Holy Days
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Having Enough
When I open my eyes to the gray light peeping around the borders of the curtains and drop my hand to scratch the stubby little ears of my dog, I do not trouble myself with thoughts of the world or its viruses or those who scramble after its thrones or its frocked masters who speak for God or its oil reserves or its intentionally-stoked fires of unrest. These things may come to affect me someday, but in order to do so they will have to make their way to this small acreage. If they do this, they may well learn why the gate to my life is locked and guarded.…
- Church Life, Holy Days, I Never Thought I'd Be In This Situation, Lectio Divina, Prayers, Quotations, Reflections, Saints
The Feast of Saint Joan of Arc
Five hundred and ninety years ago today, a devout 19 year-old virgin from an obscure French village was fastened to a pillar in the village square of Rouen and burned to death by Church authorities, their actions born of political intrigue, spiritual blindness, worldly greed…and great evil. Young Joan hears her voices For deeply personal reasons, I have a special devotion to the Maid, and have maintained an intimate relationship with her through prayer and meditation for some years now. There is no one like her. And her presence in the living world of today is real and undeniable. I am celebrating the Maid’s feast day on this last Sunday…
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Third Sunday in Easter
On certain days, when the sun lifts into the sky, the first rays travel across to the copse of trees across the road from our house, where they light on the center of the trees and ignite them in morning splendor. Yesterday, I happened to look outside just as this happened and was able to get a picture of it. The picture of course does not capture the deep beauty of the true moment, but it does communicate a certain surface element of the beauty. Sometimes when I scuff along the graveled lanes that twist around our farm, I feel blind to what is around me, so intent am I…
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Happy Birthday, Nanny
You would have been one hundred and twenty one years old. You and your ways are as clear in my memory as creek water and pebbles scooped up and held in my hand. And I love you, Nanny. I will see you in Heaven someday. Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let Your perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace. Amen. Happy Birthday to Kristian, also. ~ S.K. Orr
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Easter Monday
Reading this morning in Brother Lawrence’s The Practice of the Presence of God, I felt as if the old monk were aiming some of his words directly at me across the centuries. In his eighth letter, he tells the person to whom he’s writing: I do not advise you to use multiplicity of words in prayer; many words and long discourses being often the occasions of wandering… And in his ninth letter, discussing a mutual acquaintance, he tells his correspondent: She seems to me full of good will, but she would go faster than grace. One does not become holy all at once. … These two subjects, verbosity in prayer…
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He Is Risen Indeed
I slipped into sleep last night watching the fire-patterns in the stove, methodically releasing my hold on old hurts and old grudges that had been bedeviling me all evening. Reading earlier in the afternoon in Holy Week: The Complete Offices in Latin and English, I had latched onto a section from the Second Nocturne in Holy Saturday, a selection from Psalm 26: I believe to see the good things of the Lord in the land of the living. Expect the Lord, do manfully, and let thy heart take courage, and wait thou for the Lord. How often are men exhorted in this day and age to “do manfully?” The rarity…
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Holy Saturday, Night
We walked together, Jinx and I. At dawn and in the warmth of the day and at its close. We marveled at the same colors and listened to the same songs. And now we are with Mrs. Orr and Dixee, all of us in the same room, a fire’s flames curling up behind the stove’s glass on the night of the day known as 4-3-21. A countdown day. The dogwoods will not blossom tomorrow after all. Perhaps later in the week. The buds are larger and fuller, but they are not ready for Easter. They have their own timetable, they listen to their own music, singing in the sap that…
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And About The Ninth Hour…
It is now three p.m. here, the ninth hour of the day if reckoned by the timekeeping of the earthly days of our Lord Jesus Christ. Either He died as the holy apostles have told us, or He did not. It was either accomplished for us, or it was not. His followers are either the most wretched of all men, or we are not. This is not the hour for arguments or syllogisms or debate. This is the hour when I am compelled to whisper, “Lord, remember me when Thou shalt come into Thy kingdom. Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief. Lord, increase my faith. Lord Jesus, receive my…
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Late, Maundy Thursday
Jinx and I just went out into the back yard for his final restroom break of the night, and we were surprised to step out into snow. The porch and grass were covered in white powder, but it is clearing because the stars were shining down , one of the last of those cold, clear nights that I will miss when the weather finally warms and the air is less crisp, less sharply defined. I think I’ve neglected to mention recently that I am growing potatoes this year. In old automobile tires. This is a technique I’ve heard about for years, one that has been recommended to me by many…
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Thursday In Holy Week
It’s a shame that we’re going to have some snow today, along with freezing temperatures the next two nights. The blooms and blossoms around our little farm are particularly zestful right now, with the peach trees, dogwood, redbud, forsythia, pear trees, daffodils, and various bulbs all in full glory. It would have been a spectacular Easter Sunday morning, but will probably be somewhat muted. Ah, well. The good Lord knows what He’s doing. Today marks what would have been the 100th birthday of my wife’s beloved father. Pawpaw was a remarkable person, a self-made man in every sense of the term. Forced to leave school at age eight in order…