Tag Archives: prayer

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?

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

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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.

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

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—Howard Hain

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Sunday at the Mission

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At our mission tonight at St. Theresa in Woodside, New York, I’ll continue reflecting on the gift of prayer.

We all have the gift of prayer. We can pray. God gives that gift to saints and sinners alike, though we may tend to think only saints and “good” people can pray. But that gift is given to all, because God is Father of saints and sinner alike. Prayer is a gift of God’s mercy.

Prayer is a gift given to all; it’s meant to be used continually. Like the gift of faith growing  like a mustard seed, the gift of prayer is meant to grow.

We’re reading all this year at Mass from Luke’s Gospel, which is called a gospel of prayer. It’s called that because the evangelist offers many examples and teachings of Jesus on prayer. Now, at this point in the  liturgical year especially, our readings at Mass seem to be devoted to prayer.

Last week, for example, we heard the desperate prayer of the ten lepers: “Jesus, Master, have pity on us.” Today we heard the parable about the widow and the unjust judge. Next week, we’ll hear the humble, almost hesitant prayer of the publican: “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Later on in Luke’s gospel, when Jesus dies and enters his glory, we’ll hear the cry of the thief: “Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” All these readings tell us God gives the gift of prayer to everyone, the sinner, the desperate, everyone.

Yet, prayer tries our patience. Like the poor widow facing the powerful unjust judge, whom we read about this Sunday, we may not see our prayers answered quickly. We can then grow weary praying. In his parable Jesus says our prayers are answered “speedily,” yet we have trouble understanding that word “speedily.” It doesn’t match our timetable or our expectations. We don’t like waiting.

We also can make prayer too small and limit it to things entirely personal. Today, some would reduce prayer and meditation to ways to gain inner balance or to bring your blood pressure down. Prayer is bigger than that. It’s asking for “God’s kingdom to come, God’s will be done.” Prayer is meant to  open us to new horizons, new undertakings, to see the world with the eyes of Christ.

Far from leading us away from the world, we are led in prayer to face a world crippled by violence and strife. Only God can help us. Please Lord, come and assist us.

I’m going to pose some questions to those here at the mission:

What prayers are you attracted to?

Are there any places that lead you to prayer?

Any trying times in your life that you found yourself praying?

Then I’m going to reflect on some of our common prayers, like the Sign of the Cross and the Our Father. After that, we will have Benediction.

 

29th Sunday C: Pray, Pray, Pray

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To listen to today’s homily, please select the audio file below:

If I ask you what gifts you have, you might say, “Well, I can cook a good plate of pasta, or I’m a pretty good carpenter. I can fix a lot of things around the house. I think I’m a good mother or good father, good grandmother, good grandfather.” We actually have a lot of gifts; many we may not be aware of.

Now, I can tell you one gift we all have.  Unfortunately this gift is one we may not be aware of. That’s the gift of prayer. We all have the gift of prayer. We can pray. Let’s begin our reflection on today’s gospel about the widow who gets what she wants from an unjust judge with that. We all have the gift of prayer.

If you notice in the gospels, Jesus teaches his disciple how to pray, but he never says they can’t pray. He never says that to anyone: he presumes that prayer is a gift everyone has.  Prayer is a gift God gives to everyone, whether we use that gift or not. The greatest sinner as well as the greatest saint,  has the gift of prayer.

Think of the thief on the cross next to Jesus, who turned to Jesus and said  “Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” We might guess that the thief hadn’t prayed in a long time, maybe his prayer is a cry of desperation. But he prays, and is prayer is answered. More than he ever expected. The gospels are  filled with that kind of prayer.

Now, what Jesus is concerned with in our parable today is that we get tired of praying. For one reason or another, we give it up. Maybe we don’t think praying is going to do any good. God isn’t listening, or we’re not good enough to speak to God.  Maybe we think we can take care of  ourselves. We don’t need the help of God. For all of these reasons we can lose our appreciation of the power of prayer; we think it’s really not necessary,  so prayer becomes an unused gift, a neglected gift.

Now, let’s look at the example in the gospel that Jesus gives. He offers the picture of “a judge in a certain town who neither feared God nor respected any human being.”  He’s a dishonest judge, one of “Untouchables” He doesn’t care about God or anybody else. He seems to have absolute power, or at least he thinks he has.

On the other hand, there’s a widow, who seems to have no power at all. She seems powerless, maybe someone has cheated her; someone has wronged her. She’s looking for justice, but can she get it? We could speculate further. Who caused this injustice ? Maybe it’s a friend of the judge, or the judge himself who seems to control everybody and everything.  but whoever and whatever it is, she wants what’s right, and humanly speaking,  it doesn’t seem she has any chance of getting justice.

But she keeps going, she doesn’t let up, she doesn’t lose hope. She’s persistent. The judge says, “She keeps bothering me, she wearing me down, and he finally gives in and justice is done.
What about God, Jesus asks? Compare him to the unjust judge. He’s the very opposite, He cares for the poor widow; he wants justice done.

“Pay attention to what the dishonest judge says,”Jesus says,
Will not God then secure the rights of his chosen ones
who call out to him day and night?
Will he be slow to answer them?
I tell you, he will see to it that justice is done for them speedily.

We hear those words of Jesus and questions arise.  Justice will be done, the rights of God’s chosen ones will be secure. God will see justice done speedily. Speedily?

Speedily for us means right away, doesn’t it? And when things are not done right away, we lose faith, we wonder if God cares or can God do anything about it at all.

That’s why we have to keep the poor widow in mind. What keeps her going is faith and hope. It’s obvious she believes she has Someone more powerful that the unjust judge on her side. And so do we. But God’s way of securing our rights, God’s way of having his kingdom come, God’s time is not ours. We have to keep praying, keep knocking at the door, keep asking, keep seeking, night and day.

The biggest problems in the world, the greatest challenges we face can be met, if we like the poor widow believe in the gift of pray and pray with faith, night and days, that God’s will be done.

Friday Thoughts: A Generous Silence

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Pablo Picasso, “Woman in White”, 1923 (The Met)

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The fewest words possible.

It is hard to imagine why we speak any at all.

Nothing comes out right.

There’s never enough said.

What is uttered is always incomplete.

The vow of silence seems awfully attractive at times.

But how long would that last?

I remember taking early morning walks years ago.

I would see the sky, the horizon, the landscape, the fields, the trees, the rocks, the grass, the birds…

I would get so excited.

I would want to run home and tell my wife, to show her, to bring her to that very spot.

But I couldn’t.

By even thinking about doing so something had happened.

The sky, the horizon, the landscape, the fields, the trees, the rocks, the grass, the birds…they were all still there, but it was gone.

By wanting to run and show someone else, by desperately wanting to share—to not be alone—I was again the only one standing on that vacant road.

God of course was still there, and His holy angels and saints—the cloud of witnesses—but I was no longer home.

For I was no longer there.

I was in the land of wanting, of wanting something else but “here and now,” of wanting something else besides a glimpse of eternity—of wanting more than the kingdom truly being at hand.

For even the beautifully-human desire to share with others sometimes gets in the way.

What is needed is more faith.

What is needed is belief—the belief that the gift of God’s presence, when graciously and generously and humbly received, gives more to our family and friends, gives more to the entire world, than we could ever show or tell each and every one of them individually—even when our “receiving” takes place when we are completely and totally “alone.”

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—Howard Hain

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http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/488711

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Friday Thoughts: Hummingbird and Passionflowers

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Martin Johnson Heade, “Hummingbird and Passionflowers”, (ca. 1875-85) (The Met)

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The delicate little bird that resides within each of us.

It hops to and fro. It stands startlingly still.

Very often we are the very ones who chase it away.

But it doesn’t fly far.

Just to the closest branch, that’s just beyond our reach.

And it looks back at us, as if to ask, “Why are you afraid?”

The tiny head of a tiny bird, slightly cocked to the side—a question mark floats from its beak.

It longs to return, to live within us, to build a nest, to raise its young.

But it doesn’t rush back.

No, it waits.

It waits for us to ask for it to return.

It’s a patient creature, that tiny bird.

One may be tempted to say it’s not very smart, but that’s not it at all.

It’s simple. It’s holy. It knows who it is. It’s not afraid of the fall.

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—Howard Hain

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http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/11052

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Friday Thoughts: A Simple Landscape

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George Cole, “Harvet Rest”, 1865

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A painter has a great advantage, as does a writer I suppose. He can scratch out, erase, and paint over. He can throw out and start again. He can expand the landscape or focus in on a detail. There is great freedom in creation. Yet none of it has any value unless it comes from and leads back toward God.

The great sweeping landscapes painted throughout the years. I want to dive into so many of them. To run toward the distant hills, to sit beside the babbling brooks, to hitch a ride on the hay wagon making its way round the bend. But most of all I want to join the peasants, working the fields or gathered around the base of a giant oak for a bite of second-day bread, and perhaps even a sip of slightly watered-down wine.

I want to hear the simple strings of a Spanish guitar, the worn-out wood of a French violin, the voice of yet another “Maria” toiling beneath the Italian plein air.

The pleasant thought of resting beside a river bed—of catching a not-so-quick nap within the shade of God’s ever-expanding and contracting canopy of leaves.

Even the bark of an English Foxhound could not interrupt thee!

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I don’t want to be told that this isn’t reality. I don’t want to be told that it’s a bit romantic.

I want to live simply. I want to work an honest wage. I want to stop at noon to give the good God rightful thanks and praise.

I want to visit the graves of the dead with a bouquet of hope and faith.

I want to truly retire each night.

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Love is enough.

It is enough for you and for me.

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There is never enough if that we fail to see.

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—Howard Hain

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Morning Thoughts: Counting Drops

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Massimo Stanzione, “Pieta”, (1621-25)

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For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

—1 Corinthians 13:12

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Nothing.

Some days all we can do is count raindrops. There seems to be little else on the horizon.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Cor. 5:7)

On days such as these, a friend, a family member, a neighbor—perhaps even a stranger—may ask us if anything is wrong.

The answer is short and straightforward: “No, nothing at all.”

Yet, it is precisely that.

“Nothing” is precisely the problem:

The abyss of faith.

It’s hard.

It’s hard to journey in darkness.

It’s hard to swim in a bottomless sea without attempting every once in a while to touch bottom.

It’s also hard not to wonder if there’s something dangerous swimming just below.

But we must resist temptation, no matter its shape or size.

We must keep our eyes on the Island of Hope, with its very distinct Tree of Life, firmly planted, and reaching far above the horizon.

Instead of looking backwards or beneath, we must look to Christ lifted high up upon the Cross.

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We too must ascend. We too must rise above knowledge, “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead…” (Phil. 3:13)

And we must never despair. Never.

And why would we? God’s drops of love are everywhere.

Start to count them. Start to count this very day. Count the drops dripping from Christ’s open wounds. His crucified presence abounds; there are so many instances of Christ being put to the test—of Christ being nailed to the Cross—right in front of us, each and every day.

The Crucified Christ we personally discover within our immediate presence, literally within arm’s reach, just may be that same friend, family member, neighbor, or stranger who asked us just a little while ago if anything was wrong.

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Count your blessings on the outstretched fingers of the Lord.

Order your days according to the Stations of His Cross.

For without the Passion there is no Resurrection.

That’s part and parcel of The Promise:

God became man, so that man may dwell eternally with God.

His promise is everything.

Our doubt is nothing.

And the space in between, the space between His promise and our doubt, is filled with the very real stuff we call “life”— “the nuts and bolts” of daily existence, the building blocks of the Body of Christ—the Kingdom of God.

We just have to continue to walk, in faith, one step at a time. Knowing that we never walk alone.

Christ is always with us. He shares our total existence—in all things but sin—and even that, He got to know well. For the Guiltless One took upon Himself our sins and those of the whole world.

Jesus not only hung upon the Cross, He was yanked on all the while He was up there—the weight of a fallen world ceaselessly pulling down on His spotless hands and feet.

“For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin…” (2 Cor. 5:21)

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Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Jesus held back not a drop. He gave it all. And we in return are offered everything:

Sons and daughters of God. Co-heirs of the Kingdom.

How can we ever repay such a gift?

That’s the point. We can’t.

It’s grace. Pure grace.

Unwarranted mercy, non-merited compassion and forgiveness, unearned love.

———

Grace-filled moments such as these, when we realize just how small we truly are, bring us astonishingly close to the Creator of all—wonderfully close to Him Whom nothing can be compared.

They fill us with hope, the hope of what is to come, the hope of what Christ Himself promises.

In the meantime, let us keep counting raindrops. They too shall soon cease to fall. For one day, even faith will no longer be needed, for we shall see God “face to face.”

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Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.

—1 John 3:2

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—Howard Hain

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Morning Thoughts: I Have a Dream

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Mary Cassatt, “Mother and Two Children”, (1906)

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Let us put it all away.

Put away all the toys.

All the distractions.

Let us dream.

Let us dream of peace. Perfect peace. This very day.

I want every human being to love truth. To dwell in beauty. To live in wonder of God’s creation.

To think.

To stop.

To ascend.

To rise above the facts. To float above the circumstances. To kiss God on the cheek.

To laugh.

To cry.

To smile at a child.

To shake hands with a friend. To hug an enemy.

To hope. To believe. To pray.

To give great thanks. To humbly offer praise.

To graciously receive. To generously give.

To be alive.

To not be afraid.

———

I want every human being to ask: Why isn’t it always this way?

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Perhaps though most of all, I want us to be honest.

Honest about our desire to love. Our desire to be kind.

With no embarrassment, with no shame.

Freed from all worry that people will think it strange.

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—Howard Hain

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Sunday Vespers: Head of an Old Fisherman

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“Marble Head of an Old Fisherman” 1st-2nd century A.D.  Period: Imperial. Culture: Roman. Medium: Marble

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I’ve seen your face before.

We’ve spent time together before today.

You are so beautifully broken.

Made of marble, yet fragile as clay.

The years have chiseled deep.

The salt air has sanded away.

I hope one day to look just like you.

Yes, I know, it’s a lofty goal.

The calm countenance of a wise, humble, seasoned priest.

O, yes you are!

I see right though that meager disguise.

A fisherman, a priest; they’re practically one and the same.

Saint Peter, Saint James, Saint John…

The Fisher-King kept those three extra close.

Plus, your hat gives it away.

Chipped or not, I know it’s really a halo.

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“Come, follow me…and I will make you fishers of men.”

—Matthew 4:19

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—Howard Hain

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http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/252536

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Friday Thoughts: Completion

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Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of his body, which is the church…

—Colossians 1:24

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One more day. A few more hours. A couple more minutes.

The joy of wrapping things up. Of finishing strong. Competing well. Seeing things through.

The anticipation of rest. Of a good meal. The best. Of the company of those you love, of those who know you best.

How can there be another round? How can I possibly do one more day?

Questions we ask when we are truly spent.

———

To be in Christ’s Passion is to think that there can’t possibly be more. That this, this very moment, has to be the end.

But Christ continues. So does His Passion.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

—2 Corinthians 12:9

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He’s sweating blood in the garden. He’s scourged at the pillar. He’s crowned with sharp thorns.

He carries His cross. He’s stripped. He’s nailed.

He hangs for hours, for all passing by to see.

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But He hangs not alone.

A powerful woman, a tender-hearted disciple, a handful of faithful women, a couple of good law-abiding men, a few soldiers doing their duty, an evolving circle of “innocent” bystanders, and of course, a hoard of mockers. They are all on hand.

Yes, the mockers, they are there for sure. But they don’t stay the entire time. Their shame shows them the door.

The evil spirits, on the other hand, they stay till the end. Taunting. Challenging. Hating Christ’s inevitable victory over death:

“Come off that cross, you coward! Fight like a man!”

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There are times when laughs and cries sound very much the same. When the heart bursts forth from the valley of death.

“Is he laughing?”

“Is he crying?”

“Has he gone insane?”

Or has he finally finished taking upon Himself all the blame?

———

 “It is finished.”

And He bowed His head and gave up His spirit.

—John 19:30

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And that was just the beginning.

Almost like the first week of school.

Now all of Jesus’ younger siblings get to follow His rule:

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Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith,

who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame

and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

—Hebrews 12:2

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“And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

—Matthew 28:20

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—Howard Hain

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