The Dark Night of the Soul

I.

In a dark night,
With anxious love inflamed,
O, happy lot!
Forth unobserved I went,
My house being now at rest.


II.

In darkness and in safety,
By the secret ladder, disguised,
O, happy lot!
In darkness and concealment,
My house being now at rest.


III.

In that happy night,
In secret, seen of none,
Seeing nought myself,
Without other light or guide
Save that which in my heart was burning.


IV.

That light guided me
More surely than the noonday sun
To the place where He was waiting for me,
Whom I knew well,
And where none appeared.


V.

O, guiding night;
O, night more lovely than the dawn;
O, night that hast united
The lover with His beloved,
And changed her into her love.

VI.

On my flowery bosom,
Kept whole for Him alone,
There He reposed and slept;
And I cherished Him, and the waving
Of the cedars fanned Him.


VII.

As His hair floated in the breeze
That from the turret blew,
He struck me on the neck
With His gentle hand,
And all sensation left me.


VIII.

I continued in oblivion lost,
My head was resting on my love;
Lost to all things and myself,
And, amid the lilies forgotten,
Threw all my cares away.

-- St. John of the Cross (1541-1591), (birth name: Juan de Yepes y Álvarez), Spanish Carmelite monk, poet, and mystic, friend of St. Teresa of Avila, translated by David Lewis, 1908.

Scripture reference: John 1:5, 1st Sunday after Christmas B,

O Comforting Fire of Spirit

O comforting fire of Spirit,
Life, within the very Life of all Creation.
Holy you are in giving life to All. 

 Holy you are in anointing
those who are not whole;
Holy you are in cleansing
a festering wound.

O sacred breath,
O fire of love,
O sweetest taste in my breast
which fills my heart
with a fine aroma of virtues.

O most pure fountain
through whom it is known
that God has united strangers
and inquired after the lost.

O breastplate of life
and hope of uniting
all members as One,
O sword-belt of honor,
enfold those who offer blessing.

Care for those
who are imprisoned by the enemy
and dissolve the bonds of those
whom Divinity wishes to save.

O mightiest path which penetrates All,
from the height to every Earthly abyss,
you compose All, you unite All.

Through you clouds stream, ether flies,
stones gain moisture,
waters become streams,
and the earth exudes Life.

You always draw out knowledge,
bringing joy through Wisdom's inspiration.

Therefore, praise be to you
who are the sound of praise
and the greatest prize of Life,
who are hope and richest honor
bequeathing the reward of Light.

--Hildegard von Bingen (1098-1179) German abbess, composer, musician, theologian, mystic, and poet

Holy Spirit

Holy Spirit, bestowing life unto life,

moving in All.

You are the root of all creatures,

washing away all impurity,

scouring guilt,

and anointing wounds. 

Thus you are luminous and praiseworthy, Life,

awakening, and re-awakening all that is.

--Hildegard von Bingen (1098-1179) German abbess, theologian, musician, and poet

In Silence

Be still.
Listen to the stones of the wall.
Be silent, they try
to speak your

name.
Listen
to the living walls.

Who are you?
Who
are you? Whose
silence are you?

Who (be quiet)
are you (as these stones
are quiet). Do not
think of what you are
still less of
what you may one day be.

Rather
be what you are (but who?)
be the unthinkable one
you do not know.

O be still, while
you are still alive,
and all things live around you

speaking (I do not hear)
to your own being,
speaking by the unknown
that is in you and in themselves.

“I will try, like them
to be my own silence:
and this is difficult. The whole
world is secretly on fire. The stones
burn, even the stones they burn me.
How can a man be still or 
isten to all things burning?
How can he dare to sit with them
when all their silence is on fire?”


--Thomas Merton (Father Louis) (1915-1968) American Trappist monk, mystic, contemplative, and writer

Antiphon for the Angels

Spirited light! on the edge
of the Presence your yearning
burns in the secret darkness,
O angels, insatiably
into God’s gaze.
Perversity could not touch your beauty;
you are essential joy.
But your lost companion,
angel of the crooked
wings – he sought the summit,
shot down the depths of God
and plummeted past Adam –
that a mud – bound spirit might soar.

--Hildegard von Bingen (1098-1179), German mystic poet and religious, translated by Barbara Newman, from Women in Praise of the Sacred (ed. by Jane Hirshfield), 2016

Expands His Being

All beings

are words of God,

His music, His

art.

Sacred books we are, for the infinite camps in our souls.

Every act reveals God and expands His being.

I know that may be hard

to comprehend.

All creatures are doing their best

to help God in His birth

of Himself.

Enough talk for the night.

He is laboring in me;

I need to be silent

for a while,

worlds are forming

in my heart.

--Meister Eckhart (ca 1260-ca 1328) German mystic, poet, theologian, and philosopher, from Love Poems From God: Twelve Sacred Voices from East and West, ed. by Daniel Ladinsky

Prayer (Opening Ourselves to God in Silence)

Teach us, O God, that silent language which says all things.
Teach our souls to remain silent in Your presence;
     that we may adore You in the depths of our being,
     and await all things from You, 
     while asking of You nothing
     but the accomplishment of Your will.
Teach us to remain quiet under Your action
     and produce in our souls that deep and simple prayer
     which says nothing and experiences everything,
     which specifies nothing and includes everything.

Do pray in us,
     that our prayer may ever tend to Your glory,
     and our desires and intentions may not be fixed on ourselves,
     but wholly directed to You. 

-- Pere Jean Grou, cited in Evelyn Underhill's Prayer Book


Picture: Labyrinth outside St. James Cathedral, Chicago, October 2016.

Of all that God has shown me

Of all that God has shown me
I can speak just the smallest word,
Not more than a honey bee
Takes on his foot
From an overspilling jar.

--Mechtild of Magdeburg (1207-1282) Christian mystic writer and Beguine (translated by Jane Hirshfield)

Night Prayer

O my Lord,

the stars glitter

and the eyes of men are closed.

Kings have locked their doors

and each lover is alone with his love.

Here, I am alone with you.

--Rabi’a (Basra, 717-801), female Sufi poet and mystic (translated by Jane Hirshfield)

The version of this prayer that was in Evelyn Underhill's Prayer Book is as follows:

O Lord, the stars are shining and all things take their rest; and kings have shut their doors and every lover is alone with his beloved: and here I am alone with You.

Ruba'i (Quatrain)

As salt resolved in the ocean
I was swallowed in God’s sea,
Past faith, past unbelieving,
Past doubt, past certainty.

Suddenly in my bosom
A star shone clear and bright;
All the suns of heaven
Vanished in that star’s light.

--Rumi (Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī) (1207-1273), Turkish Sufi mystic and poet


Photo: Sunrise, Tambor, Costa Rica, March 2018.

The saints

Give us light, O Lord, that contemplating the love and patience of Jesus and His saints, we may be changed into love and patience.
Take from us, by the contemplation of their example, all selfishness.
Take from us all softness.
Take from us all delicacy and fastidiousness.
Take from us all cowardice and timidity.
Take from us all self-love.

Give us a share in their spirit of endurance.
Give us a love of labour.
Give us a love of the cross.
Give us a love of hardships.
Give us a spirit of courage.
Give us a spirit of surrendered trust.
That we may be willing to spend ourselves and to be spent for the sake of Your children, in union with Your self-giving love.

--Evelyn Underhill (1875-1941), English Anglo-Catholic mystic, retreat-leader, and writer, whom we remember today in the calendar of saints, from Evelyn Underhill's Prayer Book.

Love

You have said, O Lord:

blest are the pure in heart,

for they shall see You.

O sight to be wished, desired and longed for;

because once to have seen You

is to have learnt all things.

Nothing can bring us to this sight but love.

But what love must it be?

Not a sensible love or a childish love,

a love that seeks itself more than the beloved.

It must be an ardent love,

a constant love:

not worn out with labours,

not daunted with any difficulties.

For the soul that has set her whole love and desire on You

shall never find any true satisfaction,

but only in You.

--Dame Gertrude More (1606-1633) English Benedictine nun and founder of Stanbrook Abbey, collected by Evelyn Underhill (1875-1941), in Evelyn Underhill's Prayer Book.

O my Lord

O my Lord,

if I worship you
from fear of hell, burn me in hell.

If I worship you
from hope of Paradise, bar me from its gates.

But if I worship you
for yourself alone, grant me then the beauty of your Face.

--Rabi'a al-Basri (717-801), Sufi mystic, translated by Jane Hirschfeld

Rabi'a was an influence on Evelyn Underhill.

Canticle: A Song of Our True Nature

Christ revealed our frailty and our falling,
our trespasses and our humiliations.
Christ also revealed his blessed power,
his blessed wisdom and love.
He protects us as tenderly and as sweetly when we are in greatest need; 
he raises us in spirit
and turns everything to glory and joy without ending.
God is the ground and the substance, the very essence of nature;
God is the true father and mother of natures.
We are all bound to God by nature,
and we are all bound to God by grace.
And this grace is for all the world,
because it is our precious mother, Christ.
For this fair nature was prepared by Christ for the honor and nobility of all,
and for the joy and bliss of salvation.

-- Dame Julian of Norwich (1342-1416), English anchoress, mystic, and spiritual writer

Prayer in honor of Dame Julian of Norwich

Holy One, your love makes all things new:
creation lifts its voice in praise,
and we rise to give you thanks: alleluia!
In tenderness and sweetness You have created us, O God:
may we live gladly this day to bring You honor.

O God, let us know well your meaning, your perfect wisdom incarnate,
that Christ is love, and we are in Christ.
May we trust in God forever,
assured that we will never be overcome,
though tempests rage about us and travails ensnare us.
For we begin and end in the love in which You bore us, Lord Christ:
as our Mother you bear us for joy and life unending.

Holy Spirit, confirm us in love and hope
as we pray for mercy and compassion
to guide us this day,
and grant us peace.

Amen.

--Prayer by Leslie Scoopmire, 2017

On a Theme from Julian's Chapter XX

Six hours outstretched in the sun, yes,
hot wood, the nails, blood trickling
into the eyes, yes –
but the thieves on their neighbor crosses
survived till after the soldiers
had come to fracture their legs, or longer.
Why single out the agony? What’s
a mere six hours?
Torture then, torture now,
the same, the pain’s the same,
immemorial branding iron,
electric prod.
Hasn’t a child
dazed in the hospital ward they reserve
for the most abused, known worse?
The air we’re breathing,
these very clouds, ephemeral billows
languid upon the sky’s
moody ocean, we share
with women and men who’ve held out
days and weeks on the rack –
and in the ancient dust of the world
what particles
of the long tormented,
what ashes.
But Julian’s lucid spirit leapt
to the difference:
perceived why no awe could measure
that brief day’s endless length,
why among all the tortured
One only is “King of Grief.”

The oneing, she saw, the oneing
with the Godhead opened Him utterly
to the pain of all minds, all bodies –
sands of the sea, of the desert –
from first beginning
to last day. The great wonder is
that the human cells of His flesh and bone
didn’t explode
when utmost Imagination rose
in that flood of knowledge. Unique
in agony, Infinite strength, Incarnate,
empowered Him to endure
inside of history,
through those hours when he took to Himself
the sum total of anguish and drank
even the lees of that cup:

within the mesh of the web, Himself
woven within it, yet seeing it,
seeing it whole. Every sorrow and desolation
He saw, and sorrowed in kinship.


--Denise Levertov (1923-1997), English/American poet, from Oblique Prayers, 1984
Based on Julian's eighth vision.



Photo: Golgotha, from the Passion side of La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona

Last Night

Last night
I begged the Wise One to tell me
the secret of the world.
Gently, gently he whispered,
"Be quiet,
the secret cannot be spoken,
it is wrapped in silence."

--Jalal ad'Din Rumi (1207-1273), translated by Maryam Mafi and Azita Malima Kolin, from Whispers of the Beloved

A Song of Christ's Goodness (Canticle Q, Enriching Our Worship 1)

Jesus, as a mother you gather your people to you:
  You are gentle with us as a mother with her children;
Often you weep over our sins and our pride:
  tenderly you draw us from hatred and judgement.
You comfort us in sorrow and bind up our wounds:
  in sickness you nurse us,
  and with pure milk you feed us.
Jesus, by your dying we are born to new life:
  by your anguish and labour we come forth in joy.
Despair turns to hope through your sweet goodness:
  through your gentleness we find comfort in fear.
Your warmth gives life to the dead:
  your touch makes sinners righteous.
Lord Jesus, in your mercy heal us:
  in your love and tenderness remake us.
In your compassion bring grace and forgiveness:
  for the beauty of heaven may your love prepare us.

--St. Anselm of Canterbury, (1033-1109)

Mosaic from the altar of Dominus Flavit Church on the Mount of Olives.

Song of True Motherhood (Canticle R, Enriching Our Worship 1)

God chose to be our mother in all things
and so made the foundation of his work,
most humbly and most pure, in the Virgin's womb.
God, the perfect wisdom of all,
arrayed himself in this humble place.
Christ came in our poor flesh
to share a mother's care.
Our mothers bear us for pain and for death;
our true mother, Jesus bears us for joy and endless life.
Christ carried us within him in love and travail,
until the full time of his passion.
And when all was completed and he had carried us so for joy,
still all this could not satisfy the power of his wonderful love.
All that we owe is redeemed in truly loving God,
for the love of Christ works in us,
Christ is the one whom we love.

-- Dame Julian of Norwich, Shewings, 1395

When I Was The Forest

When I was the stream, when I was

the forest, when I was still the field
when I was every hoof, foot,
fin and wing, when I
was the sky

itself,

No one ever asked me did I have a purpose, no one ever
wondered was there anything I might need,
for there was nothing
I could not

love.

It was when I left all we once were that
the agony began, the fear and questions came,
and I wept, I wept. And tears
I had never known

before.

So I returned to the river, I returned to
the mountains. I asked for their hand in marriage again,
I begged—I begged to wed every object

and creature,

and when they accepted,
God was ever present in my arms.
And He did not say,
“Where have you
been?”

For then I knew my soul—every soul—
has always held
Him.

-- Meister Eckhart, 1260-1328