Welcome Iranian Visitors!

I was happy to find I have had 6 visitors from Iran in the past few days. I have no idea what brought them here - maybe the cool space posts. Anyway, it was nice to have you, especially if you are Christians or curious about Christianity. The Catholic faith is no stranger. Persia was evangelized early in the history of the Church, the second century. Its first patriarch was St. Maruthas.

Notwithstanding its protestations to the contrary, the Islamic Republic of Iran persecutes its religious minorities, not least its Catholic citizens. St. Maruthas, pray for us.

Lift up the Hands that Hang Down

We all grow weary in prayer. I always feel like I'm pooping out before I get to the finish line. My mind wanders in spite of me. It seems such a waste of time. But occasionally, I will get a burst of new energy, my mind quits balking against me and clears. I can pray with intensity and focus. And I can keep quiet for a bit and let the Beloved do the talking, deep calling unto deep. It's then I know: someone has prayed for me.

It's truly humbling to know that. And it obliges me to comfort wherewith I have been comforted. So I turn to praying for others. If I don't know a specific need, I just pray in thanksgiving for their gifts and callings in the Body of Christ.

How about you? Is there someone on your mind and you don't know why? Take that person to your oratory. You might be God's instrument for his salvation that day.

Are you bugged by that priest who ad libs his way through Mass? Have you held up his hands in prayer? He may be bearing a cross you would not dream of asking for.

Prayer is the place we can fulfill our obligation to "Pursue peace with all people, and holiness, without which no one will see the Lord" - both at the same time. Thanks be to God for his manifold mercies! He actually makes it simple for us - even a bit easier when someone is holding up our hands.

Requiem for 9/11

I have labored to think of something worthy of the occasion. Angry denunciations would come so easily. It is just too sad. In such circumstances, not knowing what to do, I throw myself on the Lord and pray for mercy. I said the Office for the Dead this morning.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

Hooked on a Feeling

A dear friend once told me, "I don't go on what I'm feeling, but I like to feel what I'm going on." He was an honest man. We rely on our feelings more than we realize, certainly more than us men like to admit.

Once in prayer, I complained that though I truly loved God, I didn't feel the affection I thought I should. God seldom speaks to me in words, or perhaps the words come in data bursts too fast to be decoded now but have to be stored for a slow period later. Anyway, I had complete assurance that He had spoken. Just a tiny flash, a scintilla of light in my mind, which I later synthesized as: there doesn’t have to be an affect for there to be an effect.

So nowadays, though interiorly I long for the Lord as a deer that pants for the running stream, I don’t worry about the affections. I can be confident that Jesus will put my prayer on the Altar of Incense no matter what I’m feeling.

But I still pray for greater affection. I don't go on what I'm feeling, but I like to feel what I'm going on.