Monday, 23 September 2024

"Just for Today"

  Lord, for tomorrow and its needs I do not pray.                                                                     Keep me my God from stain of sin, just for today.

 Let me both diligently work and duly pray.                                                                             Let me be kind in word and deed, just for today.

Let me be slow to do my will, prompt to obey;                                                                 Help Help me to mortify my flesh, just for today.

Let me no wrong or idle word unthinking say.                                                                        Set thou a seal upon my lips, just for today.

Let me in season Lord, be grave, in season gay,                                                                      Let me be faithful to thy grace. 

And if today my tide of life should ebb away,                                                                     Give me, sweet Lord, thy sacraments divine.

So for tomorrow and its needs I do not pray,                                                                             But keep me, guide me, love me Lord, just for today.

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by Sister Mary Xavier 1856 - 1917.                                                                                       Nun. Family name, Partridge, Sibyl 

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 I used to sing this hymn as a boy soprano and I have returned to it, now that I am in my eighty third year. As a prayer, it is simple, direct, and to the point, and wholly apt in the contentious age in which we live.

Cormac


Saturday, 30 March 2024

EASTER EVE

 

EASTER EVE

Waiting with Patience

After Jesus is dead his followers do not realize that they are waiting. After all, what else is there to wait for? Perhaps they feel that they are waiting for their own pain to diminish, their own sense of loss and bereavement. Only time can do that, but the leaden hours go so slowly to the recently bereaved. Jesus’ followers are sharing that experience with all who have lost loved ones.

What exactly is Jesus doing in this strange twilight time between Friday afternoon and resurrection day on Sunday? What is happening in the cool darkness of the tomb? What is the point of this strange lull? Why does God not raise Jesus from the dead at once, in immediate repudiation of the power of death to hold on to the beloved Son of God?

This waiting between Good Friday and Easter Day confirms the reality of Jesus’ death. He does not temporarily faint, and revive, a few hours later. He genuinely lies in the grave, dead. Whatever they thought he was doing, with their help, is over. In the days after the crucifixion, they go over and over in their heads all that they have seen and heard of Jesus, trying to make sense of it. By the time they meet the risen Jesus, they no longer expect the wild revolutionary excitement of the years of Jesus’ early ministry. They know that they have got it wrong before, and they wait this time to hear what Jesus has to tell them. They wait to get their instructions. The disciples who meet the risen Jesus seem a much quieter, more sober group of people. Waiting has taught them patience.

They had thought that they were vital to Jesus’ enterprise, but now they suspect that, since they don’t actually have a clue what is going on, they can’t be as important as they originally thought. Conversations between Jesus and the disciples before the crucifixion are generally characterised by a great deal of baffled questioning, but after the resurrection, the disciples are much more silent and awed. God has done something extraordinary, without any help from them at all. Perhaps they are no longer necessary.

Waiting is one of the most difficult tasks we have to face, because it makes us feel so helpless. In most areas of our lives, we are used to being able to make decisions and choices that will make things happen for us. Our day-to-day lives are so full of things to be done, that we imagine it would be lovely to have a period of waiting, where things are ta ken out of our hands and there is nothing we can do.

But when we are actually presented with a situation where the only thig we can do is wait, we find it intensely difficult. When we, or someone we love is ill, there is a lot of waiting – in hospital rooms, waiting for test results, waiting to see if treatment works. This kind of waiting is almost unvearable, because all our choice is taken away. We cannot make things happen by our energy or force of will. This painful waiting is a hard lesson in reality. Facing what cannot be changed is part of the world. Sometimes we wriggle or negotiate things round the way we want them to be, and then to stand and wait is indeed the only service we can give. It is a service to reality and so to ourselves.

In the early days of the Christian Church, St. Paul gets quite cross with the people who think they know everything about the faith, and are not prepared to wait and learn and be fed by the experience of others. He says they are like babies, still only capable of digesting milk. They have to be patient. (1 Corinthians 3:1-3)

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By Jane Williams

Taken from – The Little Book of Lent compiled by Canon Arthur Howells