church crypts. Deliver those hiding in rubble; those running for shelter.

Deliver us from the scorching of earth, the burning of trees, fields and farmland, the abandonment of animals.

Deliver us from nuclear assault, cluster bombs, thermobaric-vaporizing-vacuum bombs, which suck precious oxygen from the air to expand blasts, depriving even those sheltering underground of air.

Deliver us from Christians who glorify you, Mother of God and your Divine Child, while dropping bombs on mothers and children. Deliver us from practical atheism.

Deliver the young conscripts sent into war, who embrace false patriotism, who don't even know where they're going or what they are being sent to do.

Deliver us from men who deny water, food, electricity and medicine from civilians. Deliver the children from a life without schools, friends, family security — all deprivations which will scar them for life.

Deliver the women who are giving birth away from safe places and loved ones. Deliver the children who need hospital care.

Deliver us from war profiteers — those who make money off the death, blood-spilling wounds and the destruction of war .

Deliver us from clerics whose prayers are tepid, who preach diplomatic sermons and hierarches whose peace messages are weak — hoping to stay on the safe side of power.

Deliver us from the sacrilegious bombing of cities — sacrilegious because God's children live there.

Deliver us from the blasphemy of war — blasphemous because God's paradise-earth is sacred: the air, the water, the land, the living things.

Deliver us from a Lenten time — called the "Churches Springtime" — which in truth becomes a wasteland of inflicted suffering.

Deliver us from media outlets which hide the bloody truth, and war apologists, especially of the Christian kind, who are not outraged by war's sins and the affront to God. 

Deliver the 21st century world, once again resorting to the foolish and wasteful, outdated notion of war, destroying homes — the kitchens where family meals are prepared, living rooms where families gather, nurseries where children should sleep peacefully.

Deliver us from leaders who reveal themselves as criminals — leaders who become crazed enemies of humanity.

Deliver us from the power-greed, money-greed, land-greed of men which makes for invasions and war's despoilment; war's heartbreak.

Prayer Before the Pochaev Mother of God ~ Adapted for Today

My gracious Queen, my hope, Mother of God, shelter of orphans, and intercessor of travelers, strangers, refugees, displaced persons and pilgrims. Joy of those who sorrow, protectress of the wronged, see our distress, see our affliction. Help us, for we are helpless. Feed us, for we are needy strangers and pilgrims. You know our offenses, forgive, heal and resolve it as you will. For we know no other help but you, no other intercessor, no gracious consoler but you, O Mother of God, to guard and protect us throughout the ages. Amen

Heaven Sees the Insanity

 

This icon is titled, "Mother of God of the Sign." She stands in the prayer position called orans. The  Christ-Child (always depicted as the Lord) is held in an orb from which he blesses us and holds the scroll of his teaching. But it is for us to unroll the scroll,  so to discover its message.

In praying with arms outstretched, like a priest at Mass, the Mother of God intercedes for us. She carries no weapon. She is not closed in on herself arrogantly, like a bully with arms folded across the chest. She is open to God and to us. 

But notice, She looks off to the sides perhaps searching for humanity where it squanders its genius, devolving into the deep darkness of self-destruction, despoiling wars, waste, hatred and death. May the light  radiating from her mind and that of her Son, brighten consciences.

A terrible invasive war in Europe is on our minds these days. People of good will all around the world are grieving and feeling powerless. The Mother of God looks to the sides where those left behind are hiding—the mothers with their frightened children, the elderly, the poor, the homeless. She searches with the scores of refugees who are fleeing west to hoped-for safety. She looks to the sides where the missiles and bombs have left behind destroyed apartment buildings, the ravaged scarred earth. She sees the lies of the destroying invaders.

Heaven sees our insanity. And it is insanity, isn't it—one Christian nation invading and destroying another Christian nation. Maybe we shouldn't wonder that someone overwhelmed with disappointment would give up on religion—except that hundreds of religious priests, brothers and sisters are staying behind—Diocesan clergy, Franciscans, Jesuits, Pallotines, Dominicans, opening their churches, hostels, monasteries, retreat houses to care for suffering refugees.

A Rosary Decade at the Start of the New Year and the Feast of Mary, Mother of God

Lorenzo Ghiberti created this tender Madonna and Child sculpture of poly-chromed clay in the early years of the Renaissance somewhere between 1425-1450. It was intended not for a church but someone's home — perhaps even a child's bedroom. Mary is depicted as the ideal mother. Her love is close and tender. Her expression is even wistful. She holds the Christ securely by his left leg while rubbing his chubby thigh with her thumb. The Infant holds onto Mary's collar with his left hand; his right arm rests on her shoulder.  He is wrapped in a striped blanket or perhaps it is the lining of Mary's mantle. 

But notice this, Ghiberti's sculpture is 3D — the baby's right leg extends out of the image into our space. We see the sole of Jesus' foot just as we see it in the Byzantine icon titled Glykophilousa (Sweet Kissing). The artist intended that we be able to touch the Child's foot. I have younger siblings and remember playing with their toes and making them laugh as infants. But this Child has withdrawn a bit. We sense his vulnerability and need to be consoled. The red tunic reveals this is a divine-human person.

Sitting before Lorenzo Ghiberti's Madonna and Child, at the start of the New Year and this Feast of Mary's Divine Maternity, perhaps we can pray this decade of the Rosary together with these short meditations between each prayer.

Our Father...

O Lady, your Divine Child holds onto your collar. Strengthen me as I hold on tight during these difficult days. I ask for the charism of joy.

Hail Mary...

This image is nearly 600 years old. I become heart-aware of the countless persons gone before me who have prayed before your image, O Mother of God. 

Hail Mary...

What trauma and struggle the world has known over these 600 years. Watch over this new year, Holy Child, and help us to keep mercy, justice and peace alive.

Hail Mary...

O Jesus, your foot extends out of the image and into our space. It is the foot that will walk throughout Galilee and then to Jerusalem, the Calvary Hill and from the Easter tomb. May I walk with you.

Hail Mary...

As Mother, Sister and Friend, hold me up too, Mother of God, especially (name the challenge that is most on your mind).

Hail Mary...

The colors of red and blue suggest the presence of divinity — God so close, I may miss it. May I be aware as the new year begins.

Hail Mary...

Perhaps the Holy Mother's gaze suggests she senses the Child's future of rejection. I pray for those who suffer alienation around the world. Those who in their human struggle are minimized and ignored.

Hail Mary...

Something has caused the Holy Child to recoil a bit, looking for his mother's consolation and security. I pray for those who suffer only insecurity and dis-ease. May we have sensitive and aware hearts.

Hail Mary...

May the beauty of your image, O Mother of God, serve as an antidote to the ugliness that can invade our lives — the accounts of fighting, insult, lies, violence and death.

Hail Mary...

I ask the Holy Child of Bethlehem to change hearts — that every child would be welcomed and loved. That every Christian would do something to bless the lives of children.

Hail Mary...

Glory be to the Father...

The 1800th Post ~ Visiting the Chapel of the Mother of God Life-Giving Spring

I've saved this photograph for a special occasion. And here we are — this is the 1800th Pauca Verba post. The charming chapel in the woods bears the title, Mother of God Life-Giving Spring. The single cupola on top of the chapel signifies Christ. It is also a stylized candle — that the church burns with the love of God in Christ. I like that the fallen snow has landed on the ends of the logs to left and right, as if the building is decorated with white dots. And how wonderful is this, the door is wide open inviting us to enter — to rest, to warm up, to pray. Indeed, there are prints in the snow leading up the steps to the door. Perhaps they are ours. Imagine it! Inside and up front near the altar we would find this 17th century icon — The Life-Giving Spring.

 

Here the Mother of God sits in a fountain which overflows into the basin beneath her. She holds the Infant Christ. Always the Lord, he is depicted as a little man. The Holy Mother and Child have an angel escort. The aureole (body halo) shines with a bright, layered softness.

The bottom of the icon, from left to right, shows the sick-crowd who have come to this source of health and wholeness. There are frail old folks, cripples, the exhausted. Above them on the right there are royal persons wearing crowns. No one escapes troubles. On the far left we see a group of monks and mitered bishops. One bishop dips a cup into the basin. Perhaps his prayer asks for the Church to be healed of its affliction, apparent in every age. Church and State in need of healing.

These are angry days. As the racial portrait of the nation changes, not a few people are fearful of losing their privileged status. Media outlets foment fear, fevered resentment, even violence.  We might enter this chapel in our imagination and intercede for our nation before the Life-Giving Spring icon. And prayers for those Christians too who have lost their Christic center —  substituting a political party for their religion. 

A Rosary Decade Before the Tolga Icon of the Mother of God ~ At the Start of October

October is the month of Mary's Rosary. Here are ten short prayer-focusing meditations before the Tolga icon of the Mother of God. The icon's 14th century story is told through the prayers.

Our Father

The Holy Bishop, Prochorus was traveling throughout his diocese and stopped to spend the night along the Tolga River. He was awakened at midnight by a bright light shining among the trees. May we know Christ who calls himself, Light for the World.

Hail Mary...

The icon of the Mother of God was revealed to the bishop at midnight. May we be inwardly awakened to Christ these days of deep darkness.

Hail Mary...

Prochorus wasn't a stay-in-the-office bishop, but a traveler. As our lives are a kind of traveling on this blue, green and white planet, may we discover God's energies, which delight us with gifts and blessings.

Hail Mary...

The maphorian of the Mother of God is the color of clay. May we be grounded in a Mary-like faith, humility and gratitude.

Hail Mary...

The Tolga icon is of the Eleousa (tenderness) type — the Holy Child and Mother are cheek to cheek. Christ's left arm reaches around his Mother's neck. I pray for those who only know fear and desperation, who hope to feel this kind of belonging. Deporting hopeless people who have lost everything is not the gospel way.

Hail Mary...

The Holy Mother holds and supports the Christ with her left hand. I give thanks for those who have held me up and supported or guided me over the years — offering this prayer for those who are rejected and cast away.

Hail Mary...

The Mother of God seems to have stepped up to heaven's window looking full-faced with Christ into our world. May I never fear looking with eyes of mercy into our world of troubles.

Hail Mary...

The icon is not approached with the world's critical, consumerist eye — "Does this suit my tastes? Would this complement my décor?" but with a heart of wonder. May wonder be birthed again in me, as when I was a child.

Hail Mary...

The Holy Child is in full motion — as if he has taken a running jump into his Mother's arms. This is how the world is loved by God — God, who is not waiting for us to sin, but who leaps in love into our world.

Hail Mary...

This is an old icon, cracked, chipped. I ask for strength when I am feeling worn down, where strength is perhaps fading, asking to feel God's close embrace. I also pray for —N— to experience this enabling strength today.

Hail Mary...

Glory be to the Father...

Mother of God, All-Courteous

I would like to give the Virgin Mary Guadalupe a new title: Mother of God ~ All Courteous. Juan Diego was an Aztec native — of a people defeated by the Spanish Empire. A crushed man. A no-body. When on his way to Saturday morning Mass the lady appeared to him and said, "Listen my most abandoned son, dignified Juanito. Where are you going?" Notice the lady addressed him by his diminutive name — endearing, intimate, dignified. 

When speaking of his encounters with the apparition he said, "I heard her thought and word, which were exceedingly re-creative, very ennobling, alluring, producing love."  Years ago, a Benedictine nun said to me, "We are returning to the level of beasts in this country." Attentive to the news these days, I would say, I fear we are devolving.

The Guadalupe in her courtesy echoes Christ who celebrates faith outside of Judaism, who shares meals with people, who heals the ones thought of as "other," who celebrates as heroic the actions of people called "other," who invites in and blesses the littlest, who never insults...

The idolatrous gun-lust and daily death, this politicization of masks and vaccines while children are dying in the nation called "Pro-life" — the politicization of seemingly everything really — the faces of so many people made ugly by emotion more powerful than intelligence — forgetting how to nourish each other with compassion, respect and kindness — I think I have found my new invocation before the image of the Guadalupe (whose left leg is bent, as if advancing towards us in our trouble) — Mother of God, All-Courteous, Restore Us.

O Domina Mea

Colonial South American Mother of God with Franciscan Saints

O my Queen! My Mother!

I give myself entirely to you;

and to show my devotion to you,

I consecrate to you this day my eyes,

my ears, my mouth, my heart,

my whole being, without reserve.

Wherefore, good Mother,

as I am your own,

keep me, guard me,

as your property and possession.

Amen.

May I See Myself

 

This icon of the Mother of God is found in the Church of Nativity at Bethlehem. Here, we see some of the pilgrims who have lined up to venerate the icon. There is a glass over the icon to protect it from lipstick, smudged hands, incense smoke and candle soot. But the glass provides another possibility. Did you notice, the glass acts as a mirror. The fellow who is second in line, sees himself even before he sees the icon. There it is: when I approach the holy, I see myself, invited to ask the essential question before God — Who am I?

I can settle for a host of exterior identifiers, some silly: I am an American, a parishioner, a denomination, the wearer of brands and labels, my likes and dislikes, a Democrat/Republican/Independent, a consumer, the driver of this or that vehicle,  who abides at this address, my credit card limits, my stock portfolio, the roles I assume. Nah!

Here's a little meditation. I might imagine myself taking a place on the pilgrim line. And when I find myself at the head of the line, perhaps with candle in hand and a prayer to see myself clearly by its light,  I ask...

Who am I? 

I am imagined into existence,

conceived,

brought to birth,

passed through water a second time,

en-spirited,

gifted.

I am

God's child,

mirrored in divine eyes,

Christ's friend and sibling,

Mary's dear one,

treasured.

I am

without a mask,

known,

still standing and

leaned in, in a world of woes.

I am

an interior world,

forgiven and freed,

held up,

held close, 

watched, but by loving eyes.

I am

spent and frayed,

healed and healing,

understood, 

trusted,

invited,

created for light,

awaking.

How I Am loved ~ "Just as I am"

 

I've left this icon quite large so we can see and appreciate its details. The icon is titled variously — Mother of God ~ Sweet Kiss, or Tender Mercy, or Loving Kindness. Perhaps the image is known by various names because it is so packed with beauty we have trouble describing it. How blessed we are to have this computer image of the icon, protected by the monks of the Philotheou Monastery on Mount Athos in Greece.

The Mother of God wears a red-brown maphorion. She is of the earth — one of and with us. The Infant Christ sits in the space created by her supportive left arm. Their closeness is expressed cheek-to-cheek but also in the enfolding of hands. Jesus is no cuddly, pudgy baby, but a little man — he is always the Lord. The iconographer has decorated the Holy Child's white tunic. His mantle radiates divine energies. While the Mother of God looks out at us, she also looks beyond us. The Child doesn't look at his Mother, as we might expect, but at each of us and all of us. Having us in mind, both figures have pleasant expressions.

An icon is not a sentimental holy card to be admired. An icon is not meant for the museum, to gaze at fleetingly as we walk by. An icon's message is, "Stop," "Be still," "Enter here." And as I gaze, the outward looking Holy Child, seems to say to me — "This is how you are loved - with a sweet kiss, with tender mercy - with loving kindness. Believe it."

But not a few people will have a hard time accepting this. They feel they have to be someone else to be loved. Perhaps they were raised in negativity, addiction, abuse or failed religion, and feel themselves to be spiritually un-evolved or self-hating. Do you remember the hymn sung at the end of each Billy Graham Crusade — "Just as I am, without one plea...." I am loved by heaven, "Just as I am..." This is the invitation of the Glykophilousa Mother of God. Come before the icon, just to be there in this accepting presence.

I am loved by God in Christ and his Mother, just as I am. We don't have to pass a theology exam to be loved. We don't have to be white, heterosexual males to be loved. We don't have to earn an A+ in following the rules to be loved. There is no interview or checklist. We don't have to live like nuns and monks live to be loved. We don't have to be Christians - even Catholic Christians - to be loved. But try this prayer before the icon, even if you feel doubts as you say the words. Along the way, make your own additions or changes. Slow, slow. Don't admire the icon, but enter it. Breathe in front of it. The icon is about you, about me. Yes, it's that personal.

I love myself as I am - impatient and moody.

I love myself as I am - confused.

I love myself as I am - needy.

I love myself as I am - hurting.

I love myself as I am - feeling guilty.

I love myself as I am - ill at ease.

I love myself as I am - wishy-washy.

I love myself as I am - resentful.

I love myself as I am - self-absorbed.

I love myself as I am - sick and tired.

I love myself as I am - raised in dysfunction.

I love myself as I am - worn out.

I love myself as I am - fearful.

I love myself as I am - feeling invisible.

I love myself as I am - self-doubting.

I love myself as I am - full of dread.

I love myself as I am - inconsistent.

I love myself as I am - complaining.

I love myself as I am - discomforted.

I love myself as I am - a bucket of tears.

I love myself as I am -

"Joy of All That Sorrow"

 

There's a lot going on in this busy icon titled, "Joy of All That Sorrow."  The Mother of God is depicted standing on a slightly raised platform around which crowds of people offer their prayers, written on scrolls and presented by angels. The prayers being sent up say, "Visit and help us in old age and sickness," "Help those who suffer from cold and nakedness," "Give nourishment to the hungry," "Be with us in our traveling." That's okay, of course, but I'd suggest these prayers are rather generic, while St. Paul writes:

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let all men know your forbearance. The Lord is at hand. Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4:4-7

We might keep this icon nearby, and in our gazing-prayer imagine ourselves offering scroll-prayers expressive of "everything" in our own situation and time — our own national, cultural, ecclesial and global need. Perhaps scrolls that read something like these:

"Strengthen and protect the health care workers.' 

"Convert the indifferent and the cavalier."

"Bring order out of our cultural chaos."

"Give clean hearts to the politicians."

"Fresh vision to the clergy."

"Joy to the mourners and the suffering."

"Turn the bitter heart."

"Heal the gun lust."

"The bullying, blaming, name-callers."

"Soften stony hearts."

"Fill the greed-spawning emptiness."

"Cure the national anxiety."

"Bless the helpers; the restorers of calm."

"May we get our racial house in order."

"Grow me up in a new Christ-mind."

Notice that the Mother of God stands in a fanciful garden — a supra-real, blooming garden of great beauty (even sun and moon participate). I don't want to be an admirer, but to accept the invitation to enter this enchanted garden of wonder, life and light, where I may suspend my everyday concerns of shopping, cleaning, business (busyness), endless talking, and to enter a childlike world of humble simplicity and joy. The priest-monk Gabriel Bunge has said:

"A believer is not a gloomy type waiting for the end of the world (Apocalypse) but a rejoicing one. He (she) is optimistic about life, the world, people. No matter what." 

The word "gloomy" doesn't appear until the late 16th century. Shakespeare used gloomy to describe the woods. Gloomy aptly describes not a few Christians: dark, depressing, displeased, dim, unhappy, without hope, not expecting any good in persons. These Christians unknowingly deny the Incarnation — that all the world is sacred — that God, rather than disdaining and condemning our world, ping-ing us off into a black hole of punishment and loss, has gone to a great deal of trouble to be with us in healing, encouragement and the invitation to love. Once I get this — really down-deep get this, everything is fresh and different.

Daydream For An Abandoned Church

This is the abandoned and fenced off Baptist Church of the Evangel. Evangel means good news. Isn't that a great name for any church: The Church of Good News. I stop by this place every morning as I walk about 300 steps to my volunteer weeding job in a pollinator garden.

The church, which seated 200 people, was built with hand-quarried gray stone and on high ground, rather like the great temple of Jerusalem, which seemed to rise up out of the ground atop Mount Zion.  The cornerstone reads 1891 and had a good run of about 125 years before the congregation, as in many places, declined and eventually disappeared.

The first services were held on the site in 1890. Within a year the fledgling community was recognized as a mission of a larger parish; by 1893 they were independent. Over the years Evangel Baptist was known for its "activity and benevolence." In other words, they were a parish known for being busy in doing good.

In 1929 the community built an attached Church School with feel-at-home classrooms, a great fireplace, potted plants and windows offering a southern exposure. On the other side of the church building, a gymnasium was built with a stage for theatre performances, indoor sports (volleyball, junior basketball and two bowling alleys). 

There was morning and evening worship each Sunday, a Wednesday night worship service, young people's organizations and mens and womens groups to respond to local needs. Now, all that remains is the decaying buildings and arguments about whether the place should be torn down for an apartment complex or turned into office space. The biggest stumbling block is, "Where would everyone park their cars?"

About ten years ago, a gardening club planted a dozen or so young trees along the Evangel Baptist road hoping to restore some shade to the area. I noticed today that all of the trees have died (because no one watered them), except for the five trees which run along the front property of the vacant church. 

Well, what do you make of that? I wouldn't call it a miracle, because that word is usually associated with an authority having to issue a stamp of approval. But I would say, perhaps the church remains surrounded by or is still exuding divine energies (grace). After all, the place was called, Good news! A wonder perhaps! In that sense, the parish is still active and benevolent.

So, in my project-loving, priest imagination, I envision being approached by  a God-sent benefactor who wants to buy the property, supportive of the idea of reviving the little church. I would restore the porch, the roof, the windows and even the bell which disappeared long ago. Then I would enshrine the Icon of the Mother of God ~ Life-giving Spring and surround the whole place, not with cement, blacktop and high maintenance chem-lawn, but with wide, heady perennial gardens, gravel paths, benches, shade trees and a fountain. People would come from everywhere, even great distances, to The Evangel Shrine of the Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring.

Here's the prayer I'd invite folks to pray — a prayer for the healing and wholeness of our weary, sick world and nation.

But first — approach the Mother of God and her Divine Child in silence. Notice, the setting is a desert-y place, arid and dry. There is a deep cave, like Bethlehem and the Easter tomb. The cave, like the Descent of Christ into Hades — the depth of our depravity,  the dark hole of human alienation and foolish schemes, the gaping horror of the evil we create.

Notice the Holy Mother is suspended in a basin. She assumes the posture of the priest at Mass, "Lift up your hearts." Those arms frame her Son who says to the Woman at Samaria:

"Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life." John 4:13,14

This Christ-Spring (the life-gift of divine energies) is not a drip or drizzle, but a triple fountain, steadily overflowing into the cross-shaped pool.

The icon further reveals humankind on pilgrimage to this place of spiritual reality — the mother desperate for her sick child, the old man bending with his pitcher (perhaps he is bent over with inner pain and emotional struggle), the young woman who has crawled on hand crutches (we feel her desperate loneliness), the woman who pours water over the head of the skin-diseased fellow, the blind boy who symbolizes our inner condition — bumping around in our shadow and unknowing. And now, from that interior, silent place...

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring, 

Gabriel enters with the good news

of God's human face —

cure the racial animus,

the faces made ugly by hatred.

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

hurrying through the hill country

of human history's

barriers,

twists and turns —

invigorate justice in the 

systems which keep people poor.

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

singing Magnificat,

recounting the wonders,

God's lifting up and casting down —

refresh the broken hearts,

the disappointed,

mournful hearts.

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

as at Bethlehem 

in the echo of angel-song,

welcoming the 

littlest and the least —

be medicine for the despoiled nation 

which counts more guns than people.

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

whereupon traveler-seekers arrived

star-gazing,

gift-laden wonderers,

your bemused hospitality —

remedy the nation which can't stop warring.

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

as would any mother

lifting the blanket to show the baby,

then suddenly the mood-shift,

the frightful news of 

soul piercing

swords of sorrow —

bring to wellness,

the nation, addiction-claimed.

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

pointing us,

fellow disciples in the right direction,

"Do what he tells you" —

make healthy the world of greed,

consuming,

extinctions,

exploitation,

trash and waste.

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

you must have laughed

at the ridiculous amount of Cana's high-end wine,

its revelation of God's 

wedding-like love for us —

enliven the nation which wasn't discovered,

but invaded,

tricking,

stealing from,

lying to, 

infecting,

enslaving 

the natives they met. 

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

who no doubt walked among the crowd

the Calvary way,

heaven's interface with us 

on our own tear-stained way —

restore the nation's politic,

sick with obstruction,

collusion,

deception,

fearful weakness,

bitterness. 

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

the devout soul imagines

your Son visited you first on 

Easter Morning —

and why not,

love does such things,

heart speaking to heart —

Make us whole,

make us life-giving springs too!

Rejoice, O Mother of God, Life-Giving Spring,

who in your going up

was welcomed into the inner

communal life 

of the divine —

bring to light the indifferent mind,

the selfish mind,

the witless, invincible mind,

that doesn't care enough to mask-up

for the sake of the susceptible ones.

The Prousiotissa Mother of God ~ Shhh!

This icon of the Prousiotissa Mother of God had its feast day celebrated on the Eastern Church calendar — June 23. The Mother of God is spiritually wide-eyed and awake to her Infant Son who appears as a little man. Jesus is always the Lord whose message is, stay awake. "Wake up from your sleep, climb out of your coffins. Christ will show you the light." Ephesians 5:14. She is the first disciple who patterns this soul-disposition for us.

The icon's traditional story is regrettably full of dread, paralysis and a dis-empowering fear of God. In the account, when the Holy Mother performs wonders, the people thank her with gifts of gold and silver. Wouldn't converted hearts please her more? How it is that we settle for distortion, the shrinking of God and ourselves? The world, weary with violence and death, hopes for a message that is fresh, relevant and genuinely spiritual. 

Notice the Mother of God looks out at us, proposing a personal and interior involvement. In truth, the Prousiotissa Icon is a story about the  curing of a deadly virus, a plague-like influenza. Of course, we think of our own time of Coronavirus epidemic. But I'd suggest there's more. There is also the epidemic of too much thinking and talking in religion. I sometimes wonder if I am alone in feeling like a talking head at the end of Mass. What happens to awe (even ecstasy) when there's only talking? 

I remember in my first year of seminary there was mandatory 7:00 A.M. meditation. We knelt in rows facing forward while a priest in the rear of the chapel talked us through our meditation for an hour. You could hear elbows and heads clunking off the kneelers. 

As the icon appears here on our screens, might I propose a new prayer which pays attention to her nimbus (halo). Let's not think the nimbus is just decoration. Heaven keep us from the religion of decoration, especially decorative talking and thinking.

Your nimbus, O Lady,

filled with swirling

clouds of unknowing —

the inner darkness,

pious imaginings,

fanciful God-knowledge,

the voluminous study of

what everyone else has said,

the keep-you-in-a-box of God-cliches,

the tidy, "just believe it," religion...

like tree-top birds,

  wide-winged,

  currant riding birds

  kept in cages.

Pierce with

  a bowing love,

  a hushed love,

the amorphous cloud-thoughts

  shrinking the vastness,

  claiming to know.

The Syriac Wonder-Working Icon of the Mother of God

Sitting in a diner at breakfast time this morning, I was just given my laminated menu when an elderly woman in the next booth, having breakfast with a friend, whistled through her fingers, summoning the young waitress. You know the sound—the kind of shrill, single-note whistle we'd associate with a man demanding his off-in-the-weeds dog return. Then I heard her laugh to her friend, "Oh, that was rude."

A great vulgarity has been unleashed. I fear we are no longer evolving, but devolving. And I thought, "How will we ever invite a woman to lead us as president when we can't manage giving a hardworking, young waitress her dignity?" 

What to do? I considered calling out this woman on her ugly behaviour, as I made my way to the door—but these are dangerous times, people weaponized and unpredictable. So when I returned home, I remembered that I had this photograph of the Wonder-Working, Syrian Mother of God icon. I've left the photograph large, so you can see her soft smile. She'll help me to recover from this exposure to low-end behaviour. And now to ask her for what we need as a nation:

O Wonder-Working Lady,
Mother of God
Mother of wounded Syria,
  and our Mother too—
We need more 
stargazers, 
wave-watchers,
songbird admirers and
forest bathers.

We need more
stream listeners,
rose inhalers,
honey bee wonder-rs,
nature mystery sleuths and
cloud contemplators.

We need more
moon phase ponderers,
seed planters,
animal rescuers,
beauty imagine-rs,
Latin chanters and
icon gazers.

We need more 
soil diggers,
green sprout detectors,
roadside recyclers,
beauty creators and
silence imaginers.

O Lady,
heal us by your
wide-eyed,
knowing gaze,
your gentle-ing smile,
your wisdom-filled mind 
  radiating new thoughts.
Save us by
  the gift of your effulgent son,
  Jesus, 
  the all courteous,
  all compassionate,
  all gracious one.

Amen.

The Bogolyubovo Mother of God

Here is the icon of the Mogolyubovo Mother of God. the story surrounding the icon is long and convoluted: a grand prince, heavenly demands, a church built to commemorate a vision, a variety of monasteries, convents, rivers and cities, physical healings, the icon is here then the icon is there. I'm not sure what all of that means. I love the icon and want to be more than an admire-r of it and its story. What of its spiritual content for us today—a spiritual content which is more than calling the image wonder-working.

Here, we see the Mother of God standing on the far left. She is like a great and strong pillar. She is one of us, wearing a brown-red maphorian, the color of the ground from which humankind is made. Mary looks up into the far right corner where the heavens open and Jesus, streaked with divinity, appears in an orb of light. The Mother of God holds a long scroll filled with the petitions and concerns of the monks who cluster prayerfully at her feet. The scroll Jesus holds contains the same list of petitions. Saints Zosimus and Sabbatius stand with the monks. They are the founders of the monastery which gleams with prayer.

Notice the monastery, the monks and the Mother of God are standing on an island—their patch of land is surrounded by water. Island dwellers can live rugged lives. And look, all throughout the icon there wonderful plants and even the mountain and the rocky places are touched with light. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, "Earth's crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God. But only he who sees takes off his shoes. The rest sit round and pluck blackberries."   

But what are the monks' petitions written on the dual scrolls? Let's not wait for someone with a magnifying glass to tell us, let's imagine. Perhaps: 

O Lady, may we have clean hearts. 

May we love one another in this place, as Jesus has instructed us. 

May the world beyond be at peace. 

May we care for this island-home of your appearance—charged with life and beauty. 

May we be protected from the inner plagues of exhaustion, bitterness and complaint. 

May we not live in a tiny bubble world—thinking ourselves to be entitled or better than others.

May we see your son's face in the strangers who make their way across the waters.
May our hearts be synchronized with yours.

Spiritual themes are perennial, aren't they?

Prayer Before The War-Assaulted Syrian Icon of the Mother of God

May we dismantle the war economy; planting trees instead.

May we learn wisdom and justice.

May we stop the bombing and bleeding of others.

May we love people in all their variety.

May we stop assailing children.

May we be found among the clean of heart.
May the skies be cleared of smoke and flame.
May we detect the face of God on the other sides of borders.
May we betray no one.
May our support of others be sincere and enduring.

May our worst possibilities never materialize.
May we bring light out of shadow.
May the endless sins against others be forgiven.
May we learn again good from evil.
May we preserve ourselves from nuclear self-destruction.

Mother, 
advocate for us a new Pentecost—
no gentle breeze,
but a fiery, 
empowering wind of sanity,
a new resolve to tend the lush garden;
to lift the weak ones to their feet.

Father Stephen Morris

The Little Scroll - Is There A Message For Us?

This icon is titled simply "Virgin and Child," While painted in the Byzantine style, we also observe the strong Italian (Venetian) influence of the late 14th century.  The Mother of God holds the Christ in her left arm, while touching him with her right hand. Looking at us with his full frontal and piercing gaze, he sees us as he holds his mantle close with his own right hand. His left hand holds an open scroll - is there a message for us? 

Mary has a second veil under her enveloping maphorion. The initials M and D appear in roundels top left and right. These stand for the Latin words Mater Dei - Mother of God. The Greek initials over Christ's nimbus IC XC, stand for Jesus Christ. The three stars on the top of Mary's head and her left and right shoulders signify her virginity, before, during and after the birth of her Son. 

"Do everything you can to get Christ into your life, there is everything to take him away."  

Christ in my breathing. 

Christ in my thinking. 

Christ in my feeling. 

Christ in my deciding. 

Christ in my choosing. 

Christ in my doing.

Christ in my perceiving. 

Christ in my relating.

Christ in my politics (Really!?)

Christ in my valuing.
Christ in my prioritizing.
Christ in my venturing.