O God, whose only begotten Son, by His life, death, and resurrection, has purchased for us the rewards of eternal life, grant, we beseech Thee, that meditating upon these mysteries of the Most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we may imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise, through the same Christ Our Lord.

That phrase, ‘imitate what they contain‘ seems to imply the need for a little prayerful reflection on the truths contained in each mystery, doesn’t it?  You may think that the Rosary is a complicated enough feat of multi-tasking as it stands without adding another layer to the prayer, but wait!  It’s not only possible, but you’re already well experienced in the art of using scripture passages, meditating on them and praying with them, for this is exactly what you do when you pray the Stations of the Cross.

Take for example, the Fourth station: Mary presumably had been seeking Jesus ever since she heard of his arrest.  We can imagine her trying to make her way through the crowds, maybe following the arm of the cross as she sees it moving above the heads in the crowd.  We can imagine her distress as it disappears from view as he falls the first time, and then her anguish as she eventually meets her beloved son.  We consider the selfless love of each one for the other.  Jesus – while longing to let her know that this would not be the end – gives her his blessing and strengthens her for what was to come; and Mary even here does not lose hope but shows her maternal compassion towards her son.  Then the soldiers chivvy Jesus along and he is gone.  The crowds engulf Mary once more and she follows as best she can to Calvary.

We look to emulate the selfless, compassionate love of Son and mother; and we pray that we might hope and trust in God as Mary did.  We pray with contrition for times when we have lacked compassion and that henceforth we might always be sensitive to others’ needs, putting them before our own.

In the context of the Stations of the Cross, this way of praying is very familiar yet not formulaic (unless you’re St Alphonsus or you’re using a book).  Here, then, is a way of praying – a transferable skill, if you like – that we can use when praying the Rosary… so let’s see if we can apply that style of prayer to the second Joyful mystery, The Visitation.

Again, Mary is seeking.  This time she seeks Elizabeth, who has conceived a son in her advanced years, for nothing is impossible for God.  Imagine Mary, who has just received that enormous news from the Angel, putting Elizabeth’s needs before her own and setting out on that not-inconsiderable journey (taking perhaps the best part of a week) to be with her cousin.  As she journeys, imagine her heart singing with joy (not worrying, not grumbling) as she reflects upon the marvels the Almighty has worked for her.  And then they meet and the first Christian community is formed, for those souls (including John the Baptist) are united by the presence – in Mary’s womb – of the Incarnate Word.  Elizabeth – whose husband has been rather quiet around the house for six months now, remember – does not immediately tell Mary her own remarkable news but proclaims that immortal greeting, ‘Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb!‘   The two expectant mothers share their joy at each other’s news but neither is self-seeking.  We see both women placing their hope and trust in God despite not knowing much at all about how their futures would unfold.

And so, having meditated on this mystery, we pray that we might imitate what it contains:  We pray for such unwavering hope and certain trust.  We pray that we might accept God’s will in all things.  We pray that we might work selflessly and joyfully for our neighbour’s good, remembering contrition for times when we have failed.  We pray that we will always recognise the presence of Christ in others.

There.  It’s not complicated.  Yes, it takes a little time, but we needn’t say the whole Rosary in one go.  Just putting aside a little time to say one decade well may be time better spent than five hurried decades.

We are all called to be saints, but perhaps we can be so caught up in the means that we forget the end.  I know someone who wanted to learn a foreign language and bought book after book as well as several tapes (it was a while ago) to help with the quest.  However, what was really needed was some hard graft learning grammar and vocabulary and lots of practice.  You can imagine that the Curé d’Ars recognised something similar in this woman (who later became a Daughter of Charity), who perhaps was in love with the idea of being in love with God.

Imagine her, like so many others, travelling a great distance on an Ars-special (a return ticket valid for eight days, so as to ensure a consultation).  She eventually managed to speak with him and asked him for something of his that she could keep as a relic. I wonder how she felt upon hearing his answer.  Indignant?  She’d travelled all this way, after all…  Then humbled, perhaps?  Here they were, two children of God: he’d given his life for God and she?  She had so much to offer but – as yet – had not given it.

If the Curé had given her what she’d asked for, perhaps the relic would have been (in her case) more of a distraction than an aid on her journey towards God.  As it turned out, she had his command ringing in her ears, ‘make them yourself’ – give yourself completely to God and go wherever He leads you.  He will draw you to Himself.

On this, his feast, let us take that advice for ourselves.

St John Vianney, pray for us.

Living ‘in the world’ as we do, we necessarily are Martha for most of the day.  As a poem that adorns many a kitchen reads, ‘Although I must have Martha’s hands, I have a Mary mind‘².  That ‘Mary mind’ – or contemplative heart – must compete with our daily work for our attention… and there’s always so much to do, isn’t there?  But before we Marthas dismiss St Francis de Sales as laudable but impractical, consider this poem written by a veritable Martha, aka Fay Inchfawn:

The Housewife

See, I am cumbered, Lord,

With serving, and with small vexatious things.

Upstairs, and down, my feet

Must hasten, sure and fleet.

So weary that I cannot heed Thy word;

So tired, I cannot now mount up with wings.

I wrestle – how I wrestle! – through the hours.

Nay, not with principalities, nor powers –

Dark spiritual foes of God’s and man’s –

But with antagonistic pots and pans:

With footmarks in the hall,

With smears upon the wall,

With doubtful ears, and small unwashen hands,

And with a babe’s innumerable demands.

I toil with feverish haste, while tear-drops glisten,

(O, child of mine, be still.  And listen – listen!)

At last, I laid aside

Important work, no other hands could do

So well (I thought), no skill contrive so true.

And with my heart’s door open – open wide –

With leisured feet, and idle hands, I sat.

I, foolish, fussy, blind as any bat,

Sat down to listen, and to learn.  And lo,

My thousand tasks were done the better so.

Just a few minutes in the midst of our busy-ness can open up our hearts enough to let God in and sanctify our work.  As we remember St Martha, whose feast it is today, let us ask her to pray for us that we will not ‘worry and fret about so many things‘ but remember to keep re-focusing our attention on the Lord, who is to be found among the pots and pans and things – if only we care to look.

St Martha of Bethany, pray for us.

__________________________

¹ I’ve looked, but I’m afraid I can’t find the quotation now.  If I find it subsequently (or if you know, post a comment and) I’ll update the post.

² ‘Lord of all pots and pans and things‘ .  Authorship is there attributed to Klara Munkres, but I’ve also seen it attributed to Cecily Rosemary Hallack (1898-1938) or even ‘unknown’.

The only explanation you can find upon seeing the empty tomb is a cruel, cruel theft of hope.  Grave robbers have taken the body of your beloved Rabbuni.

But have courage, Mary of Magdala, for the one whom you seek is there, behind you!

The woman of misery in a moment is filled with the joy that is beyond all telling and becomes the first missionary: ‘Go and find the brothers, and tell them: I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God’ (Jn 20).  Imagine her intense passion in that nadir being transformed to the zenith in a moment, then imagine her using that tremendous energy for spreading the Good News.

Mary of Magdala has much to teach us about prayer, hope and trust and service.  When we find ourselves in what we perceive to be a dire situation, we can perhaps see one very unlikely solution or have one very feeble hope, which then becomes the focus of our petition.

… but Mary of Magdala shows us how short-sighted such a perception can be, because we don’t have the vision to see what plans God has for us.  Remember the prayer of Mary, mother of Jesus, ‘they have no wine’.  Another person might have prayed that the guests suddenly have no thirst, or an overwhelming desire to go home, or to drink water, but not Mary.  Her great open-ended hope – which enabled her to respond so positively to Gabriel at the Annunciation – enabled her in Cana to in trust Jesus to find a way.

When we ‘ask, seek, knock’, let us leave the finer details to God, who already knows what we need before we ask him.  And, as we’ve remembered Mary of Magdala this week (yesterday, I know, but we had no Internet connection here), let us remember to ask her prayers that we might open our eyes and recognise Jesus wherever we are.

Mary of Magdala, pray for us.

As is characteristic, he made no bones about what he expected, saying, ‘above all, let not the evil of murmuring appear in the least word or sign for any reason whatever‘ (ch.34); yet he showed his compassion and understanding of human weakness by recommending (in ch. 35), that ‘servers receive each a  cup of drink and a piece of bread over the prescribed portion, that they may serve their brethren at the time of refection without murmuring and undue strain‘.

Benedict understood that a culture of murmuring would poison the spirit of fraternal love in a community.  He wisely advised his his monks not only to guard against murmuring individually but also to try to avoid giving others cause to murmur.

Murmuring is not the same as complaining (always to the right person or not at all!) and certainly not the same as speaking up against injustice.  Murmuring is voicing our discontent informally to the wrong people – to colleagues about superiors; to family members about work or school; to anyone who will listen about ‘the way things are done around here’.

Controlling our own tendency to murmur is one thing, but we have less control over the murmurings of others.  It’s hard to endure a murmuring culture and even harder to break that negative cycle and bring to it a positive outlook.  Hard, but not impossible: one person who never murmurs and tries gently to see the positive side can be the necessary leaven in a community.

Benedict’s feast is 11^th July; a Sunday this year but let’s not ignore him because of that.  Since he found murmuring so objectionable, let him be for us the saint whose prayers will support us in our own efforts to ‘bless God and do not grumble‘ (ch 40).  Let his prayers support us as we try to avoid giving others cause to murmur and as we try to break down the habits of murmuring we encounter in our daily lives.

St Benedict of Nursia, pray for us.

* In chapters 23, 34, 35, 40 and 53.

Some of John’s disciples had come to him to inform him that Jesus was baptising in the area.  You get the impression that they were expecting John to be jealous of Jesus, or to belittle Jesus’ work in some way.  Of course there is no such response from John.  Instead, he declares that Jesus engaging in his public ministry makes his joy complete.  John prepares the way of the Lord, then shows his disciples the Lamb of God and lets them go to him, never once trying to work alongside Jesus or looking for any recognition for his own work.  He is admirable for his humility alone, but when we consider the part he played in the history of salvation, we can see why Jesus said of him,

‘I tell you, among those born of women there is no-one greater than John’ (Luke 7:28).

John is always and everywhere pointing away from himself and towards Jesus.  That, surely is his lesson for us today; that we try to become less self-centred and more like Christ each day, so that he may be ever more widely known and loved.

If we’re not careful, Jesus somehow loses his rightful position at the centre of our lives and so we need to keep on repositioning him there.  Sometimes this seems hard because we find ourselves thinking, ‘but what about me?’  But to think like that is a false economy; John the Baptist shows us that.  ‘God calls us to his own beatitude‘ (CCC 1719), and it is through conforming our will to his that we will ultimately get there.

The following words of St Paul’s (Colossians 1: 16-17) serve to remind us why we ought to keep Christ at the centre of our lives.  To do otherwise is to fight against the natural order of things and is, therefore, a waste of time and energy!

‘All things were created through him and for him.

He is before all things and in him all things hold together’ .

Let us pray that, like St. John the baptist, we may humbly work to build up God’s kingdom, never looking for recognition for ourselves.

St John the baptist, pray for us.

‘If you’re too busy to pray, you’re too busy.’

… So the saying goes, but it’s a bit of a harsh line, isn’t it?  Yes, there are many things that need to be done today, and a great many things that we won’t get done today, but we do seem to be able to get the crucial things done.  It’s a matter of priorities.  God is a patient and forgiving lover and it is occasionally tempting to neglect him because of that, but here’s another thing to bear in mind: He will never, ever be outdone in generosity.  If we are habitually too busy to pray – if we find ourselves saying again and again, ‘sorry I’ve had so little time for you, God, I’ve been so busy’ – we need to be courageous and do something to reduce our busy-ness in order that we might rediscover that time to give to God.

So we look honestly at our lives and pray that we might find a prayer-shaped window.  When you lose something, you look for it initially where you last had it.  So too with that prayer-window. It might be hard to spot, as there may be something standing in front of it now.  If so, move that something or – if it’s a necessary fixture – move the window.  You don’t need planning permission from God (even though your soul is definitely Grade I Listed – not that I’m saying you’re an ancient monument, but that your soul is a work of the ‘principal architect’) .  Put the window where the view won’t distract you, somewhere quiet and somewhere you will be able to visit at the same time each day.  I don’t know why it is, but it does seem to be the case that if one habitually prays at the same time, in the same place, then praying there becomes easy.  We are creatures of habit, I suppose, and like every good habit, building a good habit of prayer is hard work yet well worth it… but easy to let slip.  It is comforting, then, to remember this comment of St Benedict’s about prayer life:  ‘Always, we begin again’…

That is similar, isn’t it, to us asking the intercession of our blessed virgin mother?  Sometimes we are unsure of ourselves and of what we want (or need) to say in prayer.  Sometimes we don’t quite know how to put our supplication.  Sometimes, we need Mary to pray for us when we can’t do it ourselves (‘at the hour of our death,’ yes, but so often ‘at the hour when I’m on the verge of giving in’).  Sometimes, we need the mother to pester her Son as only a mother can.

You’re familiar with the marriage at Cana, where Mary asks Jesus to… but wait, she doesn’t, does she?  She doesn’t even need to ask him the question.  What she says is, ‘They have no wine.‘  There is a request, yes, but it is silent, unvoiced.  Because they are so close, the words are not needed.  We’d be fools if we did not ask Mary – offered by the Son to be our mother too – to intercede for us every day of our lives.  We don’t necessarily need a beautiful Marian devotional prayer; we needn’t say a whole Rosary.  She’s your Mother: ‘You ask for me, Mummy’ pulls at her heart and she’s unable to resist.

It’s May, the month when we traditionally focus more keenly on our Blessed Virgin Mother.  Let’s give some time to reflecting upon the place we give her in our lives and continue to ask her to intercede for us -

Mary, Mother of God, pray for us!

The concluding prayer for Monday’s Night Prayer (above)  is by far the shortest of the concluding prayers for compline.  Last Monday, however, it wasn’t its brevity that made me wonder.  I found myself reflecting instead on the ‘work we have done today’ and considering how much of it will ‘be sown for an eternal harvest’.  Will the dishes I have done stand me in good stead in heaven?  The cooking?  Cleaning the kitchen floor?  What of the nappies I’ve changed: will they count?

St Peter’s not going to be interested in whether or not I’ve done the ironing (which is lucky), but rather in the acts of the three things that remain: faith, hope and love… and the greatest of these is love.  Consider St Catherine of Siena for a moment.  She  had found her niche in the contemplative life and was happy to stop there, but God had other plans for her, calling her to a more active love of him.  She was reluctant – thinking her life of contemplative prayer to be the ‘end’, rather than the ‘means’ – but was obedient to the ‘tender will of God’ and continued her life of contemplative prayer in a phenomenally active way.  Rather than living life of active ministry punctuated with prayer, her whole life was centred on divine contemplation and her active ministry flowed from it.  She had given herself so completely to God that there was no real boundary between her individual will and His.  There was no apparent boundary either, between her love of God and love of neighbour; the one flowed into the other.

Each time we think, speak or act out of love for God or neighbour, then, we sow an eternal seed.  When we use the widow’s mite of patience, compassion and forgiveness towards those with whom we live or work, when we bite our tongues out of charity or speak out against injustice, we sow an eternal seed.  When we help those in need – no matter how small that help is – we are showing the love and compassion of Christ, and that is work that will be ‘sown for an eternal harvest’.

It’s no surprise that Mary chose a simple child to be the recipient of those apparitions, but they took place over a period of just six months, after which, Bernadette’s life was not – as far as we know – touched by anything out of the ordinary.  How humble Bernadette must have been not to have expected any further apparitions or looked for any special treatment from the Sisters of Notre Dame, whom she joined at the age of 22.  Indeed, St Bernadette once compared herself with a broom, saying

‘Our Lady used me.  They have put me back in my corner.  I am happy to stop there’.

Bernadette received the apparitions in humility.  She endured the ridicule and accusations of ‘making it up’ in humility.  She refused to lay her hands on the sick, and refused to accept gifts, hating the publicity that her experiences brought her.  She later had to endure the humility of being turned down when she initially sought entry to religious life.  When she later entered the convent, she lived the life of a very ordinary nun, simply doing God’s will and not seeking any recognition for herself.

Her humble constancy is most admirable.  Let’s ask her for her prayers as we approach her feast, that we may immitate her humility at all times, returning thanks to God for all that is good within us.

St Bernadette of Lourdes, pray for us!