Our Lady of Ashes

 Edward Scissorhands is a great Christmas movie. Now I don't mean that it's a great movie set at Christmas time (enter the Die Hard debate), though indeed there is a Christmas party and snow, I mean that it is a movie that brings the meaning of Christmas to the screen. On the exterior, the suburbian neighborhood where the movie primarily takes place is clean, well ordered, regular as clockwork, as evidenced by the smooth ballet of cars as the husbands leave for work. Everything seems, at least, pleasant. But there are hints that all is not well; bored housewives seduce the handyman, there is a preoccupation with looking good rather than being good, absentee parents deny their children a reasonable share in their goods, justice outweighs mercy, gossip runs rapant, and the only evidence of religion is a judgmental, neurotic religion. Frankly, this is a lot like the world in general Enter Edward. Peg Boggs, an Avon salesperson, the personification of obsession with appearance an

  O Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel; qui aperis, et nemo claudit; claudis, et nemo aperit: veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in tenebris, et umbra mortis O Key of David, opening the gates of God's eternal Kingdom: come and free the prisoners of darkness! We often speak of having a "God-sized hole" in our hearts, a variation of Augustine's "our hearts our restless until they rest in you." I have been struck this year, even before the O Antiphons began, with the notion that Jesus' is THE key that fits this hole (which means the whole does indeed have a definite shape, only to be fitted by a particular key). But rather than the key turning to open the gates that reveal the mysteries of God, the key is the still point of Creation, and it is we who must turn around him,  that is, we must convert,  con-verte to turn  around (Lat.). Our whole life must make Christ the center, everything must be fitted to him, or the gates to God's ete

 While reflecting on the Sorrowful Mysteries, and from a small comment in Stratford Caldecott's reflection on the mystery of the Crown of Thorns , it occured to me that all of Jesus' healing miracles have their infernal reflection in the Passion. This should come as no surprise as the prophet declared that he would bear all our infirmities (Isaiah 53:4) as the Suffering Servant, but I figured it was worth a focused exploration. Not all of them have a one-to-one injury Jesus who healed the blind (Mk 8:22; 10:46; Jn 9) is himself blindfolded by the Temple guards (Mark 14:65; Luke 22:64) who beat him and ask him to identify who struck him. Several times he cures lepers/those with skin disease, while his skin was torn from his flesh at his flagellation at the pillar (Mk 15;15; John 19:1);  For those healed from paralysis, Jesus is paralized by crucifixion; and while after the healing, he commands those healed to "take up your mat," Before his paralysis, Jesus takes up his

Lately, I have been finding a lot of great insight in Catholic Theologian Aidan Nichol's The Chalice of God  intended to be something of a swan song of his theological thought. One great unifying thought to my life of faith from the book that speaks to often in the book is the unity of the greater mysteries of Christ life with the lesser mysteries of the Church, that is the sacraments. The sacraments re-present the mysteries of Christ to his Body, so their participation in those mysteries grow as they seek deeper communion with the life of the Son, and through the Son life in the Trinity in which He dwells.  From these lesser mysteries, then comes our prayer life which he sees as an interiorizing of the liturgy that we have participated in. Thus the grace flows from Jesus' life through the mysteries of the Church to the spirit of the individual faithful, where like seeds, the mysteries germinate to bear fruit in the Christian soul. These, then, of the mysteries returns with us

 From An Interrupted Life: The Diaries of Etty Hillesum, 1941-1943 Etty Hillesum at her desk “ I keep talking about God the whole day long, and it is high time that I lived accordingly. I still have a long way to go, oh yes, a long way, and yet sometimes I behave as if I were there already. I am frivolous and easy-going and I often look on things that happened as if I were an artist, a mere observer. There is something bizarre and fickle and adventurous in me. But as I sit here at my desk, late at night, I also feel a compelling, directive force deep down, a great and growing seriousness, a soundless voice that tells me what to do and forces me to confess: I have fallen short in all ways, my real work has not even begun. So far I have done little more than play about.” —25 SEPTEMBER, 11.00 P.M.