Daily Primer — July 10, Norwegian Sea Day 1
Each day you will be given:
A Florilegium entry
A Daily Prayer
and a Night Prayer.
A Florilegium entry
A Daily Prayer
and a Night Prayer.
Shall I put myself at the mercy of God?
Psalm 107 [selected verses]
1 O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good;
for his steadfast love endures forever.
2 Let the redeemed of the LORD say so,
those he redeemed from trouble
3 and gathered in from the lands,
from the east and from the west,
from the north and from the south.
…
23 Some went down to the sea in ships,
doing business on the mighty waters;
24 they saw the deeds of the LORD,
his wondrous works in the deep.
25 For he commanded and raised the stormy wind,
which lifted up the waves of the sea.
26 They mounted up to heaven, they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their calamity;
27 they reeled and staggered like drunkards,
and were at their wits’ end.
28 Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble,
and he brought them out from their distress;
29 he made the storm be still,
and the waves of the sea were hushed.
30 Then they were glad because they had quiet,
and he brought them to their desired haven.
31 Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love,
for his wonderful works to humankind.
32 Let them extol him in the congregation of the people, and praise him in the assembly of the elders.
Psalm 107 has long been a favorite . . . a Psalm that amounts to four case-studies on why and how to be grateful to God and to “give thanks” for the many rescues we require. Today and tomorrow are long days of travel far out at sea and it seems a good time to reflect on these verses from Psalm 107.
When Christianity reached the Western shores of the UK in the early centuries of the Common Era (we think that Christianity came with the Romans as they arrived in waves between 43-84 CE), the newly minted Christians who were far from the desert-landscapes which so heavily influenced the spirituality of the early church, quickly began to think of the sea as a desert. Like the desert it was vast, seemingly empty, haunted by troubles, and without a drop to drink. They soon began to think of voyages like St. Brendan’s in ways similar to the exploits of the desert mothers and fathers of the Thebaid.
The vast emptiness of the sea invited time and space to reflect on one’s utter dependence upon the mercies of the God - from whom all blessings flow. Both desert and ocean remind us of our creatureliness - of our need to turn to God for our food in due season. They also remind us of our vulnerability. We walk into the desert or sail into the ocean in humility if we are wise. It is there we go to “die” to all that is false in us.
Henri Nouwen writes powerfully about this:
The struggle is real because the danger is real. It is the danger of living the whole of our life as one long defense against the reality of our condition, one restless effort to convince ourselves of our virtuousness. Yet Jesus “did not come to call the virtuous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:13).
That is the struggle. It is the struggle to die to the false self. But this struggle is far, far beyond our own strength. Anyone who wants to fight his demons with his own weapons is a fool. The wisdom of the desert is that the confrontation with our own frightening nothingness forces us to surrender ourselves totally and unconditionally to the Lord Jesus Christ. Alone, we cannot face “the mystery of iniquity” with impunity. Only Christ can overcome the powers of evil. Only in and through him can we survive the trials of our solitude. This is beautifully illustrated by Abba Elias, who said: “An old man was living in a temple and the demons came to say to him, ‘Leave this place which belongs to us,’ and the old man said, ‘No place belongs to you.’ Then they began to scatter his palm leaves about, one by one, and the old man went on gathering them together with persistence. A little later the devil took his hand and pulled him to the door. When the old man reached the door, he seized the lintel with the other hand crying out, ‘Jesus, save me.’ Immediately the devil fled away. Then the old man began to weep. Then the Lord said to him, ‘Why are you weeping?’ and the old man said, ‘Because the devils have dared to seize a man and treat him like this.’ The Lord said to him, ‘You had been careless. As soon as you turned to me again, you see I was beside you.’” This story shows that only in the context of the great encounter with Jesus Christ himself can a real authentic struggle take place. The encounter with Christ does not take place before, after, or beyond the struggle with our false self and its demons. No, it is precisely in the midst of this struggle that our Lord comes to us and says, as he said to the old man in the story: “As soon as you turned to me again, you see I was beside you.”
We enter into solitude first of all to meet our Lord and to be with him and him alone. Our primary task in solitude, therefore, is not to pay undue attention to the many faces which assail us, but to keep the eyes of our mind and heart on him who is our divine savior. Only in the context of grace can we face our sin; only in the place of healing do we dare to show our wounds; only with a single-minded attention to Christ can we give up our clinging fears and face our own true nature. As we come to realize that it is not we who live, but Christ who lives in us, that he is our true self, we can slowly let our compulsions melt away and begin to experience the freedom of the children of God. And then we can look back with a smile and realize that we aren’t even angry or greedy any more.”
Psalm 107 [selected verses]
1 O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good;
for his steadfast love endures forever.
2 Let the redeemed of the LORD say so,
those he redeemed from trouble
3 and gathered in from the lands,
from the east and from the west,
from the north and from the south.
…
23 Some went down to the sea in ships,
doing business on the mighty waters;
24 they saw the deeds of the LORD,
his wondrous works in the deep.
25 For he commanded and raised the stormy wind,
which lifted up the waves of the sea.
26 They mounted up to heaven, they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their calamity;
27 they reeled and staggered like drunkards,
and were at their wits’ end.
28 Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble,
and he brought them out from their distress;
29 he made the storm be still,
and the waves of the sea were hushed.
30 Then they were glad because they had quiet,
and he brought them to their desired haven.
31 Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love,
for his wonderful works to humankind.
32 Let them extol him in the congregation of the people, and praise him in the assembly of the elders.
Psalm 107 has long been a favorite . . . a Psalm that amounts to four case-studies on why and how to be grateful to God and to “give thanks” for the many rescues we require. Today and tomorrow are long days of travel far out at sea and it seems a good time to reflect on these verses from Psalm 107.
When Christianity reached the Western shores of the UK in the early centuries of the Common Era (we think that Christianity came with the Romans as they arrived in waves between 43-84 CE), the newly minted Christians who were far from the desert-landscapes which so heavily influenced the spirituality of the early church, quickly began to think of the sea as a desert. Like the desert it was vast, seemingly empty, haunted by troubles, and without a drop to drink. They soon began to think of voyages like St. Brendan’s in ways similar to the exploits of the desert mothers and fathers of the Thebaid.
The vast emptiness of the sea invited time and space to reflect on one’s utter dependence upon the mercies of the God - from whom all blessings flow. Both desert and ocean remind us of our creatureliness - of our need to turn to God for our food in due season. They also remind us of our vulnerability. We walk into the desert or sail into the ocean in humility if we are wise. It is there we go to “die” to all that is false in us.
Henri Nouwen writes powerfully about this:
The struggle is real because the danger is real. It is the danger of living the whole of our life as one long defense against the reality of our condition, one restless effort to convince ourselves of our virtuousness. Yet Jesus “did not come to call the virtuous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:13).
That is the struggle. It is the struggle to die to the false self. But this struggle is far, far beyond our own strength. Anyone who wants to fight his demons with his own weapons is a fool. The wisdom of the desert is that the confrontation with our own frightening nothingness forces us to surrender ourselves totally and unconditionally to the Lord Jesus Christ. Alone, we cannot face “the mystery of iniquity” with impunity. Only Christ can overcome the powers of evil. Only in and through him can we survive the trials of our solitude. This is beautifully illustrated by Abba Elias, who said: “An old man was living in a temple and the demons came to say to him, ‘Leave this place which belongs to us,’ and the old man said, ‘No place belongs to you.’ Then they began to scatter his palm leaves about, one by one, and the old man went on gathering them together with persistence. A little later the devil took his hand and pulled him to the door. When the old man reached the door, he seized the lintel with the other hand crying out, ‘Jesus, save me.’ Immediately the devil fled away. Then the old man began to weep. Then the Lord said to him, ‘Why are you weeping?’ and the old man said, ‘Because the devils have dared to seize a man and treat him like this.’ The Lord said to him, ‘You had been careless. As soon as you turned to me again, you see I was beside you.’” This story shows that only in the context of the great encounter with Jesus Christ himself can a real authentic struggle take place. The encounter with Christ does not take place before, after, or beyond the struggle with our false self and its demons. No, it is precisely in the midst of this struggle that our Lord comes to us and says, as he said to the old man in the story: “As soon as you turned to me again, you see I was beside you.”
We enter into solitude first of all to meet our Lord and to be with him and him alone. Our primary task in solitude, therefore, is not to pay undue attention to the many faces which assail us, but to keep the eyes of our mind and heart on him who is our divine savior. Only in the context of grace can we face our sin; only in the place of healing do we dare to show our wounds; only with a single-minded attention to Christ can we give up our clinging fears and face our own true nature. As we come to realize that it is not we who live, but Christ who lives in us, that he is our true self, we can slowly let our compulsions melt away and begin to experience the freedom of the children of God. And then we can look back with a smile and realize that we aren’t even angry or greedy any more.”
This is a blog I once wrote about St. Brendan which has an extended quote from Nouwen at its conclusion.
Nouwen, Henri J. M. The Way of the Heart: The Spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers (pp. 8-9). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.
Nouwen, Henri J. M. The Way of the Heart: The Spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers (pp. 8-9). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.
Florilegium is the Medieval Latin word for bouquet, or more literally flowers (flos, flor-) which are gathered (legere). The word florilegium was used to refer to a compilation of writings, often religious or philosophical. These florilegium are literary flowers—beautiful words/prayers/thoughts I have gathered. During my sabbatical they will give me something to ponder each day. — PHL.
Merciful Lord, you could have dealt with our violence and betrayals symmetrically. You could have punished and disassociated yourself from us in the wake of crucifixion. We give thanks that, instead, you love those who are enemies and pray for those who persecute you. Help us, who follow in your way, to find the courage to follow you in showing mercy. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
John 19; Psalm 125. Liturgy of the Hours — PHL.
O gracious and holy Father,
give us wisdom to perceive you,
diligence to seek you,
patience to wait for you,
eyes to behold you,
a heart to meditate upon you,
a life to proclaim you,
through the power of the Spirit
of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
give us wisdom to perceive you,
diligence to seek you,
patience to wait for you,
eyes to behold you,
a heart to meditate upon you,
a life to proclaim you,
through the power of the Spirit
of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
A prayer of St. Benedict of Nursia (6th C. CE) as published in Time to Pray, p.28.