Brief Merton post

We are words that are meant to respond to Him, to answer Him, to echo Him, and even in some way to contain and signify Him. Contemplation is this echo. It is a deep resonance in the inmost center of our spirit, in which our very life loses its separate voice and re-sounds with the majesty and mercy of the Hidden One. ... The contemplative is at the same time the question and the answer.

A lot to take in, right? I've been chewing on this quote lately from Thomas Merton a la the New Seeds of Contemplation. What a treasure this man is/was to the Church. His writings are so challenging yet at the same time, they make sense. I would encourage anyone interested in the contemplatives, or this aspect of Christian spirituality to take a look at his stuff.

Normal Rockwell Mary, Queen of Heaven

 

I love this painting of Mary. It reminds of something between a Norman Rockwell scene and a 1930s children’s book. Not your typical Mary painting. But I like it because she reminds of these scenes, so approachable and nostalgic. When I saw it in the Magnificat Magazine, I was inspired to write a little tribute in honor of the Memorial of the Queenship of Mary today.

Because of my dad's job I spent a significant part of my childhood in Madrid, Spain. In fact, I don't remember anything before Spain. My paternal grandfather was from Spain so we also spent a lot of time traveling the country, visiting family in their little mountain village in León (it's literally on a mountain). It was their I learned about real Spanish Catholicism, the centuries old devotions that are still meaningful today. How to practice a faith that is so rich and intoxicating and strong. A faith that's in the soil of that place. This was where my Catholic roots were born.

I have also been shaped by living in New England for many years. Trust me, the Puritans may be gone but the traces of their legacy are still around, if you look. New England is, in many ways, as far from that manifestation of Catholicism as it is possible to be. And because of this Protestant heritage (which I have learned from as well) there is sometimes a tendency to downplay our enthusiasm for Our Lady and tradition in general. 

As you may have seen in World Youth Day, this is not the case in traditional Spanish Catholicism.

Yeah. These are brought out every year for Holy Week (Semana Santa) in cities all over Spain--believe it or not--where and carried through the solemn procession of other floats/wooden statues like this depicting various moments in the life of Christ (usually the Stations of the Cross). These statues usually weigh a lot are are covered with the most decadent, beautiful flowers of whatever town they come from. They are also carried on the shoulders of sinners. Catholics (usually men), who cover themselves head to toe in either a black robe or monastic garb, because they do not want to be seen. Images of Marys like this were abundant in my family's homes. Little prayers and thoughts and pleas that came out easy as breathing were sent up all day to "La Virgen." Rosaries were always nearby and said constantly. She who held Christ as our sins finally took His breath away, always held us, always close.

While the Norman Rockwell Mary is beautiful in her own way, this is the Mary I bring my sorrows to. This Mary's heart has been pierced with a sword; she knows great pain. This is the Mary who will cover me in her mantle and gently guide me to the throne of Christ. She is elegant but fierce, strong, she can bear the weight of our prayers. When I see this Mary, I feel closer to my grandfather who know sees her face to face; I feel closer to myself, in a way, because I am closer to my roots, to my Church, to the history inscribed in my blood and my bones. 

If anyone has any special devotions or memories of Mary in their own heritage or just thoughts you would like to share, please do! I would love to hear your experiences! 

Five Minute Friday: New

Welcome to my first Five Minute friday! Today, for five minutes, I just write whatever comes to mind. No editing, no tinkering. Today's prompt is 'new'.

GO

New. Outside my window it's about to start raining. Pine trees, grass, a small road, other houses. A view that I've had for a long time now. Sometimes I long for something new to look at. I long to live in a big city where there are people and cars and commotion, or on other, quieter days, a view overlooking a deep, lush, green valley below tall mountaintops that have been there longer than any of us. Now it's thundering, and soon the tap-tap-tap of rain, strong and fierce, but surely brief will sound against the side of this window. Aren't I always looking for a new view? Haven't I always been dissatisfied with the view in front of me? Wanting another's. Ooh, California looks nice, can you imagine a view of the beach? Or maybe of a huge fountain, sculpted gardens, multiple tennis courts?

Most of the year my view here is of a blanket of white. Crystals hanging of trees. Bitter cold, the kind that hurts. And I hate it, for all eight months. What if my view was actually of another person's living room, because there was no wall between us? Or of a garbage dump? Maybe what I don't need is a new view, but the me that is loved by God just as I am. Maybe I just need to find her.

STOP

Marines, SEALs, Cows

Sometimes I get really angry. So angry I want to break something, throw something, pull a Keira-Knightley-Pride-and-Prejudice-stand-at-the-edge-of-a-cliff except without the whole basking gorgeously like a supermodel in the noonday sun. Because I have to do something, I have to get the anger out of me somehow.
 

And other days I feel like I’ll never be able to pull out from under it. That it’s in the very air I am breathing in this world.