Night falls and the day comes full circle again. Those who began the day with the Office of Readings were greeted with the psalmist's refrain, "I will sing for ever of your love O Lord…" Truly, the refrain echoes a love song in the soul, and what better way to begin the day than singing of the Lord's love. It is a song in which we may lose ourselves—the only song there has ever been: it is the heartbeat of the universe; the coming and going of days. Forever, I will sing of your love, yes forever and ever.
The breviary has the ability to tell a story. Like the copy of the Rite of Baptism kept in the sacristy cabinet, which is stained on certain pages from the sacred oils, so too my breviary has begun to show signs of wear. They range from raindrop stains on the gold leaf border—I still remember being caught in the rain on a dark and thundering morning—to crumpled pages that mark the invitatory and the morning and evening gospel canticles.
The turning of pages mirrors the turning of days. Funny that we too show the same kinds of signs, spots that were once not there; crumpled wrinkles from bright hot summer days—perhaps a smile given to a child time and time again.
Each morning offers the opportunity to cry out unto the Lord, "Turn your ear and give answer." We too pray and identify with the scripture in our need and in our blessing—we too pray "I am poor and needy. Preserve my life." However, I also cry out in thanksgiving—in love. I have no other way to be, Lord, for you have made me to be thus. I cry out knowing that regardless of how much I want today to be like a gentle passing breeze, it somehow will not be what I intend.
As I turn each page I have grown to have the habit of moving the ribbon ahead as I read. Those familiar with the Liturgy of the Hours know that it involves moving around quite a bit within the book. This morning I found it strangely coincidental that a ribbon I thought I had already moved was a full two pages behind where I was in the prayer. It was almost like I was being directed to go back take a second look. The words that caught my eye were simply "I cry to you all the day long. Give joy to your servant, O Lord, for to you I lift up my soul."
The words may not appear to be really connected to anything in particular, but I have found that God speaks to us often in ways that do not immediately startle us. The message is that we participate communally—the whole Church—in a great crying out to the one who not only is able to answer our prayers completely, but also who is able to infuse the power of love into our souls.
He is the source of every grace granted. Indeed every action belongs to him, but I yield—called to be a laborer with him—yet mysteriously it is he who acts totally. Even when I lift my voice out of failure, the realization of an utter and complete missing the mark, he acts upon me: he urges me to listen. Do you hear? His voice is as soft as a lone passing cloud. Did you hear it?
Later tonight—much later likely—as I prepare to end the day with sleep, may the words of the psalmist again be in my soul, "In you, O Lord, I take refuge… Be a rock of refuge for me." Indeed the Lord is our rock: there is no other rock for all other foundations must be built on the one foundation of Christ's life and sacrifice for us. His refuge is like a cavern, a place of safety from the passing storm that rages all around. He is the rock that inspires us to say "I believe." He is peace; a resting place without equal.
Really we can only begin to contemplate his love—his agape for us, which I long ago intuited as the only source of lasting love in a world of ephemeral realities. Even the solid and lasting love a good marriage will see its day and someday pass to memory and then as the generations come and go like the turning of pages, it too will be forgotten.
Yet there is that which will never be forgotten; it is that of which we sing, of which—and to whom—we cry aloud daily. He is that eternal morning, the resurrection. He is the day on which we will be judged, the seer of souls and the knower of hearts, our rest, our refuge, our good night. He invites us to know him, not simply in the turning of days, but as the turning of days.
Amen. A beautiful reflection.
Posted by: Hush | June 23, 2008 at 12:49 PM