I hear of folly and fowl play.
I look to You,
And remember Your Cross.
The psalmist sang of the Dark Valley.
Yet knew Your Presence and Your shield.
Here in my world,
Reign and sup with me.
Hope surrounds me.
As I am Yours,
Beloved child in sweet surrender.
Even Pharaoh served Your purpose.
His obstinacy but a tool in Your Hand.
The Red Sea became a bridge.
Joining heaven to a People.
Times change.
Passover continues.
Your Will,
My Land of Milk and Honey.
©2016 Joann Nelander
I found John Clark’s reflection on Dickens’ Scrooge to be as the less literary say (i.e. me), “Right On!”
Via Seton Magazine
“There is an antithesis to “sleeping in Heavenly peace”; and that is, lying awake in hellish chaos. It’s a theme that arises in the great literature from the ancients to the moderns. The solution is repentance, which Scrooge would soon realize.
“He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk— that anything— could give him so much happiness.”
“Everything could yield him pleasure.”
Dickens’ words will resonate with the penitent who has just been absolved in the sacrament of Penance and regained the state of grace.
This Christmas, many penitents will stand in lines for Confession. When they step out of that Confessional, you may not see them dancing, but their hearts are doing what Fred Astaire could only imagine. Mere gravity is hopeless against tethering that joy. One need not try to fly; the tough task is staying on the ground.
There is a theological term for all this: the state of grace. The “state of grace” is a very formal term. It seems very stately and very graceful. Yet, there is a childlike exhilaration to the state of grace and an infantile innocence. The state of grace is the state of happiness, of peace, of rest, of joy, of love, of wonder, of excitement, of newness.
The story of Scrooge is a story of repentance. But the best stories of repentance are fact. Not fiction. As I have said, I love this story. It is regarded as some of the finest prose in the English language.
But please remember this: If Scrooge’s story moves you to sacramental repentance this Christmas, the greatest chapter wasn’t written by Charles Dickens. It will be written by you.”
With Charles Dickens’ Tiny Tim, we say, “God bless Us, Every One!”
I long to be in the company of angels.
I long to be touched by the Holy.
I long to shine with the heavenly.
I long to be transformed by grace,
To be washed anew in Baptismal Waters,
And be lifted to kiss the Face of God.
© 2016 Joann Nelander
Advent is upon my soul.
Divine gift of season,
I listen for the cry of a First Born Son,
Begotten before Time begun,
And fleshed in the Virgin’s womb.I come to her,
Who is the Ark,
Your Mercy Seat.
Kneeling beside her
In these pregnant moments,
I lay my head upon her lap.Her wonderment and awe
In steadfast contemplation,
Inspire angels’ songs.I hear their reverent voices
In my night.
Their chorus bids me come.
Come to the stable of simplicity.Leave the noisy city for a deserted place,
The Wilderness whose hidden way
Leads to the waiting manger,
Now, in expectant readiness,
For the Food that will feed
The hungry world.My Advent prayer:
Come, O Holy Infant!
Come to my straw!By Joann Nelander
On an ordinary day in Paradise,
Into a world created to glorify God and Man,
Adam introduced just a smidgen of sin.
Merely, a peddle, Adam thought,
Hardly enough to weigh on a cosmic scale.
In the grand scheme of Time, and Space,
The cosmic sea quaked.
In ever increasing concentric circles,
Shock waves carried an echo,
Reverberating, through all that is matter,
Shouting, “Me”.
On an ordinary day, dreaming of Paradise,
In a world created to glorify God and Man,
Man hides in the evening stillness.
Mercy walks about offering forgiveness.
I smile in my “niceness”.
Still in denial,
I make a show of all the good things I have done,
While all Creation simply waits on tiptoe
Praying for the revelation of the sons of God.
O Holy Father,
On my death,
And the occasion of my judgment,
I offer You Jesus’ Love for me.
See how He wants me eternally.
Dying to hold me,
His Blood claims me as His own.
He created me with such care,
As I took form in my mother’s womb.
He lavished attentions on me
As living flesh, imbued with eternal soul,
Flourished in the abundant waters of Life.
Unique among His creations,
He smiled upon me, seeing my beauty,
And my need.
See how He sought me,
Playfully with joys,
And in sorrow as I hid myself.
See the iron of His intention,
Bent on me.
See His fury at the Foe,
Who pursued me,
Seeing His Grace reclaiming me.
My Father, minister to Your daughter,
That leaving behind my earthly life,
Heavenly couriers might present me
Before the One,
Whose Spirit lives in me.
See His pieced Side,
Opened wide inviting me,
All the more, longing,
He for me,
And me for Thee in Three,
As leaving the mortal for the immortal,
I seek sanctuary.
You are everywhere in Being,
And in me.
I wrap my heart around Your Godhead,
Your Jesus.
He embraces me with Spirit,
Even in judgment,,
I am chosen for the Son.
Copyright 2015 Joann Nelander
Be Holy! 