Intercessions ~ Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 

May we learn in our hearts the words of St. Paisios the Elder/ whose feast was this past week and who said:/ "When there is respect for small things, there will be an even greater respect for the bigger things. When there is no respect for small things, then neither will there be for the bigger ones."/  We pray to the Lord.

God has placed a word of love in the heart of the church./ We ask for the church to be a bearer of compassion,/ healing and mercy for a broken world./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for those who have had to evacuate homes and businesses while devastating fires burn./ For firefighters,/ rescuers,/ law enforcement/ and the many who volunteer to help./ For the protection of forests,/ orchards,/ vineyards and neighborhoods./ We pray to the Lord.

Renew us with gifts of kindness where there is cruelty,/ hope where there is despair,/ reassurance where there is anxiety,/ love where there is neglect,/ comfort where there is mourning,/ healing where there is sickness./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray to be willing and able to identify and love the neighbor in need,/ support and justice for those crushed by poverty./ For those who are forgotten,/ abused,/ un-invited,/ silenced,/ ridiculed,/ avoided./ We pray to the Lord.

The invasion of Ukraine is the unleashing of great darkness and sin./ We pray for the conversion of those who perpetrate the blasphemous assault against civilians in their homes,/ the laying waste of the earth,/ the destruction even of churches and monasteries./ We pray for the victims of war,/ especially  the littlest children./ We pray to the Lord.

St. Paul writes:/ "May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from God's glorious power,/ and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience,/ while joyfully giving thanks to the Father,/ who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light./ We pray to the Lord.

Psalm 41 ~ A Poetic Rendition

 

Ukrainian mass grave ~ "a wound to the very Heart of Love."

Here is Nan Merrill's poetic rendition of Psalm 41. She has re-presented the psalms in a way that connects the ancient text to a contemporary mind. She does not suggest her expansive translations preclude the traditional text, but that those translations be kept at hand. Might I suggest reading the psalm twice: once in the larger font and then perhaps a second time with my own thoughts in the smaller italic font.

Who among us hears the cry of the poor? (At the end of Mass a man said to me, "I'm so sick of hearing about them — the poor.")

How many open their hears (Is my heart closed to anyone? Am I okay with that?)

and heed the Call? — (Capital C. God is a call, an invitation,)

The plight of the world is a wound

to the very Heart of Love,

a scar on our own souls. (The way we treat our world wounds God's heart.)

Blessed are those who lovingly respond!

The Friend, who knows all hearts, (But Jesus knew what they were thinking and said, "Why do yo entertain evil thoughts in our hearts?" Mt. 9:4)

will remember their kindness. (We often think God remembers only our faults and sins.)

they will know joy, peace, and deep

fulfillment working in harmony

with all who serve toward healing

the needs of this troubled world. (Lovely — to work with God in healing our world.)

"As for me, I prayed, 'O Soul-Mender, (Can you name for yourself, God as soul-mender?)

be gracious unto me.

For I have been deaf to those in need; (Are we tired of hearing about Ukraine already?)

my fears paralyzed me. (Are we afraid of justice because it might mean I may have to do without something?)

I am bound like a prisoner held

in my own house,

alone and abandoned.

Each fear I push away or deny (Pushing fear away: like the little monkey with his hands over eyes and ears.)

rises up with power;

feeling anxious, lies and deceit

take the place of truth.

I can hide no longer; my confusion,

the way I blame others, (We learn to blame others at a very early age.)

have turned even my friends away.'

O Divine Healer, help me face the fears

that threaten to overwhelm; (Are there fears I'd call overwhelming?)

without your guidance, they will

bring about what I most fear! (O Christ our Savior, shed your light upon the path I have to tread.)

I am on my knees asking forgiveness; (The desert monk kneels to write his sins in the sand.)

give me strength to turn all (This is true religion, that each day I change if even in some small way.) 

that separates me from You

into love and kindness. (The Dali Lama says that  religion is kindness. Are we forgetting kindness?)

You who are Unconditional Love, You

do not judge our weaknesses;

raise me up, that I may be renewed (This is what Eucharist is supposed to do for us! Yes?)

in body, mind, and soul! (There are folks who don't want God's love to be unconditional. They usually feel this way about the weaknesses of others.) 

"By this I know that You have

graciously forgiven me; (The desert monk returns later to see the sins he'd written in the sand have been blown away.)

fear did not triumph over me,

though my heart was broken open

so the light could enter in. (A broken heart can become a source of compassion for others)

You upheld me, filled me with integrity, (Can I name a time when I've felt God holding me up?)

and opened my heart to the poor. (I asked a man who was struggling to examine his conscience, "Do you do anything for the poor?" "Not much," he honestly and quickly answered.)

Blessed be the Beloved, loving Presence (Someone complained about calling God Beloved. Why? Not manly?)

to all hearts open to Love,

from everlasting to everlasting!

Amen. (Dag Hammarskjold wrote: "People often thing that the basic command of religion is 'Do this!' or 'Don't do that!' It isn't. It's look and wonder! learn to give attention to the world around  you.")

Not a place, but a state of mind

St. Jude's Chapel is found in Madison, NC. Like St. Jude's Hospital for Children, this little place is not owned by the Catholic Church or any church for that matter. There are no services held here, except may an occasional wedding. It was built in 1991 by the Baruito Family as a thank offering for the matriarch's surviving cancer. Made of cedar and only twelve by fourteen feet with a capacity for eight people, it is a charming place. 

Having never visited St. Jude's Chapel, I only stumbled across the photo online and had to zoom in to read the name on the outdoor sign. My immediate response to the scene was to be reminded of my first year in seminary when I had a class titled Ascetical Theology (the life of the soul with God).  

The only thing I remember from the course was the assignment we were given the first day — to describe the chapel of your own dream-design. I was delighted with the topic and remember my essay well enough. I described a wooden chapel that I came upon in a dense forest. "Then the trees of the forest will sing for joy before the Lord, for he is coming to judge the earth."  1 Chronicles 16:33.

The dream chapel would be low, with a little sheltered entrance inviting intimacy, like this one. It would have a wood-shingled roof, reflective of the forest, and a small tower or steeple holding a single bell. My seminary years pre-dated the building of St. Jude's Chapel but turns out, are reflective of my own 1974 idea — the black iron hinges on the single front door, the low rough stone foundation and the few steps out front, as if the place had sprung up out of the ground!

There were thirty three men in that seminary class and unfortunately we never spoke to each other about our imagined dream place. A missed opportunity. We'd have learned more about each other  from that conversation than from just about anything else we ever talked about. Right or wrong, I imagined their essays depicting great urban or suburban churches - maybe contemporary round churches with wide meeting spaces, rows of pews and parking for everyone, perhaps with a school and convent attached and a covered walkway between church and rectory so Father would never have to get wet.  One priest said to us: "Boys, someday you'll build a church. My advice is, always have the light switches inside the front door so you never have to stumble around in the dark." The only light I imagined in my chapel was sunlight through small windows or candle light.

And while this essay has stayed with me for 48 years, it wasn't until years later that I realized, the chapel of my dream wouldn't accommodate a congregation.  "For God alone my soul in silence waits; truly, there is my hope. God alone is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold, so that I shall not be shaken." Psalm 62:6,7. The picture I created was not a place so much as a state of mind. 

I would have been glad for a subsequent conversation about the imagined chapel, but the assignment was never returned. Every time we met for class I hoped that the priest-professor would return the paper with comment — that there would be a response. At some point I surrendered the hope and  imagined the papers were just thrown in the garbage. A missed opportunity. On the other hand, maybe not. In hind sight, the priest might have said to me, "Are you sure you belong here, maybe you belong in a monastery seminary."  I don't know how I would have handled that. 

Years later, I drove across the state of Pennsylvania to spend some days with a community of hermit monks in Ohio. After spending a few hours talking with the prior he said, "It's clear to me that you don't have a vocation to this life, but it's also clear to me that you don't pay enough attention to your contemplative aspect." What's that? Obtaining Christ's clean heart of the gospel, waking up to the things of God in Christ, looking to follow the path of becoming the real and full human person God dreamed me to be.