Wasteland…

~ Fr. John Chagnon ~ Leave a comment

It’s morning before a late day at work. The TV is on.

Click. Someone is trying to sell me zircons. Click. There’s a preacher telling me God wants me to be rich but before that I have to send him an “offering”. Click. Re-runs of shows so old that everybody on them is dead. I guess that’s what they mean by eternal life. Click. Some football star is busted for sexual assault, again. Click.

The electronic soul of the world is wasted, dry, a desert, and not the kind where saints are formed in the heat and prayer. At the heart of things is a wasteland of our own making. We’ve not only left our first garden but we’ve pulled up and consumed every green thing that remained and now our horizon is sand.

Our mouths are dry. Our skin is parched and red. Every oasis is a mirage as our blistered feet stumble from empty place to place. We are destined to be skeletons bleached by a cruel sun.

Except O Lord, for you. How would I wander if you were not my destiny? How would I pass through a world of lies if you were not my truth? How would I perish from hunger if you were not my bread? How would I die of thirst if you were not my living water?

Do not forget me, Lord, walk with me and guide me until I am safely home.

St. Ephraim…

~ Fr. John Chagnon ~ Leave a comment

Thou, O Christ our Savior, hast become for me the path of life which leads to the Father. There is but one path, and it is my joy, and at the end of it is the heavenly kingdom.

Thou, O Master, Jesus, Son of God, hast become for me the path of life and enlightenment.

In the heart of Thy servant Thy grace has become light and joy, which are sweeter than the honey of the honeycomb to the lips of Thy slave.

In the soul of Thy servant Thy grace has become a treasure, which has made his poverty rich and driven away misery and corruption.

For Thy servant, Thy grace has become a refuge, strength, a defense, ennoblement, praise, and food for the whole of his life.

How can Thy servant be silent, O Master, after having tasted the great sweetness of Thy love and grace? How could I dare once again to obstruct the waves of grace which pour forth into the heart of me, a sinner, and which are replete with sweetness according to the multitude of Thy gifts?

I shall sing of the glory of the Master of heavenly powers and shall magnify Thy grace, O Christ our Saviour, and my tongue shall not cease to chant of Thy love.

Thy love draws me to Thee, O Savior, O praise of my life.

Thy grace makes it sweet for me to follow Thee with my mind.

May my heart be as a fertile field for Thee, and may Thy grace sprinkle the dew of eternal life upon it.

May Thy grace reap a good harvest on the field of my heart: humility, reverence, sanctity, and all that is ever pleasing to Thee.

Return my soul to the sweet garden of paradise, and may it abide in light that, surrounded by the delights of paradise, I too may say with all the saints: Glory to the Immortal Father; honor to Him Who presents heavenly gifts to this worthless one, that he may bring a tithe of glory to the King of all!

attributed to St. Ephrem the Syrian, 4th century

The sun is shining…

~ Fr. John Chagnon ~ Leave a comment

this morning and outside the windows the water is already starting to fall off the roof. It’s March and slowly the sidewalks are clearing and the grass is emerging. In a few weeks we’ll see what winter has left on the lawn.

On the couch beside me is the oldest of my cats, curled in a ball and sleeping as I click away on the computer. It’s my late day and so I don’t have to be into work until 11 or so. Time to write. Time to ponder. Time to clear the Christmas decorations frozen into the front yard. It is March after all.

Old cats have a look to them. Their fur gets raspy. They skinny down. The kitten energy and the sleek muscularity of a tom in its prime begins to fade away. They look at you with different eyes. It’s as it should be now, he’s 13 anyways and that makes him an old cat.

The decline is the part about old cats and people that I like the least. I see the grace and beauty of time that eyes can reveal. I like the stories, the memories, the charm. I enjoy the long quiet pauses. There will be more lap time with cats and sitting in worn chairs with people. I just don’t like the decline.

Yet its the way things are for now. Everything, everyone, gets old. I’m on my way as well and if my hair were long enough it would be flecked with gray. Each day, for cats and people, the end gets closer and I’m not afraid of the endings so much as I wish I was wise enough to recognize, cherish, and store everything good and worthwhile as what I think is life swirls around me.

Lord, teach us to number our days…