Rembrandt, “The Three Trees”, 1643
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“But when he saw the crowds, he was moved with compassion…“
—Matthew 9:36
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What we can never do
What we can never say
What we can never express:
Love
Pure Love
Melted into a single drop of His blood…
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“And Jesus uttered a loud cry, and breathed His last.”
—Mark 15:37
Rembrandt, “The Three Crosses”, 1653
….
—Howard Hain
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Cima da Conegliano, “God the Father”, c.1515
How sweet to my taste is your promise!
—Psalm 119:103a
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We all know well that we often need to be patient. In fact, we always need to practice patience.
We pray, we ask, and most times we need to wait. Waiting in faith on God.
We continually need to be reminded that God always hears us and always answers, always—just not always according to what we think best.
God answers in a perfect manner: He answers with what will best nourish our growth into salvation at that current moment in our particular journey toward Eternity.
Sometimes though the waiting is on the other side. Sometimes God is waiting on us. For God showers us with so many blessings, with so much grace—and at the same time He gifts our nature with free will—the freedom to accept or reject: to say “yes”, “no”, or “maybe so”.
These “circumstances” quite often result in a “backlog” of grace. Not that God ever runs dry or is stingy in dishing it out. No, of course not, the “backlog” is caused by us, when we do not properly use our free will to accept what God offers. And God, being pure kindness, in His perfect love honors our choice. He is patient with us. He waits.
We need to receive what He has already offered, previously sent, and is still pouring out upon us, before additional grace and blessings could possibly do us good.
God of course could make us instantly receive and utilize all the gifts that He offers. God can do anything. But He loves us so much that He wants us to participate and cooperate with Him, to co-labor, and doesn’t that make sense?
For when you love someone you want him or her to receive the maximum blessing, the maximum peace, the maximum joy that he or she can possibly receive. And God by not forcing Himself or His gifts upon us, is giving us just that opportunity—the opportunity to be part of His victory.
Put is this way, is it more fun to go to a victory celebration for someone you watched win from afar, or is more joyous to be part of the victory itself, to have actually contributed to the very victory that is being celebrated?
Participation always enhances.
God allows us to participate. It is one of the greatest signs of His love. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life. (John 3:16) And God allows us to share in that very sacrifice, that very victory over death itself.
But of course with participation comes some sweat, some effort, some trials, some moments of stepping into uncomfortable spaces—sometimes some extremely uncomfortable and painful circumstances. But be not afraid:
For those who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God.
For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you received a spirit of adoption, through which we cry, “Abba, Father!”
The Spirit itself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God,
and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if only we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him. (Romans 8:14-17)
———
So the next time we are about to ask something of God, perhaps each one of us should consider this: Maybe we should first ask for the grace to fully receive the blessings, the love, the mercy, the grace that He has already sent our way but that we have not yet fully accepted or received.
For when we fully receive, we always end up surprised—supernaturally surprised at just how much God has already done!
He is not only a step ahead of us, He is eternally with us.
God is great.
He pours down blessings.
The Blood of Christ is powerful beyond our capacity to understand.
His promises are so real that they are currently being fulfilled—for they are always being spoken—and what God speaks He does.
Ask. Ask God, then. Ask the Holy Spirit to teach us how to receive—how to graciously receive—and we’ll find that we also learn how to generously give.
———
Lord, may I receive the grace to receive your blessings: The grace to receive your grace.
May I be in a pure state of receptivity.
May I be purely passive within Your perfect presence—knowing that only then can I be effectively active—knowing that You are in complete control and have everything, every detail, perfectly worked out.
Help my unbelief!
Increase my love!
Deepen my trust in You, Triune God.
Thank You, Lord, for what You have already sent my way: The promise of eternal life, of permanent peace and joy, of love. Pure Love. Pure Perpetual Love.
Thank You for the gift of faith. The gift of prayer. The gift of Hope—Hope not only in eternal life but in the promise that You will always provide the help and assistance I need to reach eternal life and to do Your will while I travel through this world—a world in which I am a stranger—a pilgrim stretching forward, ever heading home.
May I practice profound gratitude by simply saying, “Yes”,
by simply saying, “Amen”,
by simply saying, “So be it.”
I do receive. I do accept.
And I do say, “Thank You, God.”
You are great.
I love You too.
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—Howard Hain
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William-Adolphe Bouguereau, “Song of the Angels”, 1881 (detail)
…like newborn infants, long for pure spiritual milk
so that through it you may grow into salvation…
—1 Peter 2:2
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A woman’s worth is measured by the love she bears for the Child Jesus residing within the person nearest to her.
She is priceless who beholds Jesus in each and every child—who sees all humanity as a child.
For the Mother of God holds each and every human being as if each and every one of us is the Son of God.
May we all see that woman in our life.
And may we all encourage every woman we encounter to nurture this divine gift—a gift held within the immaculate core of each and every instance of Mary’s Immaculate Heart:
The dignity of being God’s beloved daughter.
———
Just yesterday morning, I saw such a woman in the bakery. She told me of her own mother’s recent death. She spoke so lovingly, so faithfully. Her face was aglow. I felt such joy, such happiness, such hope in the promise of eternal life.
She handed me a prayer card from the funeral parlor. And there atop the rear side of the card—on the corresponding back chamber of the image of Jesus’ Most Sacred Heart gracing the front—I saw the face of a small delicate woman. A ninety-two-year-old beautiful little girl.
A recent photograph, I was told. And yet, it was ageless:
Holy Simplicity.
The Wisdom of God.
The “uneducated” schooled in the school of the divine.
———
She told me how blessed she was to be able to see her mother before she passed away. She traveled from New Jersey out to California to be with her. She said there was so much love, the presence of family, so much peace. The grace of a peaceful death. But then my friend showed a moment of remorse. She was not there at the exact moment of her mother’s death. She was already on a plane heading back to New Jersey when her dear mother departed for our one shared eternal home.
I thought of the Cross. The shape written in the sky. The plane speeding across a blue sea of crisp unpolluted air, leaving in its wake a white horizontal beam—while her mother’s soul ascends up toward heaven, slicing through her daughter’s path and adding to the celestial landscape—the vertical post of Christ’s Sacred Sign.
Life and death. Birth and rebirth. Time and eternity. The crisscrossing of two worlds, one temporary and fleeting, the other permanent and eternal.
The Kingdom is at hand, it begins right here, it resides within you and me—and if we have any doubt, all we need to do is stare a little more at Jesus stretched out upon the Cross—where we also find His beautiful, faithful mother standing by His blessed feet.
Faith and hope. Love and more love.
My friend’s remorse was short and fleeting. Together we raised our eyes back up toward Christ.
We let the Christ in each of us seek once more the face of the Father.
More peace and joy than even before. It seemed as if we’d both begin to sing. We hugged instead. A full chorus in heaven accompanied us.
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…I have stilled my soul…
Like a weaned child on its mother’s lap, so is my soul within me.
—Psalm 131:2
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—Howard Hain
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A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion. They woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Quiet! Be still!” The wind ceased and there was great calm. Then he asked them, “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?”
—Mark 4:37-40
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Lord,
Teach me to be kind
Show me how to be gentle
May I always bring peace to each and every situation
May I never do harm
Let me always be merciful
Let me never judge and never condemn
I need you to teach me, to show me, to encourage me to be more like You
With Your help it is possible.
———
I believe in You, Father
I trust in You, Jesus
You, Holy Spirit, I know are always loving me
Please let there be peace
Please let all the world be still
Please let all children hope and dream and know that You are God
The God of Kindness, of Gentleness, of Peace, of Mercy, of Forgiveness…
The God of Absolute and Perfect Love
The God who will never forsake us, whose promises are certain and real…
God, You are Love.
———
Let Your presence calm the waters
For the waves rock and the boat fills
And Noah has already come ashore
You, Lord Jesus, pray upon the mountain, You walk on water, You rest within the storm…
You still all
You question our faith
You tell us to simply ask
You promise that we shall receive more.
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And the apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!”
—Luke 17:5
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—Howard Hain
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Domenico Ghirlandaio, “An Old Man and his Grandson”, ca. 1490
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Do not let your hearts be troubled. You have faith in God; have faith also in me.
—John 14:1
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awoken by the night
the good father makes his rounds
peeking into rooms to make sure all is where it should be
a silent prayer
a midnight blessing
a distant siren
a room full of toys
a smile
a memory
giving life to his own father’s watchfulness many years before
the needy cat cries
he better attend to her needs
before she awakes the rest of the house
but before returning to bed
he’ll lovingly recall
once more
a great promise
a great hope
a room full of toys
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In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you?
—John 14:2
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—Howard Hain
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Paul Cezanne, “Bathers” (Les Grandes Baigneuses), 1895-1905
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“Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.”
—1 Thessalonians 5:17
Come with me. It doesn’t matter what language you speak, nor what color skin your flesh happens to wear. Come. Be one with the Lord.
Pray the great prayer of the Church. Pray with sinners like me. Pray with all God’s Angels and Saints.
Pray the Mass. O, how God loves for us to share, to participate in Christ’s salvation of the world!
Living sacrifices. Gifts of bread and wine.
Come. Come. He is so very real. So much love. His Liturgy kisses each individual brow.
Begin your day by adjusting your ear…
“If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.” (Psalm 95)
Pray the Mass. Live it at home. Hour by hour. Minute by minute. Work through the Mass as you work through your day—knowing that the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is being celebrated at every moment throughout the entire world.
Antiphon to Antiphon. Introductory to Concluding Rites. Let the Mass order your day.
The Sign of the Cross upon opening your eyes.
“Kyrie, eleison…”, as you rise from bed.
A morning shower beneath God’s infinite reign of mercy: “Wash me, O Lord, from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.”
Read. Confess. Sing. Proclaim.
Wash the dishes. Run to the store.
Always praise. Yes, always praise: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will.”
Head to work. Attend a meeting. Go for a run.
“Alleluia, alleluia”: The Gospel Acclamation.
It’s almost high noon. Enjoy the Sun. The light of God’s face. Hear the Holy Spirit’s instruction and inspiration for the day. Hold up your wounds, pray in union with God’s Crucified Child…
Offer the Universal Prayer while waiting for the bus…
Intercede for the entire world: the salvation of souls, the conversion of sinners, a unified church, the remembered and forgotten souls in purgatorial fire…
…for the sick, the persecuted, the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the thirsty…for every single soul for whom God wills us to pray…
For all the intentions of Jesus’ Most Sacred Heart.
———
“I believe in one God…”
Time for lunch.
Prepare the table. Acknowledge God’s goodness. Accept His gifts:
“By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ…”
Live. Breathe. Be free and at ease.
Let the Eucharistic Prayer flow into the core of your being:
“Lift up your hearts. We lift them up to the Lord…”
“…Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of hosts…”
Watch as angels ascend and descend…your gifts borne “by the hands of God’s holy Angel to His altar on high…”
A priest at this very moment lifts the hands of Christ:
“Through him, and with him, and in him…”
———
Afternoon arrives:
“Behold the Lamb of God.”
Ask Jesus to come into your soul. Properly position yourself at the foot of the table:
“Lord, I am not worthy…but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”
Jesus thirsts to enter. Learn to open wide. Beg God on bended knee. Beg Him for the grace to generously give and graciously receive:
“The Body of Christ.
The Blood of Christ.”
“Amen.
Amen.”
———
Sitting in traffic. Waiting on a call. Wanting to get home.
“Period of silence or song of praise.”
Rest beneath the external chaos, enter the internal peace of the Kingdom that resides deep within. Remember that Jesus—Body, Blood, Soul, Divinity—continues to transform your entire being.
Stop and go. Almost home. Evening approaches.
The prayers the priest says quietly at the altar—pray them too—ceaselessly in the silence of your consecrated heart.
“Lord Jesus Christ…free me by this, your most holy Body and Blood…
…keep me always faithful…never let me be parted from you.”
Park the car. Say hello to a man who’s homeless. Briefly visit a confused elderly neighbor. Prepare to sit peacefully around your kitchen table. Practice patience. Hug and kiss the kids. Allow the joy of Christ to radiate outward from the eternal spring within.
At the close of supper, give great thanks, and call to mind an after-communion prayer:
“What has passed our lips as food, O Lord, may we possess in purity of heart, that what has been given to us in time may be our healing for eternity.”
———
Now circle around and approach the end of this blessed day much like the way you began—for somewhere out there—Mass is just about to begin:
“The Lord be with you. And with your spirit.”
Brush your teeth. Prepare to sleep the sleep of a most blessed mystical death. Ask Mother Mary to help you dress for the flight.
“May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
———
Kiss your wife goodnight.
Turn off the lamp.
Close your eyes in God’s perfect peace. The Mass at your right hand. Its liturgical rhythm steadily beating within your sacred heart.
Darkness descends.
“Go forth, the Mass is ended.”
The best is yet to come.
Faith. Hope. Love.
Eternal Life.
And as always: “Thanks be to God.”
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“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son…”
—John 3:16
(Please note: This is part 2 of a piece entitled “Walled Garden”. To read part 1, simply click here: Friday Thoughts: Walled Garden (1))
Camille Pissarro, “Orchards at Louveciennes”, 1872
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And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.
—John 19:27
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On leaving the convent I came upon the friar I noticed on my way in. The little dog was no longer around. We approached each other as if we had met before. He was kind. He was middle-aged. He was simple. And then the strangest thing occurred. He took me by the arm, the way men stroll in Italy, arm-in-arm, during the evening passeggiata—the evening stroll.
But I had never met this man before.
Yes, it is certainly strange to have an unknown man approach you and link his arm in yours.
He led me toward a dirt path. We strolled. We spoke little. He didn’t speak English and my Italian was tiny. But it was nice. Peaceful. It didn’t feel strange. I only now use that word, for from a somewhat forced “objective” perspective, it seems that it had to be.
He was a man of God. And he saw I was too, before I had any idea God had undeservedly entrusted me with such a gift. The gift of loving God. The gift of wanting Him more than I could ever explain. The gift of being an outcast here in this world of time, a wanderer, a pilgrim, a crusading knight of Lady Poverty—of being—in yet again, some strange kind of way—a lady-in-waiting—patiently and painfully anticipating the exuberant arrival of the one and only eternal groom.
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He brought me to what appeared to be an old foundation. I understood from what few words we exchanged that this was the remains of an abandoned orphanage. And then we began to head back toward whence we came. I remember offering him some bread that I had in my bag, purchased that morning in the city of Assisi up above. He lightly touched his stomach with one hand and shook his head “no”—a kind, polite, gracious, and utterly grateful, “no-thank-you” kind of “no”.
When we arrived at the door of the convent I understood from his gestures that he was inviting me to see something inside. It was clearly something that I had not yet seen. I motioned “yes” and we entered. We climbed a staircase and walked down a hallway. We were in an area not open to the public. The walls revealed its age. And we approached a door. A wooden door. And he unlocked it with an old large skeleton key. He opened the door and motioned for me to go inside, quietly informing me that this is Saint Clare’s cell. I entered and he remained outside. He gently pulled the door closed.
I wasn’t sure what to do. I was safe. I knew I wasn’t locked in. I was pleasantly confused. I looked around. It was small. It was literally a cell. Enclosed. All stone. A low tight arched ceiling. Bright. Dark. Cozy. Warm. Beautiful.
A tabernacle. A womb. A virgin’s womb.
At the end of the somewhat rectangular shaped room was a small alter-like shelf. I knelt before it. I have not the slightest recollection of what I prayed. Of what I thought. Of anything spiritually taking place. I was just there. And I remained a few minutes. And then I left. I opened the door and I was all alone. No friar. I closed the door behind me and made my way back down from where I had come.
It seemed as if nothing extraordinary had happened. It was all so normal. So everyday. Yet it was nothing of the sort. It was extraordinary. It was an encounter. I think. Perhaps.
I think of little Mary. Alone in her room. I think of a gentle breeze and the sight of a bowing angel.
“Hail, full of grace…”
What a name, what a title to be given!
Gabriel holding the key that opens the door.
The young, chosen, highly-favored virgin agrees to hear his message, to walk arm-in-arm with him, to accompany him to she knows not where. She agrees to accept God’s invitation.
The Holy Spirit comes upon her simple life, her simple way, her simple manner.
The power of the Most High overshadows her daily existence.
Our Father confirms her trusting posture, her grace-filled instinct to utter the purest of prayers:
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“Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it done to me according to thy word.” (Luke 1:38)
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Jesus entered a private, off-limits room. He made His home there.
And He never left.
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“…when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret…”
—Matthew 6:6
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—Howard Hain
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Nora Lucy Mowbray Cundell, “The Patchwork Quilt”, 1919
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As nurslings, you shall be carried in her arms, and fondled in her lap; as a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; in Jerusalem you shall find your comfort.
—Isaiah 66:12-13.
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I heard someone say the other day that Amish women leave their finished quilts imperfect, and that they do this purposely, so as not to commit blasphemy.
We hear lots of things. And like with most of what we hear, whether this or that is true or not, we quite often just don’t know—at least not in terms of earthly circumstance: what exactly was said, who exactly said it, or the exact context in which it was said. But also quite often, these factors simply don’t matter—at least not in terms of what we most need spiritually at that present moment.
To get caught up within the trivial details of who, what, where, and when is to lose a beautiful opportunity to receive correction, direction, encouragement, and inspiration. It is to miss a moment of grace.
God is always speaking to us. Always instructing. Always telling us what we need to hear. Even if His speech takes the form of a simple smile, or a simple piece of Amish lore. He is always right there with us, each one of us. One God. Three Persons. One clear, consistent, perfectly unified voice, continually encouraging us forward.
To me this is a beautiful case of the left hand knowing exactly what the right hand is doing. It is prophecy in real time. Moment by moment. Step by step. Stich by stich. Incremental inspiration. All toward a beautiful, comforting blanket composed entirely of grace. It is the Holy Spirit at work. It is Holy Spirit teaching.
———
We always get exactly what we need. But we must be willing to wear fleeces white as snow. For everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go.
Clean hands. Pure heart. Purity of intention.
Meekness. Humility. Docility to the Holy Spirit.
We must submit to Mother Church.
It is Simple. It is Holy. And Holy Simplicity simply results in simple, clear, straightforward answers.
And it gets simpler and simpler:
We simply hear what God says when we pray in the Holy Spirit and “worship in spirit and truth”. (John 4:24)
We simply become living, breathing manifestations of His glory when the Holy Spirit prays for and through us, when “the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groans too deep for words“. (Romans 8:26)
And the Liturgy simply helps us to allow the Holy Spirit to do so.
———
For the Amish women don’t sew alone. God quilts too. His is simply perfect. Always. And to us it looks a lot like the Liturgy.
O the simple joy of being wrapped up tightly within it!
O the simple wonder of walking deeper into the Body of Christ each new day—into the greatest and most public prayer of the one, true, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church—The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass—with faith and hope and an ever-increasing expectation that we will “nurse“, “be satisfied” and “drink with delight” at the “abundant breasts” of Mother Church. (Isaiah 66:11)
We receive the comforting milk of Sacrament: of reconciliation, of sacrifice, of thanksgiving, of praise, of presence, of joy, of love…
We receive our physical nourishment, our spiritual inspiration, our mercy and forgiveness, our healing and peace, our much needed correction and instruction—and for breakfast and dessert—our daily share in The Cross.
We receive “our daily bread.”
And all are welcome.
The Church invites all, serves all, prays for all…
All of us—me, you, him, her, them, every single one of us—the entire patchwork of humanity—are always welcomed and always encouraged to turn more directly into the light of God’s face. The Face of Truth, of Mercy, of Justice, of Love…
All are always and truly welcome.
Welcome to walk in the clear, crisp, clean air of God’s ceaseless and abundant reality—a reality that never deceives, that never falsely promises imaginary pots of gold lying at the end of fanciful rainbows.
For rainbows are mere optical illusions. And all sin stems from and leads to delusion. Pure faith, on the other hand, rises above all images, whether they are real or those conjured up by Satan in his constant effort to pervert and deceive.
God’s promises are true. His kingdom is no illusion. Heaven is no empty pot of gold.
“…for on those you have rescued from slavery to sin you bestow eternal gladness.” (Collect, 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time, C)
All are welcome to truly come home.
Welcome to walk hand-in-hand with the Lord of the Garden:
“Wash, and be cleansed; remove the foulness of your actions from my sight.
Come, let us speak with one another, says the Lord.”
—Isaiah 1:16,18
———
Perhaps then our Amish lady friends have a good, sharp point. Maybe it is not that important to have things “just right”, exactly the way we will them to be. Maybe it is not about making everything “perfect” according to our own plans, nor about appeasing our every desire and inordinate appetite. Maybe, just maybe, happiness—true joy—resides in just the opposite.
Perhaps what makes a quilt simply “perfect” is that it is made with humble, patient, obedient hands. Grateful hands, quite aware of their own defects. Hands that need not be in constant control, nor constantly caressed.
And perhaps it is just those kinds of hands, the hands of poor humble handmaids, that simply remind us of the true purpose of a simple quilt—to keep us warm—warm enough to get us through—to get us through to the other side—to the other side of a long, dark, cold night.
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She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear.
—Luke 2:7-9
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—Howard Hain
John Everett Millais, “Christ in the House of His Parents”, 1849-50
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“I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
—John 14:6
If we hold Christ’s hand we cannot get lost. For Christ is the way. It is not even possible to go astray.
If we cannot get lost, there can be no doubt. If no doubt, there can be no fear. If no fear—we are in the Kingdom of God. Right here. Right now.
Hold Christ’s Hand. Fear not. You are in the Kingdom of God.
—Howard Hain
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Bruegel, “Children’s Games”, (1560)
…and a little child will lead them.
—Isaiah 11:6
———
It’s the simple moments. It’s playing hide-and-seek. It’s pretending that what isn’t is.
Like a game made-up as we go, with only a single rule: It has to make us laugh.
But not the kind of laughter that hurts anyone or anything. No, it has to be true laughter, the kind that comes from and through kindness, through truly wanting to be with one another—so much so that we’ll make up just about any old game, just as long as we wont have to go our separate ways.
“Life” then becomes one big beautiful “excuse” to stay together, and our “actions” take on a tremendously meaningful fashion. They become like soft pieces of colorful clothing gently placed upon our joy-filled affections.
Little children know this through and through. They’re constantly changing and tailoring their “clothes”, adapting and accessorizing as they go, with only one goal in mind: for the “fun” to continue. But the fun they seek is not the kind that you and I normally desire—for little children know what few adults remember. They’re not so easily tricked. They know that fun, true fun, has very little to do with the actual game being played, in and of itself. For little children it’s all about what the game, as a mere instrument, allows them to experience—the freedom to let out love.
That’s why the type of game they play can turn on a dime. It just doesn’t matter.
Rules? Scores? Time-limits?
Who cares about stuff like that?
Are we “laughing”? Are we having “fun”? Are we still “with each other”?
Are we still in love?
These are the only questions that matter to a small child!
And with prayer it is much the same. Saints make up all kinds of “games” in order to “excuse” the time that they want so desperately to spend with God. They play all kinds of little games. They slide beads, they sing little songs, they pretend to be statues while playing hide-and-seek with the Lord, and some—the ones that the world most often calls crazy—even dream up little tales and fanciful stories, imagining along with God what could be if only everyone in the world would join in and play together.
But this is no big secret. All saints in one way or another come to say the same thing: Every technique, every approach, every means of entering into prayer…each and every one…they’re all part of one giant “excuse”, one seemingly never-ending “game”. For at the end of the day, techniques and approaches are at best a mere prelude to divine laughter—that infant-like sound composed of pure joy, that only the Love of God can bring into being.
———
He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.
—Mark 10: 14-16
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—Howard Hain
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The Victor's Place 