Stars
Per aspera ad astra
“Strive for the stars,” or “by hardship - to the stars.”
I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven, and will give to your offspring all these lands; and all the nations of the earth shall gain blessing for themselves through your offspring... [Gen. 26:4 NRSV]
There is a dawn where stillness lies with fading stars and waning moon.
I know not what the day will bring,
encompassed by the love of the One
who holds my “Yes” for years to come.
It is newness and timeless, a journey of love,
ever deeper, ever gentler into the thicket of God.
It is darkness and time-bound, a journey of love,
ever deeper ever gentler, into the thicket of God.
He is dark-light and day-star, the Christ of my life,
leading me deeper, leading me further, into the thicket of God.
Attributed to Saint John of the Cross - though I cannot find this in his published works - PHL
I know not what the day will bring,
encompassed by the love of the One
who holds my “Yes” for years to come.
It is newness and timeless, a journey of love,
ever deeper, ever gentler into the thicket of God.
It is darkness and time-bound, a journey of love,
ever deeper ever gentler, into the thicket of God.
He is dark-light and day-star, the Christ of my life,
leading me deeper, leading me further, into the thicket of God.
Attributed to Saint John of the Cross - though I cannot find this in his published works - PHL
“The Greeks told the story of the minotaur, the bull-headed flesh-eating man who lived in the center of the labyrinth. He was a threatening beast, and yet his name was Asterion— Star. I often think of this paradox as I sit with someone with tears in her eyes, searching for some way to deal with a death, a divorce, or a depression. It is a beast, this thing that stirs in the core of her being, but it is also the star of her innermost nature. We have to care for this suffering with extreme reverence so that, in our fear and anger at the beast, we do not overlook the star.”
From: Moore, Thomas. Care of the Soul Twenty-fifth Anniversary Edition (p. 22). Harper Perennial.
From: Moore, Thomas. Care of the Soul Twenty-fifth Anniversary Edition (p. 22). Harper Perennial.
"Through the centuries people have looked to the stars for an affirmation of their lives. You see it, for example in a story told in the Cursillo movement. Hundreds of years ago, in a desert community of monks in Spain, one of the brothers was sent each day to a distant city to beg. There he gathered food or money for the community and their work with the poor. The man often experienced abuse as he begged in the streets, but he did his work faithfully, recrossing the desert every evening, hot and tired. He never complained.
God marveled at the monk’s faithfulness and decided each evening to create a well of cold water to refresh him on his way back across the sand. The brother was astonished (and deeply grateful), but gave still greater honor to God by offering back the gift, not thinking himself worthy to drink. With enormous gratitude, he always passed it by. Consequently, each night as the monk lay down to sleep, he’d look up through the window of his cell and see a single star in the sky. He knew it had been put there just for him and slept with the greatest peace.
This was how the man lived out his life. As he grew older, the brothers chose a younger monk to go with him to learn how to do his work when he could no longer do it himself. The two set off for the city that day. The young monk found it hard begging, being scorned by strangers, and especially hot coming back over the desert at the end of the day. But then he saw the fountain—which hadn’t been there in the morning—and he ran to it, gulping down the water with great appreciation.
Meanwhile, the old monk was torn. If he refused to drink as he usually did, and told the young monk why, the younger fellow would feel bad about his own impulsiveness, not having been as devout as the revered older monk. Then again, if he drank, he wouldn’t be offering the same gift to God that he’d always been able to give through the years. Finally, he thought of the young monk and ran and drank to the glory of God.
As the two made their way home to the monastery, the old brother was more silent than usual. He feared that he’d disappointed God by what he’d done––drinking the water. But that night, as he lay down to sleep, he looked up through the window of his cell and saw the whole sky lit up with stars just for him! The shock of seeing (and being seen) was too much for the old man. They found him dead the next morning. He had slept with the greatest peace.
Had his brother monks been able to hear the words that last fell from his lips, they surely would have been the injunction from Hosea that mercy is always better than sacrifice. What you achieve by hard work or ascetic renunciation is nothing compared with what you offer in compassion. That’s how you sparkle. Love alone is what shows you the face of God. It’s what offers you a home in the universe. It’s what makes the stars shine."
Lane, Belden C.. The Great Conversation (pp. 129-131). Oxford University Press. Kindle Edition.
God marveled at the monk’s faithfulness and decided each evening to create a well of cold water to refresh him on his way back across the sand. The brother was astonished (and deeply grateful), but gave still greater honor to God by offering back the gift, not thinking himself worthy to drink. With enormous gratitude, he always passed it by. Consequently, each night as the monk lay down to sleep, he’d look up through the window of his cell and see a single star in the sky. He knew it had been put there just for him and slept with the greatest peace.
This was how the man lived out his life. As he grew older, the brothers chose a younger monk to go with him to learn how to do his work when he could no longer do it himself. The two set off for the city that day. The young monk found it hard begging, being scorned by strangers, and especially hot coming back over the desert at the end of the day. But then he saw the fountain—which hadn’t been there in the morning—and he ran to it, gulping down the water with great appreciation.
Meanwhile, the old monk was torn. If he refused to drink as he usually did, and told the young monk why, the younger fellow would feel bad about his own impulsiveness, not having been as devout as the revered older monk. Then again, if he drank, he wouldn’t be offering the same gift to God that he’d always been able to give through the years. Finally, he thought of the young monk and ran and drank to the glory of God.
As the two made their way home to the monastery, the old brother was more silent than usual. He feared that he’d disappointed God by what he’d done––drinking the water. But that night, as he lay down to sleep, he looked up through the window of his cell and saw the whole sky lit up with stars just for him! The shock of seeing (and being seen) was too much for the old man. They found him dead the next morning. He had slept with the greatest peace.
Had his brother monks been able to hear the words that last fell from his lips, they surely would have been the injunction from Hosea that mercy is always better than sacrifice. What you achieve by hard work or ascetic renunciation is nothing compared with what you offer in compassion. That’s how you sparkle. Love alone is what shows you the face of God. It’s what offers you a home in the universe. It’s what makes the stars shine."
Lane, Belden C.. The Great Conversation (pp. 129-131). Oxford University Press. Kindle Edition.
William H. Shannon, who has served as president of the International Thomas Merton Society, general editor of his letters, and has written about Merton’s approach to spirituality, has defined contemplation in the following way:
...true prayer, especially contemplation, means going inside ourselves,
going inside reality, going into the “the temple” if you will, to find God
and to find ourselves and all reality in God.
He continues:
This notion of prayer as “going inside” is borne out by the rather curious etymology of the word “contemplation.” A dictionary will tell you that contemplation means “to gaze attentively at something.” The etymology takes us a big step further. At the heart of the word “contemplation” the Latin word templum, which means “temple.” Templum, interestingly, is a diminutive of the word tempus. Generally tempus is translated as “time,” yet its primary meaning is a “division or a section of time.” Among the Romans the templum was a space in the sky or on the earth that was sectioned off or set apart for the augurs to read the omens. It was, therefore, a sacred spot marked off from other space, and generally in this spot the augurs would examine the entrails of birds. In other words, the temple was the place where certain sacred persons looked “inside animals, inside things,” to find divine meanings and purposes. Looking attentively at the “insides” of things might well be a way of describing contemplation. It is looking at ourselves, looking at reality, from the “inside.” It is looking into the temple, where the “insides” of reality are to be found. If we go deeply enough into the “insides” of reality, we find that of themselves they are --nothing. They are only because at the very deepest level of reality we find a Source which is their Origin and the Ground in which they find their identity and their uniqueness. And that Source which is their Origin and Ground is God.
William H. Shannon, Seeking the Face of God New York: Crossroad, 1988, pp.20-22.
...true prayer, especially contemplation, means going inside ourselves,
going inside reality, going into the “the temple” if you will, to find God
and to find ourselves and all reality in God.
He continues:
This notion of prayer as “going inside” is borne out by the rather curious etymology of the word “contemplation.” A dictionary will tell you that contemplation means “to gaze attentively at something.” The etymology takes us a big step further. At the heart of the word “contemplation” the Latin word templum, which means “temple.” Templum, interestingly, is a diminutive of the word tempus. Generally tempus is translated as “time,” yet its primary meaning is a “division or a section of time.” Among the Romans the templum was a space in the sky or on the earth that was sectioned off or set apart for the augurs to read the omens. It was, therefore, a sacred spot marked off from other space, and generally in this spot the augurs would examine the entrails of birds. In other words, the temple was the place where certain sacred persons looked “inside animals, inside things,” to find divine meanings and purposes. Looking attentively at the “insides” of things might well be a way of describing contemplation. It is looking at ourselves, looking at reality, from the “inside.” It is looking into the temple, where the “insides” of reality are to be found. If we go deeply enough into the “insides” of reality, we find that of themselves they are --nothing. They are only because at the very deepest level of reality we find a Source which is their Origin and the Ground in which they find their identity and their uniqueness. And that Source which is their Origin and Ground is God.
William H. Shannon, Seeking the Face of God New York: Crossroad, 1988, pp.20-22.