Tag Archives: peace

Friday Thoughts: Daily Grind

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This day might perhaps be the most boring day of our life.

It might look a lot like yesterday.

A lot like last Friday.

A lot like last November.

Routine.

Monotony.

The daily grind.

Another peppercorn held in the mill.

Waiting its turn to be ground into dust.

Sprinkled on a paper plate.

Consumed by a ravenous world.

Never to be seen again.

Never to see the light of day.

Or perhaps we’re wrong.

Perhaps we’re chunks of crystal.

Salt from a dead sea.

Clear.

A tinge of pink.

When the light hits right.

To be sprinkled.

To preserve what’s sacred.

To give life.

Perhaps we are the salt of the earth.

Perhaps this day we shall meet some pepper.

Perhaps we’ll let God have His way.

Giving taste to what seems to so many just another day.


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—Howard Hain

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Morning Thoughts: Falling Into Love

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Dear Lord,

Let me begin with my apologies. Forgive me for coming to you yet again with nothing. I’m sorry. Look at me, I’ve just begun and here I go again, saying things that are just not true. Of course I do not come “with nothing.” No, I come with nothing of value. Yes, that’s better. Yes, I come with nothing of value. For as You well know, Lord, I do come with plenty of things that simply get in the way of me doing my job, the job You Yourself assigned me, the job for which You Yourself designed me perfectly.

God, You are so patient.

Truly.

Yes, Sir.

Sorry, forgive me. Yes, I will stop talking. Of course I’ll listen to You. I’m all ears. Please, my Lord, go ahead, if you please, when You’re ready…

“My son, it is good to see you. I am always pleased to see you. You really have grown. Do you know what I hear when you speak to me? I hear hope. Yes, hope has a sound. No, it’s not like the sounds that you hear in the world. In heaven everything is Love. And the sound of hope is the sound of one of my children falling into love. I never grow tired of you, or any of your brothers or sisters, speaking to me. Think about it. You know this yourself, the most painful thing for parents is one of their children turning away from them, ceasing to talk, cutting off all communication, denying their very existence. Oh, how that hurts. Don’t you see then how Jesus taught you all that you need to know? He taught you all that you will ever need to know while He hung upon the cross. He taught you to never turn away from me. To speak to me. To direct your heart and your mouth and your will toward me. He taught you to keep your eyes on Me. The world only sees terrible pain and suffering upon the cross, I see you being set free. I see you this very morning coming to your Father and speaking openly. I see hope and I hear the sound of my dear child falling into Love.”


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—Howard Hain

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Friday Thoughts: Acceptance Speech

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Just start walking.

Leave the pew behind.

Everything else falls away.

All that was dead comes to life.

Pastures and valleys. Fields and streams.

Tiny violet flowers on the walls of quarries.

Wood and stone. Water and wine.

Teardrops and smiles.

A poor boy gets in line.

Just a taste. A nibble. A crumb from the table.

But he looks at his clothes.

But it’s all he’s got.

Just keep walking.

You’ve left the pew behind.

Everything else has fallen away.

All that was dead has come to life.

A thorny bush now a fruitful tree.

A man raises his hand:

“The Body of Christ.”

A child opens his mouth:

“Amen.”

A shepherd boy ascends to the throne.


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—Howard Hain

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Morning Thoughts: Glory Be To The Father

berthe-morisot-eugene-manet-and-his-daughter-in-the-garden-1883

Berthe Morisot, “Eugene Manet and His Daughter in the Garden”, 1883


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“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

Matthew 19:14


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I spent most of the day with my two-year-old daughter. I intended to work on a piece concerning the Garden of Eden. Well, “most of the day” turned into most of the evening, my wife needing to attend a wake for the father of an old friend. So instead I share an innocent blessing.

I have had the privilege to spend a great amount of time the last two years witnessing my child’s growth. One beautiful result is a strong attachment that is quite reciprocal. One practical consequence is many long goodbyes. Francesca can get quite upset to see me leave. I do what I can at the door to be consoling. Ensuring her that I’ll be back, engaging in a series of hugs and kisses, allowing her to flick the light switch on and off a few dozen times—and then, before the hopefully peaceful handoff to my wife, I anoint her little forehead with the Sign of the Cross and quietly say a prayer.

One particular morning a few months back I was running late, and when it came time to leave, Francesca had a particularly tough time letting go. After the regular routine, she continued to cry and cling to my neck. I managed to pry her off and get her to stand on her own, but all the while she continued to point at my head. I confess I was losing composure. I was about to just close the door, though it kills me to leave without feeling that I have ensured her peace. I tried once more to explain that I’d be back. She continued to jump up and down and point toward my brow. I realized that she was identifying the large freckle on my forehead. You need to understand that to Francesca all freckles are “booboos.”

I pacified her by bending over so that her forefinger could touch the dark spot. That didn’t do it. Booboos need to be kissed. So now with little patience, I patronizingly knelt on the foyer side of the door. And Francesca pressed her lips to my forehead. I remained on my knees, feeling the awesome weight of humility.

Here I was concerned about blessing my child, about being the spiritual caretaker, the father in both body and spirit—and yet it is Francesca who blesses me, who anoints my forehead and consecrates my day.

I descended the stairs feeling incredibly foolish, walking out into the world with a renewed awareness of just how little I control.

My daughter and I have the same father.

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“Forgive me Lord, for not being as good a father to her as You are to me. Thank You Lord, for trusting me with such a tremendous responsibility. Praise You Lord, for all the beauty that resides within this precious child. May I serve You Lord, by fulfilling Your will for her as made manifest through me.”

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—Howard Hain

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Friday Thoughts: Clean Enough to Care

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What if someone handed you a child?

A small child.

A tiny child.

An infant.

A few hours…a few minutes old.

What if you were the only one that the child could be handed to?

Only you.

No one else around to help.

Would you receive that child into your arms?

There’s no sterilized room, no sanitary precautions, no sink, not even a bar of soap—just plain old you, a bunch of imperfect circumstances, and a poor tiny child that needs to be embraced.

You know what you would do.

Even if your hands were filthy, completely covered in soot and mud, you know what you would do.

You’d quickly rub your hands against your pants or shirt and wipe away the obvious dirt.

Then you’d hold out your hands.

Wouldn’t you?

Yes. You would.

We all would.

That’s what makes us human.

That’s what makes us children of God.

We’d do what we could with what we have to help an innocent child.

We know that “cleanliness” in such cases really doesn’t matter. For even if the circumstances were “perfect” we’d still have that uneasy feeling. That feeling that we’re not worthy to hold such innocence, to be entrusted with such treasure.

It’s a holy hesitancy that only true humility can bear.

Yet, it’s the necessity to help, the clear need for our assistance—the abundantly clear reality that we’re the only “hands” on deck—that drives us to overcome such holy and righteous fear—a fear that reveals just how poor we really are, much poorer in fact than even the helpless child we are about to embrace.

It is preciously this beautiful fear of God that propels us to love boldly—to boldly reach out beyond ourselves, to boldly become part of God’s mystical body, to become His very arms and hands—to embody Divine Love Itself—that perfect love of the eternal Father for each and every child ever created.

For it is the Father’s love that creates us, and sustains us, and longs to flow through us.

We just sometimes need extreme circumstances—ridiculously obvious situations—in order to tap the needed courage to let it to flow beyond our own borders and into those around us.

You are in such a situation. Right now.

We all are.

This very moment.

No matter where you are or what you’re doing.

Such a situation is at hand.

A child, a new born—cold, hungry, and without a home—desperately needs to be held.

Quick then, wipe your dirty hands, make due with what you’ve got—believe the Word of God, it’s good enough—now hold out your hands.

You’re clean enough to care.


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—Howard Hain

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Morning Thoughts: The Bad Thief

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Rembrandt, “Self Portrait”, c. 1668 (detail)

 


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The Bad Thief
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good thief
bad thief
Savior in between
how is it
that you and i
can be all three?
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we know of Jesus
as perfect
as perfect can be
speaking faith
breathing forgiveness
the Word
bound up
still
completely free
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we know too
of the good thief
turning
turning toward Goodness
our Goodness
so gracious
hanging there
tortured
beside him
beside the good thief
Jesus nailed
one with the tree
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we know too
what happened
what happened then
to the prodigal thief
humility
contriteness
a humble heart
spurned not
yes
true repentance
sorrow for sin
painful sorrow
paid forth
by a sinless man
and God
God the father
accepting the fee
the precious blood
of Jesus Christ
setting him
the good thief free
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but what
what of the other one
what of the thief
named bad
what of him
unrepentant
deserving to hang
what of that poor man
that poor
prideful soul
just like you and me
that poor
nameless sinner
just like you and me
also hanging
hanging there
hanging above Mary
and the disciple
Jesus loved
hanging there
upon a third
a third
rarely talked about tree
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who is he?
but you and me
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i am the bad thief
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and so are you
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i have stolen
stolen so much
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especially time
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what have you
in your pocket
that isn’t thine?
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Jesus makes it
perfectly clear
what happens
what happens to thieves
thieves like us
who simply say
i’m sorry
yet even His promise
His promise
full of mercy
His promise
of paradise
of paradise in fact
that very day
doesn’t stop
his good thieving legs
from being smashed
his repentant body
completely broken
head to toe
no
not even Christ’s promise
the promise
from the King Himself
removes the good thief
from the gift
from the gift that is his cross
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but what of the other one
what of you and me
what of us
thieves who also lie
who reject justice
Justice hanging
right next-door
what of the bad thief
can be redeemed
what of the bad thief
in you and me
God only knows
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mercy
mercy
mercy
Father
upon the dead
both the living
and the deceased
mercy
mercy
mercy
Father
upon us all
upon Your children
Your children turned thieves
whose faith
and sorrow
is known
by You
and You alone
.
good thief
bad thief
Savior in between
how is it
that you and i
and all the rest
of all humanity
can lack
to such a degree
true repentance
true humility
.
good thief
bad thief
Savior in between
how is it
that you and i
are all three?
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—Howard Hain

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Friday Thoughts: Innocence Itself

saint-joseph-and-child-jesus

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A small, beautiful child.

What could be more innocent?

The tiny face of one born a few days before.

What could be more pure?

At what age does that stop?

When is it that we no longer see an innocent child, but instead, just one more man or woman walking the crowded streets?

If the child is our own, probably never.

Parenthood is a gift.

A gift beyond telling.

Yet every person we shall see this day was once a child.

Every person we shall see this day is still a child.

A small, beautiful child.

What could be more innocent?

The tiny face of one born a few days before.

———

Can you imagine what Saint Joseph felt?

What it was like to hold Jesus in the crook of his arm?

To present Innocence Itself to the world?

———

True humility has little to do with wanting to be humble.

It has nothing to do with wanting to look small, tiny, and somewhat sad.

True humility comes through grace.

The grace of knowing that no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you on your own cannot stop innocence from being slaughtered.

———

Somewhere, right now, the infant Jesus is being rejected.

Saint Joseph can hardly believe it:

Here He is. The Son of Man. Please don’t do anything, don’t say anything, don’t even think anything that offends His dignity.”

———

The next time we are tempted to judge anyone perhaps we should remember that.

Perhaps we should use our imagination, our faith, our hope, our love—all the gifts and talents that come from God, that return to God, but that God Himself lends us for the time being—to find a child.

For wasn’t that very person, the one who is about to be judged, once too only a few days old?

———

Think of Saint Joseph holding Innocence Itself.

Think of Saint Joseph humbly holding a tiny child, a tiny innocent child reaching out to all mankind with outstretched arms—so innocent that it’s hard to even imagine that all the world, that each and every one of us doesn’t immediately reach back with all our might to tenderly embrace this most precious gift—the most precious gift that a guilty world could receive.

Innocence Itself.


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—Howard Hain

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Morning Thoughts: Arriving in Hope

 

Camille Pissarro Entree du village de Voisins 1872.jpg

Camille Pissarro, “Entrée du village de Voisins”, 1872

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Waiting and waiting, for exactly what I’m not sure.

The sun to rise.

The day to end.

The water to boil.

Mass to begin.

The cock to crow.

Christ to return.

———

A new day is here.

———

Father, thank You.

Jesus, I love You.

Holy Spirit, have Your way.


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—Howard Hain

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Friday Thoughts: Tobias and the Angel

 

thomas-wilmer-dewing-tobias-and-the-angel-1887

Thomas Wilmer Dewing, “Tobias and the Angel”, 1887 (The Met)

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Since my daughter’s earliest days, we have played this little game:

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I look at her and say, “Sometimes you love someone so much...”

And she softly responds, “…it makes you cry.”

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We both get glassy eyed and gently smile.

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Love

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What is it?

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“It” is a person

His name is Jesus

His skin is many colors

He is 33 years old, and also 7, and also 84, and also 40…

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He is God. He is alive. He lives in you and me.

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Tell Him that you love Him.

It is Jesus.

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Sometimes you love someone so much…it makes you cry.”

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—Howard Hain

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http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/10749

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Morning Thoughts: Full of Grace

 

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Pablo Picasso, “Mother and Son with Handkerchief”, 1903


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If there was a man named Silence, what would he say?

If there was a man named Trust, what would be his worry?

If there was a man named Hope, what would he miss?

———

If there was a man named Love, what would his mother’s name be but Mary?

———

Yesterday I met a mother who just buried her son. Just the two of us on a city sidewalk. The cars, the buses, the children leaving school, even the woman close by and working in her garden…they all kept moving.

———

If there was a man named Hug, what else would he do?


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—Howard Hain

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