Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The climate in which monastic prayer flowers is that of the desert, where the comfort of man is absent, where the secure routines of man's city offer no support, and where prayer must be sustained by God in the purity of faith. Even though he may live in a community, the monk is bound to explore the inner waste of his own being as a solitary. The Word of God which is his comfort is also his distress. The liturgy, which is his joy and which reveals to him the glory of God, cannot fill a heart that has not previously been humbled and emptied by dread. Alleluia is the song of the desert.
~Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer
Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus. ~John 21:4
Who believes in you? Who do you believe in? I have always had trouble with this phrase. I mean, what does it mean to "believe"...
I didn't think much of it when it happened, but it did and here I am. What was it that led up to this event? I can barely recall. It doe...
I suppose I should write something. I have been reading over my blog posts of late and noticed that I have not been so "revealing"...