Allow Jesus to "lay down" in your weakness

A reflection by Mother Cecilia, originally published in Horizons, the newspaper of the Eparchy of Parma.

Through the sponsorship of a benefactor, the nuns of Christ the Bridegroom Monastery made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, organized by the Melkite Eparchy of Newton, this past July. It was the first time in the Holy Land for most of the nuns of the monastery.

On the first full day of our pilgrimage, my amazement grew as each new site increased in importance. I was in awe when we visited the place where some of the prophets are buried. Then we visited the place where the greatest of the prophets, John the Baptist, was born. As we approached the place of the birth of the Messiah — of God on earth — I simply didn’t know what to think.

In Bethlehem, we went first to Shepherd’s Field, where the angels announced the Good News of Christ’s birth to the herdsmen. We walked through the ruins of a monastery that existed during the Byzantine period.

After lunch, we arrived at the Church of the Nativity. It is one of the oldest churches still in existence. The doorway is very low, so that visitors must bow in order to enter.

Underneath the church is the Grotto of the Nativity, where the place of Jesus’ birth is marked with a metal star on the floor. Nearby, in the same chapel, is the place where Jesus was laid in the manger. We listened to the chanting of the Gospel and then venerated the place of the Nativity as we sang the Troparion of the Nativity.

I was overwhelmed and nervous to venerate this holy spot, especially as we were being urged to move quickly. As I kneeled down and leaned over to kiss the star on the floor, my metal water bottle fell out of the side pouch of my backpack and crashed loudly on the marble floor near the star. Someone picked it up for me. I tried to touch my chotki to the star, but because it was attached to my belt I couldn’t reach it there. I awkwardly got up. I quickly understood that Jesus was allowing me to be humbled in the very place where he humbled himself by becoming man.

Then I walked a few steps over to the place where Jesus was laid in the manger. It was slightly less chaotic there. I stood there quietly for a few moments and said in my heart to Jesus, “I don’t know how to pray here. I don’t know what to think about in this place where you have lain.”

Immediately, an image came to my mind: I saw myself receiving the Eucharist. Then I understood, and exclaimed to Jesus, “Oh, I’ve experienced this before! You lay in me every time I receive Communion!”

At that moment I began to relax. The places I visited in the Holy Land were not actually foreign to me. I had already experienced these mysteries interiorly, in the liturgy, and in the mysteries of the church.

As I look back on the experience of our pilgrimage, I realize that I didn’t need to figure out how to think or how to pray. God was giving himself to me, and my job was to open to receive him. This is what he continues to do in every moment of our lives.

During this Feast of the Nativity, may we humbly accept our weaknesses, allowing them to be places where Jesus lays down in us so that we can give him to the world.

The one thing needful

On Saturday we hosted a retreat day for wives of priests from the Ukrainian Catholic Eparchy of Parma. The eight women, who came from the northeast Ohio area, Pittsburgh and Florida, asked to spend a day away from their responsibilities at their homes and parishes and gather at the monastery for some encouragement, prayer and rest.

It was a rare opportunity for these women, who often feel alone in their unique vocation, to spend time with each other and to be free to talk about their struggles and joys.

Mother Theodora gave a talk on the theme of the retreat day, "The one thing needful." She reflected on Martha and Mary of Bethany and the gifts of both of these friends of Jesus. She encouraged the women to take advantage of the opportunities during the retreat day to sit at the feet of Jesus in silence and listen to His voice. She reminded them that in their daily life they first need to be the bride of Jesus and to be with Him and be loved by Him; this relationship is the foundation of their other vocations of wife of a priest, mother of children and mother of their parishes.

After Sixth Hour, lunch and silent prayer, Sr. Iliana gave a talk from the perspective of a child of a priest. She shared funny stories from her childhood in the rectory, her struggles and the graces that helped lead her to her monastic vocation. Regarding the wives and children of priests, she said, "We don't just happen to be here; it's not just chance. We each have a particular vocation in the heart of the Church." She encouraged the women to asked the Lord, "What part of Your body am I?" She reminded them that all are called to holiness. Just as Mary of Bethany anointed Jesus' feet, "We need to receive our oil from Him so that we can pour it out on others."

After more time for silent prayer on the monastery grounds, the women departed, but not before asking to come back next year!

A poem

Inspired by Matthew’s account of the Transfiguration, especially the line, “And when they lifted up their eyes, they saw no one but Jesus only” (Mt 17:8), one of the nuns in our monastery wrote the following poem after our pilgrimage to the Holy Land. We pray that the words can help deepen your own intimacy with our Bridegroom!

It is on Tabor that I first fell in love.
There did I behold my Lover, radiant and ruddy.
And when I fall to my face in shame,
unworthy to bask in those rays,
You touch my chin.
I lift my gaze.
And I can see nobody but You.

It is a love so effortless,
when I let it be so.
I need not even think of where is Your love.
When I cry, it is in Gethsemane.
When I laugh, it is in Cana.
There is no part of my life outside of our love.

It is a love meant for the world to see.
It cannot be kept secret.
And so I left the mountain,
because the mountain is not my love.
My Love is You, and You have asked
to make my heart a Mt. Tabor,
so others may fall in love.

To descend to be raised up

Today we celebrate the feast of the Dormition (falling asleep) of the Mother of God. Now that I have been at the tomb of the Mother of God in the Garden of Gethsemane during our recent pilgrimage to the Holy Land, I was struck in a new way as we celebrated the feast.

I was especially moved by the phrase in bold in this first stichera at Vespers:

"O what a wonder! The Source of Life Itself is placed in a tomb; the grave becomes a ladder to heaven. Rejoice, Gethsemane, holy chamber of the Theotokos. As for us, O faithful, let us cry out with Gabriel, the prince of angels: Rejoice, O woman full of grace, the Lord is with you!--the Lord, who because of you bestows great mercy on our souls."

Why did it strike me? Take a look at the second photo to the right. These are the many steps descending into the church which contains the tomb of the Mother of God. (The people in the photo are only about half-way down the steps.) This, to me, is an image of Mary's humility. "For He has looked with favor upon the lowliness of His handmaiden..." (Lk 1:48a). In life, and in death, Mary embraces the littleness and poverty of her humanity, and God raises her up. "From this day forward, all generations will call me blessed" (Lk 1:48b).

Mary is an example to us of the daily dying to self which "becomes a ladder to heaven." When we descend the many steps down into the poverty within us and surrender our lives into the hands of God, He then raises us up to a new life of joy and freedom, ultimately in heaven, but even now in the Kingdom that has already begun.

Mother Cecilia

Transformed into the image of His Love

By the grace of God, a benefactor sponsored us to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, July 6-18. In the coming months, we will share reflections and photos from this life-changing experience. Here is the first of our reflections, written by Mother Gabriella for the occasion of the Feast of the Transfiguration.

During our recent trip to the Holy Land, I had the privilege of going so many places I never even dreamed of going.  Even though I read the itinerary ahead of time, every moment seemed to be a surprise from God!

Below this icon is the Stone of the Transfiguration

One of the feasts while we were there was for St. Veronica (July 12), who has been part of my journey for many years.  Tradition tells us that she was the woman with the flow of blood for 12 years that Jesus healed, which was a very important image for me during my discernment of monastic life and even now.  On the day of her feast, we began by riding to the top of Mount Tabor to an Orthodox monastery which has a piece of the rock where Christ was transfigured.  I didn’t have a particular excitement about the trip up the mountain – be it the jet lag, lack of sleep, or generally being overwhelmed by all the holy places we had been – but as soon as we got there, many of my sisters were very moved by the experience, so I thought, maybe I should get excited to be here!

Each of the nuns was blessed to receive an icon of the Transfiguration to touch to the stone where Jesus was transfigured and as I touched my icon to the stone, I prayed, “I want to be transfigured, so my life will show the change you have worked in my heart.” And I heard immediately from the Father, “You are transfigured,” in a very knowing voice, so I trusted He would let me know what that meant.

Praying at St. Veronica's Chapel in Jerusalem

Fast forward to the end of the day back in Jerusalem, one of my sisters had expressed interest in going to the sixth station to visit the chapel dedicated to St. Veronica in honor of her feast, so we headed out through the Old City to find it.  We arrived after a several minute walk and were blessed to find the church still open!  So we went in and were able to sing her tropar (hymn) in the chapel.  We also had a deacon friend with us who chanted all three gospels of the woman with the flow of blood and we ended with some quiet time to pray.  As I sat there praying, I meditated on the gospels we had just read and imagined myself as the tassel on Christ’s garment.  I don’t normally do imaginary prayer, but since that is where the Spirit led, that is where I followed.  As the scene played out in my mind, I could feel the power of Christ move through me to St. Veronica as she was healed and I was struck with a connection between Christ and St. Veronica I had not seen before – the importance of cloth and blood.  I saw how St. Veronica came to Jesus confident that He would heal her flow of blood, if she but touch the tassel of His garment.  And I saw Jesus, approaching St. Veronica during His passion, also bleeding and in need of comfort, seeking St. Veronica to wipe His flow of blood away with her veil.

This scene moved me to also desire to comfort Him, but I had no cloth to wipe His face.  I told Jesus this desire and He spoke to my heart that He had already given me something to use – my habit.  I gave Him myself already and He gave me this cloth, which He invisibly imprints His face upon for all to see everywhere I go.  In accepting my dependence and need, in laying down my life and receiving from Him, I had something to offer back to Him – the very clothes on my back, to comfort Him.  In comforting and receiving that imprint, I became transfigured – I became the very image of Him in the world – an icon of His love.  I became an image of heaven on earth – of what our life in heaven will look like, in union with Him forever.  So I prayed that His image would become more present in me, on me, through me, making me a living transfiguration – which was exactly what He said had already happened that very morning!

So as we encounter the Transfiguration anew today, let us all ask Jesus how we can offer ourselves to Him, to be further transformed into the image of His love for the world to see.

Happy Nun Pilgrims!

"Through the Spirit..."

Happy Feast of Pentecost! All this week we celebrate the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the apostles, and we can also reflect on the work of the Holy Spirit in our own lives. Here are some beautiful words from St. Basil to help us:

"As clear, transparent substances become very bright when sunlight falls on them and shine with a new radiance, so also souls in whom the Spirit dwells, and who are enlightened by the Spirit, become spiritual themselves and a source of grace for others.

From the Spirit comes foreknowledge of the future, understanding of the mysteries of faith, insight into the hidden meaning of Scripture, and other special gifts. Through the Spirit we become citizens of heaven, we enter into eternal happiness, and abide in God. Through the Spirit we acquire a likeness to God...."

--St. Basil, "On the Holy Spirit"

To be Consoled, or to Console?

By Sr. Iliana

As Jesus hung on the cross in utter anguish, struggling for every breath, He turned to the thief crucified to His right and said, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise” (Lk 23:43). These words suddenly had deeper meaning for me when I found myself one day struggling to breathe in an emergency room. If any of you have ever struggled to breathe, you know the anxiety that this produces. I do admit I felt pretty anxious. I soon realized that I felt lonely, too, as if I had been abandoned. I hadn’t actually been abandoned, but that is how it felt. Due to a series of unforeseen events, I was there alone. The nurse who was caring for me was truly a dear, but she was a stranger to me, and I desired my loved ones to be there. Even though I knew in my mind that there was no need for them to come, my heart still desired for them to come. This is a very normal human reaction! When we’re suffering, we want to be consoled by our loved ones. We even want this when we’re not suffering. The first thing I do when I’m in a large crowd is scan the room for someone I know.

Jesus was actually abandoned by His friends. Of His twelve disciples, only John came to the foot of the cross. Peter denied Him, Judas betrayed Him, and all the others fled in sheer terror. Though His Mother was there, and a few women at a distance, His intimate friends abandoned Him as He foretold. Jesus must have felt truly abandoned. Jesus is fully human and He desires consolation just as we do.

Yet in the moment that all of humanity would most desire to be consoled, Jesus turns to the stranger at His side – the thief who had been mocking Him just moments before – and He consoles. He says, “Today you will be with me in paradise,” as if to say: “You are now as close to Me as possible. You are now a saint. You are about to be face to face with your Father who loves you. Between us is the most intimate friendship, the most intimate love.” He takes the stranger and brings him into intimate relationship with Himself, the same relationship He desires for each of us. Whereas I desired my intimate friends, Jesus makes the stranger His intimate friend.

When I was in the emergency room, I eventually stopped feeling sorry for myself, and began to talk to Kaitlyn, my nurse. She asked me to pray for her, and I was profoundly moved by our encounter. I even wondered if Jesus had allowed me to be sick just so that I could be there with Kaitlyn in that moment. Kaitlyn was a consolation to me. Imagine how much more Jesus was consoled to see the salvation of the thief at His side. The Lord wants to take us out of mere feelings and into true communion with Himself, so that in the moment of our utter darkness we can see the hand of God and be consoled – not because the darkness has now passed, but even in the midst of the darkness. The thief was still nailed to the cross in anguish when He received the greatest consolation of all – the promise of eternal life. As we face the trials of our life, as we pick up our crosses and follow Him, let us join St. Francis in praying, “Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console.”

Despair or Repentance?

In this video blog post, Sr. Natalia reflects on her own experience during this year's Great Fast and on the life of St. Mary of Egypt. When faced with our own wounds and sinfulness, what will we choose to do?

This year we commemorate St. Mary of Egypt two days in a row. April 1 is her feast day, and on the Fifth Sunday of the Great Fast (this year on April 2) the Church commemorates St. Mary of Egypt.

The Mother of God, our teacher of the Prayer of St. Ephrem

By Mother Gabriella

As we celebrate the Feast of the Annunciation, we come into contact with one of the great mysteries of our faith – the Incarnation.  God enters into time, at the consent of a virgin in Nazareth, and takes on human flesh.

As I pondered this mystery, something else that came to mind is the Prayer of St. Ephrem, a staple of the Byzantine Lenten prayer diet, which is as follows:

O Lord and Master of my life,
spare me from the spirit of indifference, despair,
lust for power, and idle chatter.

Instead, bestow on me your servant,
a spirit of integrity, humility, patience, and love.

Yes, O Lord and King, let me to see my own sins
and not judge my brothers and sisters;
for you are blessed forever and ever.  Amen.

As I was praying these words and thinking of the Theotokos at the Annunciation, I began to see just how beautiful it is to celebrate this feast in the context of Lent.  Being a lover of feasts and all things relating to St. Gabriel, I have a natural affinity for the Annunciation, but Mary wanted to take that love even deeper.  I stood in awe of her, as did my namesake, as I began to see how Mary, as the first disciple of Jesus, is our model for living out the Prayer of St. Ephrem.

 “Hail, O favored one, the Lord is with you!...Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus” (Lk 1: 28,30).  Hearing Gabriel’s exhortation, I can see what might be a bit disconcerting!  How often in my life do I hear Jesus calling me to something more and deeper, and I cringe and moan and shudder to think of it (until I finally say yes!).  Mary, hearing these words for the first time, could have fallen into any of the first sins that are named in the Prayer.  Indifference – she could have given Gabriel the cold shoulder and walked away!  How could a conception happen without a man?  Despair – she could have realized the full weight of what he was asking her, without considering the mercy and love of God, and folded under the weight of the request.  Lust for power – can you imagine what kind of prestige would come if people knew and believed she was the Mother of God?  Idle chatter – how many people could she have told about her news – the world’s greatest “gender reveal!”  But instead, she receives the angel’s request and asks only one practical question.  She does not pause in her question long enough to consider any amount of worry about the future.  She does not flippantly share about her pregnancy.

Her response embodies integrity, or wholeness of being, so much so that her “yes” cooperated directly with the power of the Holy Spirit to conceive a child – Jesus.  She accepted this invitation to motherhood with the utmost humility; she put no conditions on her acceptance, but simply offered herself to God.  She became our model of patience and love, starting with her care of Elizabeth in the hill country and ending at the foot of the Cross on the mount of Calvary.

Lastly, she exemplifies not simply introspection into faults but a proper understanding of herself before God – seeing her weaknesses and trusting perfectly in His mercy and grace at all times.  This posture of receptivity allows her to place love above judgment, loving any and all who may have been lead to judge what they did not understand regarding her pregnancy, and later, her life in service to her Son.

On this Feast of the Annunciation, let us take a moment to reflect on our own Lenten journey, in light of our beloved Theotokos and her “yes.”  How are we saying “no” to sin and “yes” to virtue during these days in the midst of our own daily "annunciations?"  What more needs to be purged before we can give ourselves, fully and without reserve, to all that Jesus is asking of us this Lent?  We place ourselves under the mantle of Mary and ask for her intercession – O Most Holy Theotokos, save us!

Sunday of the Veneration of the Cross

May we receive strength, during this mid-point of the Great Fast, from the Cross held up before us. It is a sign of suffering, but also of intimacy with Jesus and the glory of our salvation!

"Come, let us drink from the inexhaustible stream which flows from the grace of the Cross. Behold, we see exposed before our eyes, the most holy wood, the fountain flowing with grace, given by the blood and water from the side of the Lord of the universe; He was voluntarily raised upon the Cross to exalt all mortals with Him" (From the Stichera at the Praises; Matins for the Sunday of the Veneration of the Cross).

Fasting: part of every Christian’s journey toward holiness

By Mother Gabriella
As published in Horizons, the newspaper of the Eparchy of Parma, March 5, 2017.

While Byzantine Catholics are called to abstain from meat and meat byproducts during the Great Fast, many are unaware that the traditional fast also includes abstinence from the food products pictured above. The author reminds readers that the traditional fast also includes eggs, dairy, oil and wine, with a mitigation for oil and wine on weekends and certain feast days. (Photo: Laura Ieraci)

     As we begin the most strenuous of the four fasting periods in the Byzantine Catholic Church, the Great Fast, it is good to be reminded of the purpose and goal of fasting in the Eastern tradition.
     It is important to remember that what we fast from and when we fast are dictated not by our own tastes but by the typikon or rule of the church.
     During the Great Fast or Great Lent, the traditional Eastern fast outlined by the church includes abstaining from all meat and dairy products, including eggs, as well as oil and wine on weekdays, with a mitigation for oil and wine on Saturday and Sunday.
     There are a few feast days that oil and wine are also allowed, which can be found in the typikon, and there are two feast days when fish is allowed — Annunciation and Palm Sunday.
     It is necessary to remember why we fast. In the wisdom of the Church, fasting developed as a physical reminder of our primary dependence on God.
     Our fasting calls us out of ourselves and our self-sufficiency and reminds us of our utter poverty before our Heavenly Father.
     As Jesus tells us in the Gospel of St. John, “apart from me you can do nothing” (15:5).
     We see the truth of these words at the beginning of every fast in the monastery. Deprive us of our easy sources of protein and we quickly begin to get irritable and out of sorts.
     Our poverty and dependence on food become tangible as our stomachs remind us that we aren’t being filled by food in the same way.
     Even as nuns, we need this reminder, so we can begin again to surrender to our ultimate need for God to fill us — beyond a full stomach.
     It is essential to realize that fasting is not simply the work of the monks and nuns; it is implicit in each Christian’s baptismal call to holiness. That’s right — everyone is called to fast!
     The ascetical life of the Eastern Church is on a spectrum, calling each person to some degree of prayer, fasting and almsgiving, that is appropriate for his or her state in life.
     As monks and nuns, we hopefully live that witness in its fullness, offering our lives as a model for the ideal or goal of the Christian life of prayer, fasting and almsgiving.
     We pray our witness may inspire everyone also to engage more fully in the ascetical Christian life, which will lead all to a deeper union with God, beginning heaven on earth.
     A good summary of these ideas is found in these words from the Aposticha at Vespers for Monday of Cheesefare Week: “By fasting, let us strive to purify ourselves from the stain of our sins. By mercy and the love of our neighbor; by our zeal to help the needy, we shall be able to enter the bridal chamber who grants us his great mercy.”
     As you start the Great Fast, be sure to consider how you would like to incorporate fasting in your preparations for Pascha. Make a commitment to start one new fasting practice this year.
     Be sure to increase your prayer as well — fasting without prayer is just dieting! Out of that life of prayer and fasting, you will find it easier to do the acts of charity or almsgiving that we are also called to do during the Great Fast. Make sure you have all three or you won’t have a stool to sit on!
     For more information on fasting, as well as some practical dos and don’ts for how to incorporate fasting practices into your Great Fast, be sure to check out my reflections along with Father Moses of Holy Resurrection Monastery in St. Nazianz, Wisc., on our new cooking show, Eastern Hospitality.
     Go to www.easternhospitality.org and click on Episode 2:2.

The poverty of fasting

A heart-opening reflection on the pain and glory of fasting and what it's really about, by Sara Lynn

Recently, my confessor enabled me to see the root of the long litany of sins I was laying before him: self-reliance, as opposed to trust in God.  When I signed up to write a blog post to mark the beginning of the Great Fast, I had planned to write about the theological context of Lenten fasting as observed in the Eastern Church.  But as I have prayed with the self-reliance so deeply rooted in my heart, I find that none of what I had intended to write now seems important.  It was all neatly and logically arranged in my head (on which I often depend too heavily in my self-reliance), but it didn’t reach my heart—and repentance must come from the heart.  In light of the revelation of my self-reliance, my heart is moved by an awareness of my own poverty, by all the ways I try to fill myself or act from my own partial or flawed understanding.  I resist Jesus’ call to humbly consent to the experience of being needy and inadequate, waiting in trustful expectation in the midst of my own emptiness and inability.  It is precisely in this place of poverty that I find the hope that is at the heart of Lenten fasting.

In Great Lent: Journey to Pascha, Fr. Alexander Schmemann describes the interior posture of a Christian entering this holy season of repentance: “I stand before God, before the glory and the beauty of His Kingdom.  I realize that I belong to it, that I have no other home, no other joy, no other goal; I also realize that I am exiled from it into the darkness and sadness of sin.”  This is my awareness also.  And my hope—our hope—comes from the promise of our Faith, that we will not merely (merely!) share in Christ’s Resurrection, but that we will also become one with Him through theosis, totally united to God Himself in the spousal union for which we yearn in our exile.  But how do we become one with Jesus?  How are we to be healed so that we can once again live as citizens of our True Country?  Healing and redemption come through the Paschal Mystery—the Cross and Resurrection of Jesus Christ.  “If we have died with Him, we shall also live with Him” (2 Tim 2:11).  Where do we need to die so that we can be raised to new life?

For most of us, that answer involves, to some degree, our relationship with food.  The fundamental lie hiding in our often unhealthy relationship to food—and in all sin, really—is that I know what will make me happy far better than God does; that I, creature that I am, know more than my Creator.  Schmemann defines fasting as “the refusal to accept the desires and urges of our fallen nature as normal, the effort to free ourselves from the dictatorship of flesh over the spirit.”  Fasting is about submission to our creaturely inadequacy, acknowledging that we need God more than we need all other things for which we are reaching (even good things that are His gifts).

Living at the monastery begs the question: What is the point of the monastic life?  What is the merit of a life in which we are perpetually tired, surrender the freedom to satisfy our preferences, and even sacrifice our ability to love people in the ways both they and we desire?  St. Augustine explains, “You are a vessel; but as yet you are full.  Pour out what you have, so that you may receive what you do not have….”  T. S. Eliot adds, “In order to possess what you do not possess / You must go by the way of dispossession.”  As monastics, we freely and joyfully accept deprivation so that we may receive Jesus into the emptiness of our aching, waiting hearts.

For all Christians, not just monastics, fasting serves a similar purpose:  It creates space in which we touch our poverty, our utter insufficiency, and thereby open ourselves to the necessity of relying on God to fill our hearts and satisfy our needs.  Fasting must not become something that we do, part of an ego-satisfying plan of asceticism by which we plan to take heaven by storm.  Rather, it is a very effective means of becoming small and creating space for God to draw us closer to His Heart.

To be fruitful, fasting must be closely accompanied by prayer.  In our prayer, we bring to Jesus our raging desires and pour out to Him our distress at not having what we crave.  And it is precisely through the wound of our insufficiency that He enters into us, revealing the lies we have believed (such as the lie that eating that chocolate is going to ease this loneliness in my heart, or that a particular person’s affirmation is the source of my identity).  In the silence of the Lenten desert, we listen in expectation for the Voice of Love.

Fasting is not about legalistic perfection, but about letting go of ourselves in order to make room for God.  “For He has, in the last resort, nothing to give us but Himself;” says C. S. Lewis, “and He can give that only insofar as our self-affirming will retires and makes room for Him in our souls….What matters, what Heaven desires and Hell fears, is precisely that further step, out of our depth, out of our own control.” This Lent, join the Great Fast; take that further step, out of your own control (which is an illusion anyway) and discover with St. Paul that when you are weak, then you are strong (2 Cor 12:10).

"Come down!"

Today is the first pre-Lenten Sunday, the Sunday of Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus "sought to see who Jesus was" (Lk 19:3), but Jesus said to Zacchaeus, "Make haste and come down, for I must stay at your house today" (Lk 19:5). Jesus says a similar thing to each of us: "Come down! I desire more for you than having you just thinking about me; I desire a real relationship with you. I want to come into the house of your soul!" When Jesus comes into Zacchaeus' house, Zacchaeus experiences a conversion and tells Jesus what he is going to do to amend his life. Zacchaeus is willing to let go of those things that hinder his relationship with God. When we come down from our thoughts and let Jesus into the meeting place in our soul, He gives us the strength to let go of those things we cling to that prevent us from deepening our relationship with Him. He can then say to us as He said to Zacchaeus, "Salvation has come to this house today!" Let's pray for each other that we may be willing, with the haste of Zacchaeus, to "receive [Jesus] joyfully" (Lk 19:6) as we begin our preparations for the Great Fast. It is Jesus in us who will give us the strength for our Lenten journey of conversion.

A God of Longing

Happy New Year!

Here is a reflection from Mother Cecilia, published in our recent newsletter:

I recently received a letter from a friend, and in the letter my friend asked me, “If you met someone from another country who didn’t know about Jesus, how would you teach this person about Him?"  As I read the question, I had one immediate thought and one immediate feeling.  The thought was, “Why in the world is my friend asking me this question?” and the feeling was anxiety!

I don’t recall ever talking to someone who “didn’t know about Jesus,” but I know that I’ve talked to many people who don’t truly know who Jesus is.  But do I even really know Him?  I speak to others of God as Love, as One who wants to be so close to us, who wants to share in our life, but in reality, I often see Him as an unreasonably demanding God, as someone I can never please, or as a strict employer from whom I must earn my wage.

After I read the letter from my friend, I decided to come up with an answer to the question.  I was surprised at how quickly my answer came to me, as fruit of my recent reflections on the love of the Trinity.  I would tell this person about the communion of love in the Trinity—the continual outpouring of perfect love between the three persons of the Trinity—and how Jesus is the person of the Trinity who became man and took on our humanity in order to allow the divine love of the Trinity to pour into mankind, so that we can be one with this perfectly fulfilling love.

As soon as I came up with my answer, this Scripture came to my mind: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how many times I yearned to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, but you were unwilling!” (Mt 23:37 & Lk 13:34).

In these words I could see God’s deep longing for me.  He longs to hold me to Himself.  He longs for me to receive His continual outpouring of love. He longs for me to let Him be with me.

As I have prepared for the celebration of the Nativity of Our Lord, I have sought to rest in the knowledge of God’s longing for me which moved Him to completely empty Himself for me in His Incarnation.  I have reflected on my favorite Old Testament story, the Three Youths in the Fiery Furnace, and how God, in the form of an angel, came into the furnace to be with the youths, prefiguring His coming to be with us in human flesh in our suffering.

We can ask ourselves, “How would I live my life differently if I really believed in God’s longing for me and rejected the lie that I must earn His love?”  I think we would want to love Him and give our lives to Him, trusting in His ability to transform our feeble actions into something powerful.

If we truly knew Jesus, we wouldn’t be anxious about talking about Him, talking to Him, loving Him or living for Him, because He—the One who longs for us—is the One that every human heart longs to know.

Icon of the Three Youths by the hand of Mother Cecilia