Bookmarks
If you would like one of these bookmarks, send me a picture postcard with your address on it, and mention the words underneath the image (e.g. quarite, et invenientis). I'll be happy to stick one in the post for you: here's the address.
 Ecce sponsus venit |
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Dark Night on a Darkslide On my mantlepiece there stands a little crucifix, and every now and then it throws a disturbing shadow on an old camera darkslide, reminding me of St. John of the Cross’ vision of Christ on the Cross (his drawing appears on the cover of The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross, ICS Publications). There is a bit of a rising or ascending motion in the angle of the shadow over the rosary cross, and that upward movement really happens as the sun moves past my south-facing window through the afternoon. I have the unenviable privilege of seeing him being lifted up from the earth, drawing all people to himself (Jn 12:32). I also see that he is not lying on that cross as it is being pushed up under him, but hanging down from it, pulling his hands and feet under the weight of his body and the sins of the world which he took upon himself. The contradiction of his being pulled down as he is being lifted up creates an impression of the hordes of hell making a last ditch attempt to prevent this sacrifice from reaching its ultimate conclusion, their destruction. As I view the little crucifix in my hands, trying to recreate Fray Juan's distinctive perspective, I notice that the corpus is actually very slender and almost straight, whereas the shadow on my mantlepiece is distorted and compressed. It really does underline the weight of sin he bore for al of us, myself included! When I hear your voice... My favourite prayer, by far, is to simply say his name. You can say it silently in your mind, whisper it to yourself, let it flow from your lips as you breathe out: literally as natural as breathing. You don’t need lots of words, just a simple Jesu. And every now and then he will even say something in response: blessed are those who... (Mt 5:3-12). There are no voices, just feelings, reassurances. When I see that shadow on my mantlepiece, he reminds me that he died for all of us - even for me. And without light, there is no shadow, so in that shadow he also reminds me that there is light in darkness (cf. Jn 1:5). That, to me, is also a case of ‘hearing his voice’. We can recognise him by his voice (Jn 10:4), and in prayer, we can all go out to meet him (cf. Mt 25:6). |
 Quarite, et invenietis |
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Seek, and you shall find Oh yes, four-leaved clovers do exist, and they are easy enough to find if you look for them. So here are three tips to make things much easier. Look for patches of unusually large or lush clovers, for example along a field or pasture. Large leaves are obviously easier on the eyes than small ones, and small patches are also easier to have quick look at. Also have a quick look around parks and ornamental gardens, even in towns, estates or car parks. Clovers are often the first to re-appear after a hefty dose of weed killer, and will often throw up a couple of four-leaved specimens. If you can’t find any, look somewhere else. And if you do find one, there’s a good chance you’ll find more, so just give them away. And while you’re there among the clovers, you can also contemplate the mysteries of the trinity, like St. Patrick: three leaves make up one leaf; God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, one and the same god. |
 Ave Maria |
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Ave Maria When I moved to Saltburn in 1994, one of the first things I did was have a little walk through Hazelgrove, one of Saltburn's wooded valleys. As I returned to Saltburn town via the allotments, I passed Our Lady of Lourdes church, and noticed the grotto. Hey! That's like back home in Belgium. Since I started going to Mass in 1997, Our Lady of Lourdes has actually become like home in so many other ways, and like a family away from home. So I can say "these are my mother and brothers" (Mt 12:49). When I was younger, cycling around the Turnhout countryside in search of wet heathland, peat bogs and sandy tracks, I often passed one of the many little wayside shrines, and one of these has a plaque saying "don't pass this place without saying Hail Mary". I didn't actually know the words to the Weesgegroetje, but I did take it to heart, and said "Maria, wees gegroet" whenever I passed one, and I still do on occasions. The Hail Mary comes in useful in my everyday working life as well. When I'm using the computer, I have a program running in the background, which flashes a little blue light at regular intervals, whilst beeping at a barely audible 5500 Hz. So when I hear my "dog whistle", I instinctively switch it off by clicking the little blue light, and say a quick "Hail Mary full of grace..." without being obvious. Sometimes I'll even confuse background noise for the pavlovian ping, and rattle off a Hail Mary before noticing that the blue light isn't even flashing. I love these subliminal things! The vertical shape of the niche and statue, with the plaque and insets, are an obvious match for the vertical layout of a bookmark. The white border matches the white dress, and the blue lettering is clearly meant to go with the ribbon. These particular white flowers are, in fact, taken from the "Snowflake" (Iberis sempervirens) that flowers profusely at the grotto in April and May; and they are also a nice reference to one of my favourite hymns, which says "O Mary we crown thee with blossoms today, queen of the angels and queen of the May." So if you don't know your Hail Mary yet, or maybe you're a catechumen, the words are on this bookmark. |
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The spirit a-sauntering
Much has been said about Genesis 1. Well, the more that's said, the less the better... This picture was taken from the Cliffs of Moher in County Clare on the west coast of Ireland. The patch of light was just moving along across the water, so it made an obvious choice for a photograph. And the words speak for themselves, don't they. The Latin word ferebatur is rather interesting. It would bring to mind a Scottish-sounding word, ferryin, which conjures up an image of sauntering. Just imagine St. Andrew sitting in the boat with his brother Peter and the rest of the crowd, saying: izzat Jesus ower err, ferryin ower the watter??? See you Big Yin! (Mt 14:25-26). They do say he moves in mysterious ways. Now this bookmark really cried out for a quote from the Torah! So I did a bit of Googling, found a PDF of the Tanakh, a couple of web sites explaining the Hebrew alephbet, and some helpful sound recordings. I looked and listened for a recognisable word: God (Elohim) being the obvious choice, and with a vague recollection of the word ruah, I eventually managed to figure out where the quote actually started: veruach. Incidentally, I also recognised the word mayim (water) from a well-known Israeli dance tune, which was a nice bit of serendipidy. But then came the hardest part... getting it into Photoshop... Anyway, whether or not Genesis actually happened "about 6000 years ago" is open to endless one-sided debate with the religious nutters. As a scientist by nature, I rather like to think of the fossilised worms you find in the famous Moher flagstones (Namurian Carboniferous, about 320 million years ago). They were just as much part of creation. Actually, talking about religious nutters: the BELIEVE website has a really good article on Genesis and science, written by someone who actually knows his science — very refreshing.
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Like a deer that yearns for the waters
It is a sore point to some that post Vatican II the priest no longer turns his back on us, to face the altar up against the wall, while we struggle to parse the Latin of the liturgy, or eye up the nice girls around us instead. But in any case, with congregations dwindling, nubile women are just as difficult to find these days as vocations are. We all yearn for something. So, in the absence of "she who longs for me", I'll just have to make do with the Mass. Here at Our Lady of Lourdes the altar has a brass relief that illustrates that well-known psalm: Like the deer that yearns for running streams, so my soul is yearning for you, my God (Ps 42). To us Catholics the Mass is, after all, the source and summit of our lives, and the high-point of the week. It is equally fitting, then, that the image on the altar also shows a circular object above the bowl-shaped fountain — obviously referring to the body and blood of Christ, held up while the priest says the doxology before the great amen: through him, with him, in him... The carpet around the altar reflects a red glow up at the relief, showing up quite well under the deer and the bowl of the fountain. The deer almost seem to be warming up as they drink the cool water from the fountain: living water from the Christ within us (Jn 4:1-42). One Sunday, as I looked up during the elevation of his body, I saw the altar bathed in his blood, as the sun shone through the south window straight onto the red carpet. Who can insist that the Mass is not a sacrifice, and that the real presence is anything other than real! The engraving is not actually part of the relief... it is a bit of Photoshop magic that just had to go into that rectangle on the trough. Of course, most people would have chosen the opening lines of the psalm instead, but it is a happy coincidence that one of my favourite hymns, and one we sing quite often here at OLOL, is taken from that very same hymn. Psalm 42 also continues into the next one, where it says Then I shall go to the altar of God, to the God of my joy. I will rejoice and praise you on the harp, O God, my God. The Vulgate actually uses the word cithara for the harp. So there am I, before the altar, singing love songs like Deep calls to deep on the guitar. But still I long... and think why are you cast down, my soul, why groan within me? |
 Super nivem dealbabor |
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Whiter than snow This bookmark shows a selection from Psalm 51, a psalm of contrition. Those who say that God is just a crutch for weak people to hang on to forget that it is not that easy to have religious beliefs. With that belief, that God is important enough to care deeply about, comes an annoying necessity to do what is right. Yes, I'm talking about what I have done and what I have failed to do: the s word. I say 'annoying' because we're none of us immune from basic human needs, and I've got the same failings as most blokes. As Catholics we know, though, that our failings are not the end of the world. God does forgive, but it does pain him see us struggle (see Jn 8:1-11, which some bibles omit). We know that we can confess our sins and receive absolution, and that in that case we are forgiven (Mt 16:19-20). But, of course, it has to go with a recognition that we have done wrong — there has to be contrition. Now you may suggest that confession is just an easy get-out clause — another crutch. If you do, just take it from me that it is not that easy to go and tell a "complete stranger" your intimate secrets, even if he is your priest and bound to secrecy by the sacramental seal. Maybe you are quite used to bragging about your conquests... and maybe many Catholics do take confession lightly... but if you recognise your faults, it is not as straightforward to actually admit that you have them. So, mindful of my constant struggle, I do wish I could be purified and made whiter than snow. |
 Fenestrum australe |
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 S. Josephus |
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The holy family These two particular stained-glass windows are, of course, at Our Lady of Lourdes. But that 'of course' is not that self-evident really, because the one of Our Lady and Jesus is behind us as we face the altar, and hidden in the organ loft. And neither is the one of St. Joseph even that prominent, because despite its position right next to the confession box, much of the morning light is actually blocked by the presbytery. Presumeably the Hull church we inherited them from would have had these two windows closer together, because they clearly show the same seraphs and cherubs, quite distinct from the other windows. The one of Our Lady and Jesus actually has green all the way up, completing the symmetry, but that again is blocked by the deep window frame... So here they are, lit by Photoshop, but together again. |
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In the morning This one I just knocked up for Dee from Georgia, because reading that quote again gave me a wonderful opportunity to re-use this old sunrise picture.
I could just imagine myself walking along that straight and narrow way (Mt 7:13-14) across the water, to meet him in the light. He is the light and the way (Jn 8:12, 14:6). Trouble is, like St. Peter's, my shoes aren't waterproof either (Mt 14:22-33). Thanks Dee! Blessings + |
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 Auditam fac mihi mane |
D'oh!
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Two national saints George, as we all know round here, is Merrie Englandes saint — or is he? Little do our Little Englanders know that he was already known and venerated by the French long before he ever arrived in England. And little do the likes of the BNP know that he wasn't really an Englishman, or for that matter even a 'Frog', but a Syrian! Devotion to St. George started in medieval times when he came to the aid of French crusaders — but then he is still venerated in his own country, where he is regarded a true Believer by good Muslims.
But since he stands for England, and all that England means, unless you give him bacon, you mustn't give him beans! G.K. Chesterton Now Patrick, on the other hand, really was an Englishman. Sold into slavery by pagan Irish raiders, he escaped to France, where he became a priest. Later he was to return to the Emerald Isle to bring it Christianity. As well as using the shamrock, as a didactic tool to explain the Holy Trinity, St. Patrick is also credited with banishing all snakes from Ireland, probably to the annoyment of the Little Englanders across the water. But why he had to do the same with woodpeckers is beyond me. |
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 S. George |
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 S. Patrick |
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