Contemplative Haven

I was all set to write a follow-up post to “What Ifs”, and had selected a quotation I wanted to discuss. But after re-reading it several times, the first line kept sending me into fits of giggles. Here it is:

What if we desire to do something to serve the Lord, something to give Him glory, and all our efforts in that direction appear to fail? What if, after careful discernment, we have changed our course, radically altering our lives and those of family members, sacrificing time, money and advancement in other areas, only to experience defeat at every turn? What if we come to believe that it was all a dream, or only our imagination, or just our own pride, and not a “still, small voice”?

What if we call to Him in the middle of the night, in the middle of the meeting, in the middle of the diaper change, and there is no answer? What if we cry out to Him, “Lord, have You abandoned me? Lord, have You betrayed me? Lord, are you laughing at me?” Yet with the next breath, in our certainty that He could not do any of those things, we beg Him for explanations – “Lord, I know it was You who led me to do this; why don’t You help me, when it is Your work I desire to do?” Silence.

And so, what if the book doesn’t publish, the art doesn’t sell, the workshops aren’t attended, the religious vocation doesn’t gel, the theology degree doesn’t gain us a position? What then?

What then indeed.

“He who has tasted this light understands of what I am speaking. Once tasted, this light tortures the soul all the more with hunger for it, for the soul feeds on it but is never satiated, and the more it tastes it, the more it hungers. This light, which draws the mind as the sun draws the eyes, this light, inexplicable in itself, which however becomes explicable, only not in words but by the experience of him who receives its influence, or rather who is wounded by it – this light, commands me to be silent.” Philotheus of Sinai

Today is the feastday of Blessed Marie-Léonie Paradis. Élodie, as she was called in childhood, was born in the village of L’Acadie, Québec, Canada in 1840. She entered the Holy Cross congregation in 1854, spent many years teaching in different locations, and in 1880, founded a new order: The Little Sisters of the Holy Family. The sisters of this new congregation were to devote themselves to priests and seminarians by taking care of their households. The order now has convents not only in Canada, but in the U.S., Rome and Honduras. Élodie died in 1912, and was the first Canadian ever beatified on Canadian soil. Pope John Paul II declared her Blessed in his visit to Canada in 1980.

I wonder if, when she discerned her vocation as a very young woman, Élodie got down on her knees and begged God to allow her to spend her life overseeing the cleaning of rectories and seminaries? Was her heart’s desire to serve the Lord by becoming the foundress of an order devoted to washing priests’ kitchen floors and scrubbing seminarians’ bathrooms? Somehow I doubt it. She did what needed to be done, without complaint, telling her sisters that they would rest in heaven.

There is very little written about Blessed Marie-Léonie Paradis, and so I do not know, for certain, if she had a contemplative bone in her body. But I believe she did. It is said she was known for her devotion to the Rosary and to the Eucharist, and my intuition tells me that during her long, tiring days, she was a woman who practised the presence of God.

Élodie. Marie-Léonie. Bienheureuse. Housecleaning her way through life. No question; the woman’s a saint.

The Canada geese flew over our house the other evening, and again this morning, heading north. Two of the largest V-formations I have ever seen. You can hear them approaching about a minute or so before they arrive, their honking scurrying you out of the house, neighbours popping out of back doors to gaze up at their wondrous, fleeting passage.

The backyard is home now to robins, sparrows, chickadees, mourning doves and occasionally, blue jays and cardinals.

My cup runneth over.

“Lord, it is you who, through the imperceptible goadings of sense-beauty, penetrated my heart in order to make its life flow out into yourself. You came down into me by means of a tiny scrap of created reality; and then, suddenly, you unfurled your immensity before my eyes and displayed yourself to me as Universal Being.”

Teilhard de Chardin (Hymn of the Universe)

May is a month of “openings” in my neck of the woods. Crocuses and tulips, lilacs and climbing vines all open themselves to the sun and warm breezes, with no sign of begrudging the harsh winter they’ve endured.

It is a glorious month, traditionally the month in which the Blessed Virgin is especially remembered and honoured. When I was little, we sang this hymn every day at school during May:

‘Tis the month of our Mother,
The blessed and beautiful days,
When our lips and our spirits
Are glowing with love and with praise.
All hail! to dear Mary,
The guardian of our way,
To the fairest of Queens,
Be the fairest of seasons, sweet May.

Mary was like the crocuses and tulips, the lilacs and the climbing vines, open to everything the Lord had to offer. She was a complete “yes”, wholly receptive, totally accepting, yet not passive. She rode donkeys, fled countries, lived in exile, swept floors, and prepared meals. With her simple observation of, “They have no wine,” she was instrumental in starting her Son out in His public life, with the miracle at Cana.

But where did this “yes” to God lead her while on earth? To a grand life, mother of the famous, local Miracle Worker? No. It led her directly to His Passion, directly into becoming Our Lady of the Seven Dolours (Our Lady of Sorrows). Our gentle Mother, with seven swords in her heart, that heart where she had “pondered” everything – her prayerful and contemplative centre.