Photo: The Altar

 

Spirituality: Macrina Wiederkehr in A Tree Full of Angels

For your prayer

your journey into God,
may you be given a small storm
a little hurricane
named after you, persistent enough
to get your attention
violent enough
to give you to new depths
strong enough
To shake you to the roots
majestic enough to remind you of your origin:
made of the earth
yet steeped in eternity
frail human dust
yet soaked with infinity.

Photo: Jesuits relaxing

 

Poem: from the hymn "Saint Patrick's Breastplate"

 I bind unto myself today

The virtues of the starlit heavens,
The glorius sun's lifegiving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind's tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea
Around the old eternal rocks.

Photo: Follow the Lines

 

Prayer: Nan Merrill from Meditations And Mandalas

Let us sing to the Creator of the cosmos,

to the divine power of love!
When we look at the wondrous display
of the heavens,
at the Earth with its infinite
variety of life,
Who are we that You love us, that You
rejoice in our being;
that You trust us to care for creation
in all its splendor,
inviting us to become co-creators
with You?
Let us celebrate the mystery of life!
Let us commit our lives to
the Divine Plan!

Poem: “Roses. Late Summer” by Mary Oliver

 What happens 

to the leaves after 

they turn red and gold and fall 

away? What happens 

 

to the singing birds 

when they can’t sing 

any longer? What happens 

to their quick wings? 

Do you think there is any 

personal heaven 

for any of us? 

Do you think anyone, 

 

the other side of that darkness, 

will call to us, meaning us? 

Beyond the trees 

the foxes keep teaching their children 

 

to live in the valley. 

So they never seem to vanish, they are always there 

in the blossom of light 

that stands up every morning 

 

in the dark sky. 

And over one more set of hills, along the sea, 

the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness 

 

and are giving it back to the world. 

If I had another life 

I would want to spend it all on some 

unstinting happiness. 

 

I would be a fox, or a tree           

full of waving branches. 

I wouldn’t mind being a rose 

in a field of roses. 

Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition. 

Reason they have not yet thought of. 

Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, 

and then what. 

Or any other foolish question.

Photo: Cloistered Abbey

 

Poem: Wendell Berry, Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

 …Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Photo: From Ignatius to Francis