"Love follows knowledge."
"Beauty above all beauty!"
– St. Catherine of Siena

Showing posts with label St. John the Baptist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label St. John the Baptist. Show all posts

Sunday, December 22, 2024

Sunday Meditation: Blessed is the Virgin

The fourth and final Sunday of Advent is reserved for the honor of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and in Year C we read of Mary’s visitation to her kinswoman Elizabeth.  Here Mary has just been given this startling news of her supernatural conception, which undoubtedly is going to put her life at risk since it is a pregnancy without a human father, and the first thing she does is “in haste” rush to care for her elderly cousin who is also pregnant.  I find this one of the most touching scenes in all the New Testament. 

 

Mary set out

and traveled to the hill country in haste

to a town of Judah,

where she entered the house of Zechariah

and greeted Elizabeth.

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting,

the infant leaped in her womb,

and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit,

cried out in a loud voice and said,

“Blessed are you among women,

and blessed is the fruit of your womb.

And how does this happen to me,

that the mother of my Lord should come to me?

For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears,

the infant in my womb leaped for joy.

Blessed are you who believed

that what was spoken to you by the Lord

would be fulfilled.”

~Lk 1:39-45


First, Kimberly Hahn, Scott’s wife, provides a detailed exegesis of this passage.

 



Fabulous sermon.  Kimberly is a better preacher than her husband!

Next Bishop Barron provides a wonderful homily on the importance of the Blessed Mother in our spiritual life.


 

Next I am going to give you a third clip, a homily from a Fr. Anthony Craig that takes the meaning of the passage and the significance of the Blessed Mother as we have heard in the first two clips, and provides the moral on which we can be transformed.


Did you catch that at the beginning?  Check the 40 second mark.  Christ’s first action incarnate in the world while still in the womb is an act propelling the bearer to service and charity.  How important is that to contemplate?  I don’t think I have ever heard that before.

Finally if you still have the energy, a couple of months ago I provided an analysis of Thomas Merton’s poem, “The Quickening of John the Baptist” which is a meditation on the Visitation and St. John’s the Baptist’s leap for joy.  It’s a wonderful poem well worth reading and very fitting for today's Gospel passage.  l

 

Sunday Meditation: “And how does this happen to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”

 

John Michael Talbot put the “Hail Mary” to music and it’s outstanding.

 


I had never heard it before.  My goodness, that is just so lovely.  It should be more widely played.

 

Sunday, December 15, 2024

Sunday Meditation: He Preached the Good News

As with last week, John the Baptist has a starring role in the Third Sunday of Advent again.  But does he?  Yes, John has the speaking part.  Yes, the crowd comes to him to ask how they can be saved.  And yes they come to John filled with expectation of the coming messiah.  But this Gospel passage is divided into two movements.  The first is the coming to John.  The second is John pointing them to Jesus.  Jesus is the real star here.   

 

The crowds asked John the Baptist,

“What should we do?”

He said to them in reply,

“Whoever has two cloaks

should share with the person who has none.

And whoever has food should do likewise.”

Even tax collectors came to be baptized and they said to him,

“Teacher, what should we do?”

He answered them,

“Stop collecting more than what is prescribed.”

Soldiers also asked him,

“And what is it that we should do?”

He told them,

“Do not practice extortion,

do not falsely accuse anyone,

and be satisfied with your wages.”

 

Now the people were filled with expectation,

and all were asking in their hearts

whether John might be the Christ.

John answered them all, saying,

“I am baptizing you with water,

but one mightier than I is coming.

I am not worthy to loosen the thongs of his sandals.

He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.

His winnowing fan is in his hand to clear his threshing floor

and to gather the wheat into his barn,

but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

Exhorting them in many other ways,

he preached good news to the people.

~Lk 3:10-18

First, let’s get introduced to the supporting actor.  Who is John the Baptist?  Dr. John Bergsma from the St. Paul Institute gives us a full understanding.

 


“I am an introduction incarnate, a preface in a person, a forward in the flesh, I am the prelude to the Messianic age.”  That is fantastic!  I have considered John the Baptist the first Dominican, the Order of Preachers, since he came to preach ahead of the Lord. 

Now, the best explanation of this Gospel comes from Fr. Cajetan Cuddy, O.P.  Watch Fr. Cajetan divide the Gospel into its two parts.

 


He goes a little long at the end but I don’t think anyone else’s homily quite shows the two parts so starkly.


Sunday Meditation: “His winnowing fan is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn”

 

Let’s return to John Michael Talbot with his “Surrender to Jesus.” 

 


Surrender it all. 

Friday, August 30, 2024

Poetry Analysis: “The Quickening of John the Baptist” by Thomas Merton

Yesterday, August 29th was the Memorial of the Passion of St. John the Baptist, and you can read and pray more about it here at Catholic Culture.  

In my reading of the accolades to St. John the Baptist, I was also directed to a poem Thomas Merton wrote on St. John, not on his beheading but on his leap in his mother's womb when the Blessed Virgin arrived at her visitation to Elizabeth. I was absolutely floored by the beauty of this poem, "The Quickening of John the Baptist."  I want to present it here and provide a little analysis.  First the poem.

 

The Quickening of John the Baptist

On the Contemplative Vocation

By Thomas Merton

 

Why do you fly from the drowned shores of Galilee,

From the sands and the lavender water?

Why do you leave the ordinary world, Virgin of Nazareth,

The yellow fishing boats, the farms,

The winesmelling yards and low cellars

Or the oilpress, and the women by the well?

Why do you fly those markets,

Those suburban gardens,

The trumpets of the jealous lilies,

Leaving them all, lovely among the lemon trees?

 

You have trusted no town

With the news behind your eyes.

You have drowned Gabriel’s word in thoughts like seas

And turned toward the stone mountain

To the treeless places.

Virgin of God, why are your clothes like sails?

 

The day Our Lady, full of Christ,

Entered the dooryard of her relative

Did not her steps, light steps, lay on the paving leaves

like gold?

Did not her eyes as grey as doves

Alight like the peace of a new world upon that house, upon

miraculous Elizabeth?

 

Her salutation

Sings in the stone valley like a Charterhouse bell:

And the unborn saint John

Wakes in his mother’s body,

Bounds with the echoes of discovery.

 

Sing in your cell, small anchorite!

How did you see her in the eyeless dark?

What secret syllable

Woke your young faith to the mad truth

That an unborn baby could be washed in the Spirit of God?

Oh burning joy!

 

What seas of life were planted by that voice!

With what new sense

Did your wise heart receive her Sacrament,

And know her cloistered Christ?

 

You need no eloquence, wild bairn,

Exulting in your hermitage.

Your ecstasy is your apostolate,

For whom to kick is contemplata tradere.

Your joy is the vocation of Mother Church’s hidden children -

Those who by vow lie buried in the cloister or the hermitage;

The speechless Trappist, or the grey, granite Carthusian,

The quiet Carmelite, the barefoot Clare, Planted in the night of

contemplation, Sealed in the dark and waiting to be born.

 

Night is our diocese and silence is our ministry

Poverty our charity and helplessness our tongue-tied sermon.

Beyond the scope of sight or sound we dwell upon the air

Seeking the world’s gain in an unthinkable experience.

We are exiles in the far end of solitude, living as listeners

With hearts attending to the skies we cannot understand:

Waiting upon the first far drums of Christ the Conqueror,

Planted like sentinels upon the world’s frontier.

 

But in the days, rare days, when our Theotokos

Flying the prosperous world

Appears upon our mountain with her clothes like sails,

Then, like the wise, wild baby,

The unborn John who could not see a thing

We wake and know the Virgin Presence

Receive her Christ into our night

With stabs of an intelligence as white as lightning.

 

Cooled in the flame of God’s dark fire

Washed in His gladness like a vesture of new flame

We burn like eagles in His invincible awareness

And bound and bounce with happiness,

Leap in the womb, our cloud, our faith, our element,

Our contemplation, our anticipated heaven

Till Mother Church sings like an Evangelist.

 

The poem is in free verse with ten stanzas, or perhaps more accurately, ten sections that are separated by a space since they are so irregular I’m not sure “stanza” would apply.  The poem starts with the Virgin Mary off on her visitation to her cousin Elizabeth, who pregnant with St. John the Baptist.  If you number the sections of the poem from one through ten, I can summarize the narrative flow and gist of each.  Here is my section by section gist.

1 – Addressing the Blessed Virgin, the poet asks why are you traveling across the country?

2 – Still addressing the Virgin, the poet highlights points on the journey and asks her why her clothes are like sails?

3 – The poet narrates her arrival.

4 – The poet narrates Mary’s greeting and the awakening of St. John in the womb at the sound of her voice.

5 – The poet addresses John and asks how in his enclosed space could he see and hear the Blessed Mother?

6 – The poet still addressing John asks what her voice did to him, and to know she was carrying Christ?

7 – Still addressing John, the poet acknowledges the child’s in ability to speak except through the kick in the womb.

8 – Perhaps the key section of the poem where the poet contemplates John’s silence and enclosure and identifies it with the plight of humanity.

9 – The poet continuing his contemplation connects John’s pre-birth existence with the existential nature of humanity.

10 – The poet concludes his contemplation with a final identification of John, the poet, and the reader before Christ.

 “The Quickening” in the title refers to the moment St. John in the womb is enlivened by the presence and voice of the Virgin carrying her own child, the Christ.  So much of the poem is about contemplation.  The subtitle of the poem is “On the Contemplative Vocation,” which identifies John as fetus, in a contemplative vocation.  Perhaps all fetuses have the vocation—at least for those “cloistered” nine months—of a contemplative.  Indeed, in section seven, Merton identifies contemplative and cloistered religious orders: Trappists, Carthusians, Carmelites, and Poor Clares.  We know that Merton himself was a Trappist monk bound to the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani in Kentucky.  And while it is not true that Trappists are never allowed to speak, they are required to limit their speech to only what is necessary.  So you can see how Merton as poet connects with John in the womb, the “small anchorite.”  An anchorite (or anchoress for feminine) is someone who is locked in a cell for the rest of their lives to pray and contemplate.  

There is also the contemplation identified with the Blessed Mother of God.  “But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart” (Lk 2:19).  The Blessed Mother was witness to most of Christ’s life and His death, and so contemplated much.  Contemplation for Catholics starts with Mary.  In the poem she is identified with the sea—which connects with her title as Stella Maris, Our Lady of the Sea.  The vast sea has often through the ages been seen as an instrument that inspires contemplation.  To be on the sea and on a boat is to be isolated from society, and of course being submerged or drowned is a metaphor for the act of contemplation or being lost in thought.  (See the poem, “The Love Song of J. AlfredPrufrock” by T. S. Eliot and how he associates drowning with contemplation.)  When in section two Merton addresses Mary as having “drowned Gabriel’s word in thoughts like seas,” he is referring the Archangel’s words to Mary at the Annunciation.  She hasn’t discarded Gabriel’s words, but submerged them in her consciousness for later meditation.  Why are her clothes like sails?  Because she is navigating an ocean of introspective thought.

###

The first seven sections of the poem establishes the context for the last three sections as they culminate to a thesis.  Let’s look at the last three more closely.

“Night is our diocese and silence is our ministry/Poverty our charity and helplessness our tongue-tied sermon.”

Who is “our” referring to?  The poet as he identifies with St. John in the womb, and I would venture all of us reading who can similarly identify.  The darkness constitutes their church, and silence the ministry, that is the administering of a religious action.  “Poverty” and “helplessness” convey a beatitude in the limitations of transmitting the message, almost an echo of “Blessed are the poor in spirit” (Mt5:3). 

“Beyond the scope of sight or sound we dwell upon the air/Seeking the world’s gain in an unthinkable experience.”

Again, the “we” unifies the poet, St. John, and the reader, caught in a moment of anticipation, waiting for what I would guess is the incarnation of the second Person of the Trinity, building to the last four lines which need to be quoted together:


We are exiles in the far end of solitude, living as listeners

With hearts attending to the skies we cannot understand:

Waiting upon the first far drums of Christ the Conqueror,

Planted like sentinels upon the world’s frontier.

Absolutely breath-taking lines.  The reference to exiles is twofold at least.  Not only are they exiles because they are contemplatives in a world that is hardly contemplative—or perhaps even anti contemplative—they are exiles from their true home of heaven where the first parents were cast out to be exiles.  They (and we) are the “poor banished children of Eve,” but now “sentinels” on the “frontier” waiting for Christ to come and conquer death.  That moment of anticipation has now come, as we see in the ninth section.

 

But in the days, rare days, when our Theotokos

Flying the prosperous world

Appears upon our mountain with her clothes like sails,

Then, like the wise, wild baby,

The unborn John who could not see a thing

We wake and know the Virgin Presence

Receive her Christ into our night

With stabs of an intelligence as white as lightning.

Perhaps that is the poem’s climax; “We wake and know the Virgin Presence/Receive her Christ into our night.”  The statement is not just referring to the contemporaneous moment for St. John in the womb, but for all of us when every moment we realize and contemplate the incarnation, when in prayer the Blessed Mother visits us to bring Christ to us.

Finally in the tenth section we have a denouement.


Cooled in the flame of God’s dark fire

Washed in His gladness like a vesture of new flame

We burn like eagles…

Purified in fire and water presumably from contemplation, we now become like eagles, a symbol of transformed strength. 

 

…in His invincible awareness

And bound and bounce with happiness,

Leap in the womb, our cloud, our faith, our element,

Our contemplation, our anticipated heaven

Till Mother Church sings like an Evangelist.

We too in Christ’s awareness leap with joy at our now knowledge of our anticipated return to “home.” 

What a brilliant poem.  I have to admit I laughed out loud to this line in section seven: “Your ecstasy is your apostolate,/For whom to kick is contemplata tradere.”  As a Lay Dominican, I particularly understand the reference.  One of the Dominican Order’s mottos is Contemplata aliis trader, which translates into English as "to hand down to others the fruits of contemplation."  A Dominican is not supposed to just contemplate, but the fruits of that contemplation are supposed to be passed on to others.  So Merton refers to St. John’s kick in the womb as a passing on the fruit of the fetus’s contemplation.  I thought that was funny.

Finally John Michael Talbot turned that extraordinary eighth section into a song, “We Are the Exiles.” 

 


John Michael must have found that passage breathtaking as well.  It's a beautiful song but he did take some liberties with the lyrics to fit it better into song form.  I did find this blog post by an unfamiliar blog called Peaceable Wisdom where he posted the lyrics as sung as sung by JMT.  If you’re interested in the lyrics, you can check it out.

 

Sunday, December 17, 2023

Sunday Meditation: John the Baptist, Again

This is the second Sunday in a row the Gospel focuses on St. John the Baptist.  Last Sunday we looked at him through Mark’s Gospel.  Today we get an even fuller characterization through John’s Gospel.

 

A man named John was sent from God.

He came for testimony, to testify to the light,

so that all might believe through him.

He was not the light,

but came to testify to the light.

 

And this is the testimony of John.

When the Jews from Jerusalem sent priests

and Levites to him

to ask him, “Who are you?”

He admitted and did not deny it,

but admitted, “I am not the Christ.”

So they asked him,

“What are you then? Are you Elijah?”

And he said, “I am not.”

“Are you the Prophet?”

He answered, “No.”

So they said to him,

“Who are you, so we can give an answer to those who sent us?

What do you have to say for yourself?”

He said:

“I am the voice of one crying out in the desert,

‘make straight the way of the Lord,’”

as Isaiah the prophet said.”

Some Pharisees were also sent.

They asked him,

“Why then do you baptize

if you are not the Christ or Elijah or the Prophet?”

John answered them,

“I baptize with water;

but there is one among you whom you do not recognize,

the one who is coming after me,

whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie.”

This happened in Bethany across the Jordan,

where John was baptizing.

~Jn 1:6-8, 19-28

Bishop Robert Barron’s sermon on John the Baptist is the absolute best understanding of the saint that I have come across.  This is a must listen and perhaps a must bookmark. 

 


Did you get that?  John the Baptist is the summation of every religious figure.  Here is the sculpture Bishop Barron alludes to of John the Baptist at the Cathedral of Chartres. 

 

 

Doesn’t he look a little like John Michael Talbot?  Here is a lovely song by John Michael, "Worship and Bow Down."

 


Meditation: “Who are you?” He admitted and did not deny it, but admitted, “I am not the Christ.”

Sunday, January 15, 2023

Sunday Meditation: Behold, the Lamb of God

I love this passage.  I always think of it when at Mass the priest after the Agnus Dei holds up the transubstantiated host and chalice and says, “Behold the Lamb of God.”  I envision John the Baptist pointing to Jesus walking toward him

 

John the Baptist saw Jesus coming toward him and said,

"Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.

He is the one of whom I said,

'A man is coming after me who ranks ahead of me

because he existed before me.'

I did not know him,

but the reason why I came baptizing with water

was that he might be made known to Israel."

John testified further, saying,

"I saw the Spirit come down like a dove from heaven

and remain upon him.

I did not know him,

but the one who sent me to baptize with water told me,

'On whomever you see the Spirit come down and remain,

he is the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.'

Now I have seen and testified that he is the Son of God."

~Jn 1:29-34

 

Dr. Brant Pitre explains it thoroughly.  It takes two videos.

 



 



 "Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”