Reflections

Blessed are the faithful:
they are like safe anchors in a world of broken moorings.

Blessed are the just:
they are to society what leaven is to bread.

Blessed are the generous:
they keep alive our faith in the essential goodness of
people.

Blessed are the caring:
they shine like beacons in a world darkened by
indifference.

Blessed are the genuine:
they glow like gems in a world of falseness.

Blessed are those who are not afraid of sacrifice:
on the day of the harvest they will sing for joy.

And blessed are those who refuse to look back:
they will be found worthy of the Kingdom of Heaven.

While out for an evening walk I emerged from an area
where the streets were lit by bright lamps,
and came into an open, dark area.

It was only then I discovered that the sky was full of stars.

And I thought to myself:
how easily and how effectively the earthly lights
extinguish the heavenly ones.

Lord, help us to seek the things that make us rich in your sight,
and grant that the glitter of this world
may not dim our hopes of heavenly glory.

Jesus urges us to ask, seek, and knock.

This means our faith has to be an active one.

However, sometimes we are too proud to ask, so we don’t receive; we are too lazy to seek, so we don’t find; and we are too timid to knock, so the door doesn’t open to us.

We mustn’t wait for things to happen, or to fall into our hands.

We must be humble and trustful, yet bold and energetic, if we are to receive good things from our Father in heaven.

Lord, I place myself in your presence.

After the strain and turmoil of the day
I rest quietly here, as a little boat,
which has been tossed by the waves
and buffeted by the wind,
rests secure in a sheltered harbour.

Here my projects lose their power over me.

A healing process begins.

My fragmented self is reassembled,
and I am made whole again.

In your presence, I experience my true worth,
which consists not in doing but in being.

I surrender myself into your hands. I am at peace.

The good Samaritan was someone who cared.
Blessed are those who care:
they will let people know they are loved.
Blessed are those who are gentle:
they will help people to grow as the sun helps the buds to unfold.
Blessed are those who listen:
they will lighten many a burden.
Blessed are those who know how to let go:
they will have the joy of seeing people find themselves.
Blessed are those who, when nothing can be done or said, do not walk away, but remain to provide a comforting and supportive presence:
they will help the sufferer to bear the unbearable.
Blessed are those who recognize their own need to receive:
they will be able to give all the better.
And blessed are those who give without hope of return:
they will give people an experience of God.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt, faith.
Where there is darkness, light.
Where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

(St Francis of Assisi)

Whose woods these are I hardly know,
his house is in the village though;
he will not see me stooping here
to watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
to stop without a farmhouse near,
between the woods and frozen lake
the darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
to ask if there is some mistake;
the only other sound is the sweep
of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but I have promises to keep;
and miles to go before I sleep,
and miles to go before I sleep.

Father, all-powerful and ever-living God,
we do well always and everywhere to give you thanks through Jesus Christ our Lord.

We praise your greatness as we honor the prophet who prepared the way before your son.

You set John the Baptist apart from other men, marking him out with special favor.

His birth brought great rejoicing: even in the womb he leapt for joy, so near was man’s salvation.

You chose John the Baptist from all the prophets to show the world its redeemer, the lamb of sacrifice.

He baptized Christ, the giver of baptism,
in waters made holy by the one who was baptized.

You found John worthy of a martyr’s death,
his last and greatest act of witness to your Son.

In our unending joy we echo on earth the song of the angels in heaven as they praise your glory for ever.

I had a dream that I came to the Lord
trembling, ashamed, fearful and sad.

And I told him my tale of betrayals.

When I had finished, I continued to kneel there,
waiting for the punishment I felt I richly deserved.

But what did he do?

He rose from his chair, took some ointment, and said,
‘Let me dress your wounds.’

‘What wounds?’ I asked, puzzled.

‘I’m the one who has wounded others.’

But then in a flash I saw he was right.

I too was wounded, for to sin is to suffer.

Astonished by his mercy, I let him dress my wounds.

Jesus said to his apostles: ‘Do this in memory of me.’
We all love to be remembered.
This was true even for Jesus.
But if we want to be remembered,
we have a duty also to remember.
Memory is a powerful thing.
Wrongly used it brings death;
rightly used it brings life,
and is a form of immortality.
It keeps the past alive.
Those we remember never die;
they continue to walk and talk with us.
Lord, when we celebrate the Eucharist
we are remembering you.
May that remembering bring us life here and hereafter.