Lord Jesus, you were born into a human family. You know our joys and struggles. Bless our family with your love. Refresh and strengthen us in the happiness of our good times. Comfort and assist us in our painful times. Fill our home with the burning charity you showed us on the Cross, that our family life may reflect the joy and peace of your Resurrection.
The Holy Family with the Little Bird by Bartolome Esteban Murillo ca. 1650
There are almost 400 references to trees in Scripture, many of them producing great bunches of food for thought – from the Tree of Life in the middle of the Garden (Gen. 2:9) to the fertile Tree of the Cross (Gal. 3:13).
One notable tree reference made by Jesus himself is found in the Parable of the Fig Tree. It is a short and striking story that – in the tradition of the parables – is both arresting and comforting:
Then he told this parable: ‘A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, “See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?” He replied, “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down” (Lk. 13:6-9).
The urgent message of Jesus found throughout the Gospels should kick us into gear – to realize that bearing fruit isn’t something to put off to another day, or another month, or another year. He has expectations of us – really, really high ones – and the time to begin fulfilling them is right now. Love my enemy? Now. Stop murdering in my heart? Now. Take care of someone forgotten by the world? Now. Willingly carry my cross? Right now.
But dare we hope that if we fall short, if our buds, flowers and fruits fail another year, that the Gardener may once more advocate on our behalf – and fertilize again – and that the Owner of the Orchard will again wait patiently? From the heart of God, we learn the lesson of the fig tree. The patience he requires us to have for one another, he requires of himself; the growth he demands is cultivated in the vineyard of his merciful love.
One of my biblical school students, Patti Cacciabaudo, recently caught my attention with one of her homework answers. She was reflecting on a powerful moment in the Book of Esther – a moment when Esther offers a heartfelt prayer for courage before going before the pagan king to plead for the lives of her people. Esther is a faithful Jew – who also happens to be the queen!
Before offering this prayer – which she knows may well be the last prayer of her life – Esther is feeling an anxiety that the text describes as “deadly.” She flees to the Lord – but before opening her mouth, she very deliberately prepares herself for prayer. Queen Esther exchanges her “splendid apparel” for the clothing of a mourner. She foregoes perfume for ashes. “She utterly humbled her body; every part that she loved to adorn she covered with her tangled hair” (14:2).
Patti’s insight was this: Isn’t this the attitude we should all take into prayer? Esther was a queen, with every right to her finery and adornments. But in God’s eyes, she knew what she was – she was simply his child, his faithful one, his little one in need of salvation. Before the Lord, there are no kings and queens. There are just little ones. As Patti explained, “Without the ‘finery’ of fashion, of worldly goods, I simply present myself before him, unadorned, a child of the Father.”
Francois-Leon Benouville
Note: The prayer of Esther is found in the deuterocanonical additions to the book of Esther. To read it, click here.
“God is an eternal exchange of love,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
and he has destined us to share in that exchange.”
-- Catechism of the Catholic Church 221
Catherine Doherty (see Feb. 18 post) was a woman of prayer who could rightfully be called a mystic. She was a mystic who was equally comfortable spending days in silence with God, or sitting in a diner having coffee with an old friend. Her mysticism came out of something very primitive: a core belief that human beings belong in the presence of God.
I recently read a passage from one of Catherine’s classics, Molchanie: Experiencing the Silence of God. In it she describes a spiritual journey into the silence of God. She tells of the temptations she faces, the things she sees, the ways she experiences God. The passage that had my attention was her description of the Church, which she encounters while on this pilgrimage of prayer. She sees the Church torn apart. She fears for the Church.
I could identify with what Catherine saw and what she feared. We all can. We worry about our Church, like we worry about our families. We wonder what to do to breathe life into her, to serve the folks falling through the cracks, to restore the image of the Church as something beautiful but humble.
I found Catherine’s words very comforting, because she reminded me what Christ does for his Church, that he loves her more than I ever could, and that I too can rest “among the pines” in the knowledge that the light of the Church is continually renewed by Christ himself:
“From a vantage point in gentle mountains I saw the Church…. There she stood, above the tree line, shining in the rays of the noonday sun. She was beautiful and simple, with her doors wide open, and into her streamed rich and poor alike. As I beheld the Church, awe took hold of me. These words from the Old Testament came to me: ‘Take off your shoes; the place is holy”….
When I looked again, the scene had changed. A disruption, a dismemberment or tearing apart seemed to be taking place. The doors through which so many people had passed were being barred. I shook my head and tried to clear my eyes, for they were filling up with tears. I couldn’t believe the people of God were causing all this turmoil! But they were. Each had his own idea of the Church….
As my father had taught me to do, I lifted the ‘two arms’ – of prayer and fasting – for the Church. At the same time I realized that the Church was the beautiful, shining Bride of Christ. He had said that the gates of hell would not prevail against her. I knew that she was his beloved, and that he, God, was all tenderness, all love, towards her. She passed in front of my eyes, the beloved of God....
Yes, I saw the Church torn apart. I was going to weep, but then I saw Christ putting her back together again, she who had come from his side. There was music in the air, and she became whole again. So I was at peace for a little while, because I knew that the Church is forever being restored and renewed in her Lord. We celebrate his resurrection from death once a year, but he restores his Church every moment of the day and night.
I relaxed among the pines. It was night. Brighter than all the stars and the moon was the Church, shining in the darkness.”
Excerpt from Molchanie: Experiencing the Silence of God, Madonna House Publications.