Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

Exaltation of the Cross, Russian icon

Some time ago I read Anthony Esolen's commentary in Magnificat about the elevation of the cross from the point of view of an English monk's meditation written in the Middle Ages from the point of view of the cross itself. It has haunted me, in a good way I hasten to add, as I would come upon small annoyances and inconveniences and then remember the image of the young Hero as a warrior striding toward the cross. Shame on me if I do not at least attempt to match that valiant attitude.

For it is not a shy and effeminate Jesus, this Savior of ours, the Healer, the Chieftain. No courageous German could respect a man who did not fight. And will Christ own us, if we do not fight for him? The poet dares to make us see Calvary in a way that we are not used to -- but in a way that is right and just nevertheless. Says the cross:

Then the young Hero ungirt himself -- that was God almighty,
strong, stiff-willed, and strode to the gallows,
climbed stout-hearted in the sight of many; intended to set men free.

Yes, Jesus sweated blood in Gethsemane. But he took the cross to himself, suggests our poet, as eagerly as the warrior takes the battlefield, or the bridegroom takes the bride. He needs no armor here. He strips himself, he climbs. And though it all the cross, as the first and most loyal follower of the Chieftain, stands firm; trembles, but does not bow; is drenched with blood and driven through with the same spikes that pierce the body of Christ. 

Applying this to my daily life with its small and petty sacrifices, this helps immeasurably when I am reminding myself that my time is not really my own, that making a meal for a friend in need takes priority over my previous plans, and that even such a small thing is a step toward becoming a warrior in the young Hero's footsteps. It is surprising how contented one can be when embracing the cross with such an example.

This commentary is from 2008 and I repeat it here because it did me good to read it this morning. And I put the whole poem on the blog this morning so you can take it all in.

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St. John Damascene is quoted in today's reading from In Conversation with God and it hit me between the eyes.

The Cross is a shield against the devil as well as a trophy of victory. it is the promise that we will not be overcome by the Angel of Death (Exod 9:12). The Cross is God's instrument to lift up those who have fallen and to support those still on their feet fighting. It is a crutch for the crippled and a guide for the wayward. It is our constant goal as we advance, the very wellspring of our body and soul. It drives away all evils, annihilates sin and draws down for us abundant goods. This is indeed the seed of the Resurrection and the tree of eternal life.

This is an attitude I must work more toward having. Author Francis Fernandez continues:

The Cross is present in our lives in different ways. It may be manifest through sickness, poverty, tiredness, pain, scorn, or loneliness. Today in our prayer we can examine our habitual disposition on coming face to face with the Cross. though hard to bear at times, the encounter with it can become a source of purification, Life, and joy if it is embraced with love. Embracing the Cross should lead us never to complain when confronting difficulties and even to thank God for the failures, suffering, and setbacks that purify us. Such adversities should be additional occasions for drawing us closer to God.

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I like this commentary also, which I posted a few years ago, from Word Among Us, which comments upon the strangeness of the feast and the fact that we are reading about poisonous serpents. Good stuff.

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This is short, but good. And says it all.

LITANY OF THE CROSS

The cross is the hope of Christians.

The cross is the resurrection of the dead.

The cross is the way of the lost.

The cross is the saviour of the lost.

The cross is the staff of the lame.

The cross is the guide of the blind.

The cross is the strength of the weak.

The cross is the doctor of the sick.

The cross is the aim of the priests.

The cross is the hope of the hopeless.

The cross is the freedom of the slaves.

The cross is the power of the kings.

The cross is the water of the seeds.

The cross is the consolation of the bondsmen.

The cross is the source of those who seek water.

The cross is the cloth of the naked.

We thank you, Father, for the cross.

Dream of the Holy Rood, translated by Anthony Esolen

I am not a poetry lover but this might be my favorite poem of the few I do like. I just love it. As today is the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, it seems a good time to publish it.

"Rood" means rod or, in this case, crucifix. This is one of the oldest works of Old English literature and is an example of dream poetry. I love that category - dream poetry. 

This translation is not easy to find and I long ago copied it into my quote journal. The place where I found it years ago isn't available anymore to general access.

Listen! When lapped in rest lay all who speak,
to me in a vision in the middle of the night
came the choicest of dreams, as I wish to recount.
Seemed to me that I saw one most splendid tree
arise into the air enwound with light,
beam-brightest, a beacon all beglazed with gold
showered upon it, with shimmering jewels
(like the five that shone up on the shoulder-span)
at its foot, on the earth — no felon's gallows, that,
but made lovely by the fore-shaping of the Lord of the hosts
who beheld it there, the hallowed, the angels,
with men the world over, and all this marvelous creation.

Wondrous was the victory-wood, and I, wounded with sins,
gashed, stained by guilt. I saw the tree of glory
robed in reverence and rays of joy,
garbed all in gold, with goodly gems
like the wrapping of lacework to honor the Ruler's tree.
Yet through that gold I glimpsed the grievous strife
endured by doomed men of old, as drops of blood sweat
from the strong side, the heart's side. With sorrow was I stirred,
shook before that sight so fair, for I saw that shimmering sign
change color and cloth, now clotted with the wet,
drenched in the running blood; now decked out in treasure.

Still I lay there a long while, beheld
raw-hearted with cares, the Healer's tree,
sign of the Savior, till I heard it speak out;
the best of all wood with these words began:

"It was years ago — as I yet call to mind —
when I was hewn down at the holt's end,
stripped up from my roots. Strong men seized me, men of hate,
carved me into a spectacle, commanded me to carry their criminals;
enemies enough bore me on their shoulders till on the bald mount they
set me,
planted me fast. Then I saw, full of heart,
mankind's Master make haste that he might climb upon me.
Then I dared not, against the dread Chieftain's words,
bend or break, when I beheld the ground trembling;
could have felled all those foes beneath,
struck them down, but I stood fast.

"Then the young Hero ungirt himself — that was God almighty —
strong, stiff-willed, and strode to the gallows,
climbed stout-hearted in the sight of many; intended to set men free.
I trembled when the bold Warrior embraced me, yet I dared not bend to
the earth,
fall to the ground for fear; to stand fast was my duty.
A rood was I reared up, bore the rich King,
the Guardian of heaven; I dared not give in.
They drove me through with dark spikes, deep wounds could be seen upon
me,
open envy-thrusts, yet not a one of them dared I harm.
They mocked us both together. I was bedrenched with blood
spilled from the side of the Man as he sent up his spirit.
On that mount I endured many agonies,
words of wrath, saw racked in pain
the God of hosts. Then a gloom fell
and clouds shrouded the corpse of the all-Wielder,
its shimmering sheen; a shadow went forth,
wan, under the clouds. Then all God's creatures wept,
lamented the King's fall: Christ was on the cross.

"Nevertheless from afar to the noble Earl
eager men hastened; I beheld it all.
Stirred I was with deep sorrows, still I bowed to the men's hands,
humbly, brave of heart. Then from the heavy torments they took him,
bore away almighty God. The battle-grooms abandoned me there,
standing spike-pierced and spattered with blood.
They led him, limb-weary, away; beheld the Lord of heaven,
stood by his body, at his head, as, tired after the great strife,
he lay to rest awhile. Then they wrought for him an earth-house,
fighting men, in sight of the killer, carved it of bright stone,
laid in it the Lord of victories. A lay of sorrow they sang him,
grieving, as evening fell. From the glorious Prince they now parted,
wearily; there he rested, few of his band of warriors near.
But we three crosses wept for a good while, standing
where we had been set, as the song went up
from the bravers of battle. The body cooled,
fair fortress of life. Then felled were we all
to the hard earth — a horrible fate!
They dug us a deep pit; but the dear thanes of the Lord,
his friends sought me out and found where I was buried,
and girt me thereafter in gold and silver.

"Now, my good man, you may hear tell
that I have borne bale-dwellers' deeds,
terrible troubles. Now the time has come
that I am honored from east to west
by men the world over and by all this marvelous creation,
beseeching this beacon in prayer. On me the brave Son of God
suffered awhile; therefore wondrous I now
tower high beneath the heavens, and have the might to heal
any man of them all who meets me with awe.
I had been hewn once as the hardest of torments,
most loathsome to men, till I lay clear
the right road of life for the race of mankind.
Listen! The Ancient of glory exalted me then
over all the wood of the forest, the Watcher of heaven's kingdom,
as he did once for his mother, Mary herself,
almighty God, for the good of all men,
granting her worth above all womankind.

"Now, my dear man, this duty I give you,
that you say to men what you have seen tonight,
unwind in words that it is the wood of glory,
the same that almighty God suffered upon
for mankind's many sins
and for Adam's ancient deed.
Death's fruit Adam tasted; but after him the Lord
rose in his great might for man's salvation.
Then he ascended to the heavens. Here he will come again
to this middle-garden to seek mankind
on the day of doom, the dread Lord himself,
amidst his angels, almighty God,
intending then to judge, for the power of judgement is his,
what every man will have earned for himself,
living here in this lean short life.
There may no man remain unafraid
of whatever word the all-Wielder shall utter;
he shall seek among the many where that man should be
who would willingly die for the name of his Lord,
taste the same bitter death he once endured on the tree.
But no man then shall need to fear
who bears in his breast the best of signs,
for he shall come, through the cross, to that kingdom he seeks,
every soul from the earth-way,
who longs to dwell with the Lord almighty."

Light-spirited then I turned to the tree in prayer,
full of heart, bold, where with few fellows
I lay alone. Leaned my mind now,
made eager for the forth-way, for it had felt many
a longing-hour. It is now my life's joy
that I may try to seek the tree of triumph
once more often than all other men,
to honor it well; my will to do that
burns warm in my heart, and my hope, my salvation is
turned right to the Cross.
For I cannot boast
of rich friends on the earth, but forth have they gone,
fled the world's joys, wished to find the King of glory,
are home now in heaven with the High Father,
dwelling in glory, and every day I look
forth for that time when the tree of the Lord,
which here on earth I have once beheld,
shall lead me away from this lean short life
and bring me where the bliss is great,
the joys of heaven, where joined for the feast
sit the folk of the Lord, and bliss is forever,
and seat me then where ever thereafter
I may dwell in glory, delighting in joys
with the holy saints. Let him who on earth
suffered once for the sins of men
on the felon's wood be a friend to me,
for he loosed our bonds, gave us life again,
a heavenly home. Hope was made new,
with blessings and bliss for those who had burned in the fire;
the Son on that journey stood victory-fast,
mighty, triumphant, when amain with a host
of spirits he came to the kingdom of God,
the one-Wielder almighty, for his angels' joy
and the happiness of all the hallows who in heaven already
had been dwelling in glory, when God almighty,
their Lord, returned to his land, his home.

In the original formatting except for where a bit of punctuation didn't translate and I was left to guess what the unicode was replacing. My guess — an "em" dash.

Saint John Chrysostom's Feast Day

A  mosaic of John Chrysostom
from the Hagia Sophia

Chrysostom is a nickname meaning "the golden tongued" because he was so eloquent. He is a real source of inspiration for me. He has wonderful turns of phrase and examples. In his honor for his feast day, let's get a sample with this bit from one of his most famous homilies. It's something that puts heart into us, stiffens our backs, and reminds us of the bigger reality.

The waters have risen and severe storms are upon us, but we do not fear drowning, for we stand firmly upon a rock. Let the sea rage, it cannot break the rock. Let the waves rise, they cannot sink the boat of Jesus. What are we to fear? Death? Life to me means Christ, and death is gain. Exile? The earth and its fullness belong to the Lord. The confiscation of goods? We brought nothing into this world, and we shall surely take nothing from it. I have only contempt for the world’s threats, I find its blessings laughable. I have no fear of poverty, no desire for wealth. I am not afraid of death nor do I long to live, except for your good. I concentrate therefore on the present situation, and I urge you, my friends, to have confidence.

September 11: Still We Mourn

The northeast face of Two World Trade Center (south tower) after being struck by plane in the south face. Via Wikipedia

 It still hurts. I guess this date will hurt until the day I die. It feels even more personal after having visited the Flight 93 Memorial a few years ago.

These say what still is in my heart:

• Captain Daniel O'Callaghan: Have Mercy on Me Now and at the Hour of My Death. Amen.
  
  
• 9/11, Our Choices and Making a Stand
  
  
• John Paul II's general audience, the day after September 11, 2001, addressed to the American people.
  
  
• September 11: Our Memories and Our Determination
  
  
• Remembering the tragic, sudden, and violent loss of 2,996 innocent Americans
  
  
• The Only Plane in the Sky: An Oral History of 9/11 - an excellent book. By presenting people's experiences in chronological order, with no other commentary other than that needed to place a context for orientation, this is that unusual creation - an unbiased history.

Piece of Flight 93 fuselage found at crash site
Via Wikipedia

Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette

Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette, 1876, Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Lagniappe: Everyone She Didn't Trust

She started drawing up a mental list of everyone she didn't trust, and had to stop immediately. She didn't have all day.

Mick Herron, Dead Lions

You won't be sorry to try Mick Herron's spy novels. So very funny.

St. Peter Claver's Memorial

Peter Claver was born of a distinguished family in Catalonia, Spain. He became a Jesuit in 1604, and left for Colombia in 1610, dedicating himself to the service of black slaves. For thirty-three years he ministered to slaves, caring for the sick and dying, and instructing the slaves through catechists. Through his efforts three hundred thousand souls entered the Church.

Catholic Culture

I have loved Peter Claver from the first time I read about him. The brief description above doesn't do justice to his heroic efforts: going to the slave ships with water, medicine, food, and clothing; working and living among slaves on plantations in order to minister to them; ministering to all levels of society in Cartagena from the wealthy to Muslims to criminals.

Take a few minutes and read more about this saint who shows the extraordinary difference that ordinary people can make when they follow God's promptings.

Here is part of a letter that St. Peter Claver wrote describing his ministries, as quoted in the Liturgy of the Hours.

Yesterday, May 30, 1627, on the feast of the Most Holy Trinity, numerous blacks, brought from the rivers of Africa, disembarked from a large ship. Carrying two baskets of oranges, lemons, sweet biscuits, and I know not what else, we hurried toward them. When we approached their quarters, we thought we were entering another Guinea. We had to force our way through the crowd until we reached the sick. Large numbers of the sick were lying on the wet ground or rather in puddles of mud. To prevent excessive dampness, someone had thought of building up a mound with a mixture of tiles and broken pieces of bricks. This, then, was their couch, a very uncomfortable one not only for that reason, but especially because they were naked, without any clothing to protect them.

We laid aside our cloaks, therefore, and brought from a warehouse whatever was handy to build a platform. In that way we covered a space to which we at last transferred the sick, by forcing a passage through bands of slaves. Then we divided the sick into two groups: one group my companion approached with an interpreter, while I addressed the other group. There were two blacks, nearer death than life, already cold, whose pulse could scarcely be detected. With the help of a tile we pulled some live coals together and placed them in the middle near the dying men. Into this fire we tossed aromatics. Of these we had two wallets full, and we used them all up on this occasion. Then, using our own cloaks, for they had nothing of this sort, and to ask the owners for others would have been a waste of words, we provided for them a smoke treatment, by which they seemed to recover their warmth and the breath of life. The joy in their eyes as they looked at us was something to see.

This was how we spoke to them, not with words but with our hands and our actions. And in fact, convinced as they were that they had been brought here to be eaten, any other language would have proved utterly useless. Then we sat, or rather knelt, beside them and bathed their faces and bodies with wine. We made every effort to encourage them with friendly gestures and displayed in their presence the emotions which somehow naturally tend to hearten the sick.

After this we began an elementary instruction about baptism, that is, the wonderful effects of the sacrament on body and soul. When by their answers to our questions they showed they had sufficiently understood this, we went on to a more extensive instruction, namely, about the one God, who rewards and punishes each one according to his merit, and the rest. We asked them to make an act of contrition and to manifest their detestation of their sins. Finally, when they appeared sufficiently prepared, we declared to them the mysteries of the Trinity, the Incarnation and the Passion. Showing them Christ fastened to the cross, as he is depicted on the baptismal font on which streams of blood flow down from his wounds, we led them in reciting an act of contrition in their own language.

COLLECT

O God, who made Saint Peter Claver a slave of slaves
and strenghtened him with wonderful charity and patience
as he came to their help,
grant, through his intercession,
that, seeking the things of Jesus Christ,
we may love our neighbor in deeds and in truth.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Young Girl with a Bouquet of Tulips

Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Young Girl with a Bouquet of Tulips, c. 1878
via Arts Everyday Living

Isn't it interesting that everything in this painting is fairly ethereal except the hat which is much more realistically drawn? And it is the hat that made me love this painting.

Article 7 by D.L. Gray

I was intrigued by the premise of the book — what happens when someone stops showing up for work and no one looks for them? And when someone is asked to look, this person doesn't seem to have existed.

People come to the seven o'clock Mass for the same basic reason they come to a private detective. Something has gone missing, and they've run out of places to look.

I work at both counters. Have been there for ten years now. Weekday mornings I open St. Joseph's — unlock the doors, light the lamps, lay out the vestments, serve the seven o'clock at Fr. Toner's elbow — then put in an hour on the books of the orphanage out back, and by nine-thirty I'm at a desk over on Detroit Avenue with the other ledger open, skip tracing a man who owes child support in three counties. I used to think the two jobs would fight each other. They never have. They're doing the same job at different pay scales, and only one of them has a pension, and it isn't the one you'd guess.

Then I was hooked by these two opening paragraphs. Which I read to my household so they could also see what a great start this book has.

I was genuinely startled several times as the plot took unexpected twists. The way the book is written invites the reader to do their own thinking, by interpreting a turn of phrase or situation. And that's why I was startled. I got there about the same time as the detective, Brock, on my own. I will say, that for a little while, I was wondering if there was a science fiction angle to the story. It's how I roll — genre mash-up anyone? Not actually, as it turns out, but it was fun to be reading something that could logically veer off in any direction like that. As I say, I hadn't a clue as to where it was going until I was far into the story.

Brock has a background in accounting and he writes his cases down in ledgers so he can see what matches up and where there are holes for a mystery to be investigated. He's also a member of an 800 year old order that is dedicated to caring for widows and orphans, a few of which we see in this book. As he says above, all these things overlap. A few of the mysteries are left open for now, most notably in the area of Brock's personal relationships.

This is D.L. Gray's first novel and it does show a little, but never enough to throw the reader off the track of a very exciting, intriguing story. There are going to be 13 books in the series and I'm really looking forward to reading them all.

As an added note, I was touched by the author's donation of a dollar from each copy to the Society of St. Vincent de Paul of Cleveland. Each conference for SVdP has it's own personality as they carry out their vocation. In Cleveland they must take care of the homeless. Here in Dallas we pay for rent, utilities and food. But each conference, everywhere around the world, sees the people in need as neighbors who can show us the face of Christ. Vincentians go on home visits so they can meet the people being helped. And this book is about seeing people for who they really are, about not letting your eyes pass over them. It's a lovely application of the SVdP vocation in mystery/thriller form.

This film inspired Julie and Scott to start a Ramones tribute band. It has taken weeks for Julie to put sequins on all the outfits.

 In episode 387 of A Good Story is Hard to Find, Scott and I discuss Song Sung Blue starring Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson

Feast of the Nativity of Mary

Via The Deacon's Bench

Responsory Prayer from today's readings

Let us celebrate today, with great devotion, the birth of Mary, the every-virgin Mother of God, whose virtues shed light upon the Church throughout the world.

Let us glorify Christ with heart and soul on this feast of Mary, the noble Mother of God, whose virtues shed light upon the Church throughout the world.

More about this feast day and the symbols, customs, and activities associated with it can be found at Catholic Culture.

The Birth of the Virgin Mary by Alessandro Turchi, c. 1631-1635
Via J.R.'s Art Place

Chrysanthemums

Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Chrysanthemums

A Movie You Might Have Missed #105 — Song Sung Blue

Based on a true story, two down-on-their-luck musicians form a joyous Neil Diamond tribute band, proving it’s never too late to find love and follow your dreams.

I didn't realize how many Neil Diamond songs I heard on the radio when I was growing up. Evidently it was practically all of them since I knew the words to every one sung in this charming, easy to watch movie.

Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson have never been more appealing. Hudson portrays a depth I've not seen her called on to show. No wonder this earned her an Oscar nomination for Best Actress.

I'd never encountered before the motivations of people who put on these sorts of shows. This movie also shows us people who must be involved in music to thrive, be they dentists, mechanics, or tour guide. They know they won't be famous or even probably make money but it is in the doing that they find fulfillment.

This is the sort of little movie that you don't see too often these days. Like Thelma, The Dish, Shower, and The Castle, this has earned a place in our pool room.

Excellent performances all round and a great script that never showed us a gun in the first act without firing it in the third. Plus - I knew every song.

Among the Pines

Amongst the Pines (1915). Stanhope Alexander Forbes (Irish, 1857-1947).

Is everyone having a good Labor Day? This looks like the perfect activity and I hope that we all are able to enjoy a picnic or good book.

I feel as if I'm there with the dappled light on the page, the earth beneath me as I lie reading....