Talk about Easter joy...

... again, via Jen.

Ave, Jen! Ruminations on trust.

How much am I loving Easter Octave? About 5 lbs. of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups much.

And Jen Fulwiler's "7 Habits of People Who Place Radical Trust in God" is a perfect companion to my Easter chocolate. ("Mmmm. Munch, munch, Lord. How can I, gulp, trust thee more? Lip smack."

This is one of my favorite blog posts ever. She takes five--or six, counting Mother Teresa--biographies of holy men and women who exude trust in God and distills for us seven sort of trademarks of trust. What does it mean to trust in him.

The first one kicked my pants:

1. They accept suffering. Yessir. Radical trust means being undismayed by the aches and groans of Brother Ass (St. Francis's fond nickname for his body). Their focus is the prize, the crown at the end of the race. Their concern is union with God, not release from pain.

2. They accept the inevitability of death. She mentions The Shadow of His Wings, one of my favorite reads from this past Lent. Why was this priest spared when so many died (a question Pope John Paul II asked himself throughout World War II)? Note: Not so that he could enjoy a long, successful, pain-free life. He survived to serve God more before he was taken home to heaven. Again, eyes on the prize.

3. They have daily appointments with God. After reading this post, I actually remembered to say my Office for the first time in a week. Oh, yes. It is easier to trust someone with whom you are in regular contact!

4. In prayer, they listen more than they talk. Yes.

5. They limit distractions. Jen writes: "Far too accessible to the demands and pressures of the moment. That line has haunted me ever since I read it. I love technology, but it does come with a huge temptation to feel a general increase in urgency in our lives: I have to reply to that email! Respond to that comment on my wall on Facebook! Ret-tweet that tweet! Read that direct message! Listen to that voicemail! Here in the connected age, we are constantly bombarded with demands on our attention. Periods of silence, where we can cultivate inner stillness and wait for the promptings of the Holy Spirit, are increasingly rare." This made me so sad when I read it. Yes, I have been losing those moments of silence. I can blame it on the kids and be frustrated, or I can receive what little quiet time I have as an opportunity to be silent.

6. They submit their discernment to others. If we really believe God speaks to us through others, we might try submitting once in a while. I know that leaning on the advice and wisdom of my husband and friends and parents has always born fruit. It's so easy for me to give advice to others: the solution seems clear to me, being on the outside. It works the other way around to: Sometimes others, especially those who love me, can see my life so much more clearly from the outside than I do from within.

7. They offer the Lord their complete, unhesitating obedience. I think of Peter and Andrew who left their nets at once. Let it be so in me.

This list is going up on my fridge. Thanks, Jen!

Pascha!

Surrexit Christus, Alleluia!

O filii et filiæ

Rex cælestis, Rex gloriæ

Morte surrexit hodie.

Alleluia.

Stations XIII and XIV: Jesus is taken down and laid in the tomb.

This is the final part of a series of posts on the Stations of the Cross. Here are Stations I and IIand III and IV and Vand VI and VII and VIII andIX and X and XI and XII.

Station XIII: Jesus is taken down from the cross and laid in the arms of his mother.

"Now I will lie down in peace and sleep comes at once."

"My body shall rest in hope."

Station XIV: Jesus rests in the tomb.

"He descended into Hell."

"Something strange is happening – there is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and he has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear.
He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, he who is both God and the son of Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the cross, the weapon that had won him the victory. At the sight of him Adam, the first man he had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone: “My Lord be with you all.” Christ answered him: “And with your spirit.” He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.” " ~from an ancient homily, Office of Readings on Holy Saturday

Station XII: Jesus dies.

This is part ten of a series of posts on theStations of the Cross. Here are Stations I and IIand III and IV and Vand VI and VII and VIII and IX and X and XI.

Station XII: Jesus dies on the cross.

"It is finished."

"Where has God gone?" he cried. "I shall tell you. We have killed him - you and I. We are his murderers. But how have we done this? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What did we do when we unchained the earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving now? Away from all suns? Are we not perpetually falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there any up or down left? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is it not more and more night coming on all the time? Must not lanterns be lit in the morning? Do we not hear anything yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we not smell anything yet of God's decomposition? Gods too decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, murderers of all murderers, console ourselves? That which was the holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet possessed has bled to death under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? With what water could we purify ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we need to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we not ourselves become gods simply to be worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whosoever shall be born after us - for the sake of this deed he shall be part of a higher history than all history hitherto." ~Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science

Nietzsche regards himself as a prophet, heralding the rise of man. The death of God is a mighty deed, a definitive moment. It is definitive, but it is not our rising.

Oh, Nietzsche: Though we slay God endlessly (modern man is no great revolutionary--we have always killed God), still we look for him. We mourn for him "as for an only son." We look into the abyss and pray that you, dear Friedrich, were wrong.

Good Friday 2011

Hagios O Theos, Hagios ichyros,

Hagios athanatos eleison himas.

Holy is God, Holy and Strong,

Holy Immortal One , have mercy on us.

Station XI: Jesus is nailed to the cross.

This is part ten of a series of posts on theStations of the Cross. Here are Stations I and IIand III and IV and Vand VI and VII and VIII and IX and X.

Station XI: Jesus is nailed to the cross.

Stretched out, naked, on the bare wood. His hands held down so that he cannot jerk them away as the hammer falls. The nails drive deep through his flesh and nerves. He will not come down from this wood alive.

This is my God. This is my All. The only meaning behind any Beauty, the only reality behind any words. Stretched out and quivering in pain, nailed to rough wood.

At this station, my lethargy and disinterest vanish like the snow. I am all wound inside: "My God, my God, what have I done?"

He turns his head, gasping, and whispers, "Can you drink the cup of which I shall drink?" And the soldiers raise him high.