Fear

Perhaps the greatest and most terrible power possessed by the darkness, is the ability it has to make itself appear greater and more terrible than it really is. Like certain lizards whose collars spread, or cats whose backs arch, giving them the appearance of larger creatures when confronted, evil seeks to present a more awful face than it has. The shadows of demons frequently loom larger and darker than the demons themselves, and even their countenances are deceptively hideous. They rarely swallow the souls who do battle with them; but they gobble up, by the millions, the ones who stand frozen, overwhelmed at the sight of the grotesque.

There is no evil in the world which does not pass, sooner or later, into good. But the evil which remains evil for the longest stretch of time is that evil which has yet to -- and may never -- befall us; and which accosts us only in the form of fear. Tragedy holds many in it's grip, but the fear of tragedy holds many more still. For every misfortune we fall prey to, there are a thousand we fear. This is why, even in the midst of what seems like the most horrible catastrophe, we may be struck with a sudden feeling of relief. Some part of us relaxes, as if to say, "Finally, it has happened. At last, I can stop fearing it."

Letter To Sarah

Good Morning,

I don't have any answers. I don't know if yours are "right", or "right for me", but they aren't finding a foothold in my chasm. They slip right into the dark below. I'm not able, at the moment, to conceptualize God in that way. My coffers are empty. It's time for me to go back up the mountain. I'm seeking genuine revelation. The kind that blasts you apart and puts you back together according to a higher plan, or a better blueprint. I think I'll have a lot to share, very soon. But right now, speaking honestly, I'm destitute and adrift.

There is a story, I think it's a Sufi story, maybe you've heard it. I can't recall the particulars (universals, rather, are my strong suit), but it's similar to the parable in the Bible of the two men praying. You recall: The first man thanks heaven that he is not like other men, full of corruption, etc. The second beats his breast and asks forgiveness for his sins. Jesus says the prayer of the second is more fitting. I'm not always so sure. Perhaps there's a time to every prayer under heaven?

Anyway, the Sufi story goes like this: One man is thanking heaven for the gifts he has received, -- specifically, for the insight he's received into the wisdom of heaven. The second is crying out for more. His prayer might be expressed like this: "My cup runneth over, Lord, but still I thirst. My wisdom is like blindness compared to Thee. Thou hast shown me many wonders along the way, but the path has led me here, to the brink of an abyss. Lord, grant me wisdom like wings, that I may soar over the deep places of the earth. Lord, give me more of You; only You!" Again, the story ends with the assertion that the latter is more pleasing to God. But I don't know.

The shamans say we need entheogens to open to spirit. I mean really open. Like John of the Cross. Like Teresa. They say this is especially true for people living in industrialized societies. They say it is absolutely true for Americans. And most of all, for men. Our egos are fortresses, surrounded by so many ramparts. Even the philosophies we share, coin, buy, or barter, with the purpose of freeing us, just get turned to the service of our egos. We need strong medicine, they say. And after all I've seen and heard, I'm inclined to agree.

I appreciate your kind words of encouragement. I slipped yesterday and allowed my haughtiness to reign in me. The usual shitstorm ensued. Nobody knows how I wrestle with myself. What they say of Scorpios isn't just talk. We have a war within us, between good and evil. What one of those Chilean miners said, when he emerged, was so poignant: "I was down there with God and with the Devil. They fought over me, and God won." I wake up every morning at war. Sometimes it seems like I am a warrior, sometimes a peacemaker. Sometimes I am both; the one at odds with the other. But mostly, I am the battlefield; trampled and stained with blood. Has God created me "only" for this? To be a field of battle, where the eternal conflict, between Himself and all that He is not, takes place?

Thank you for appreciating my gifts with me. I call them mine, but I've never felt they were mine. They were entrusted to me, and I honor that trust by sharing them with the world. With you. You say that I must accept them fully. I don't know what that would entail. How do I do that, Sarah? I very much want to experience the grace you speak of. I want to see doors opening, and all the angels coming to greet me and cheer me on my way...

There is a quote attributed to Goethe, which is really an amalgam of several quotes, none of which in fact originated with him. But since this is the form in which the quotes come down to us through the popular press, and with which so many of us are already familiar, I'll site them here as one quote:

“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it now. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid.”

I've always admired this, and looked to find proof of it. I think, if there is proof, and a reason for it, the proof must be found in the life of one who is "at one" with himself, at least, on a given matter; and the reason that the world seems to cooperate with him, is because he no longer defeats himself. There are no more opportunities than before, except for the opportunities that arise from the seizing of other opportunities; that is, the man now sees and embraces the opportunities which were there all along, and by doing so opens the door to further opportunities. This is an instance of light attracting light. But there is another law, contradictory to this one, which we have already touched upon.

Here is how I see, and would express it: A well-lit man goes out to meet the darkness. By "turning the other cheek", some enemies are converted to friends, while other, far more sinister, enemies are made. And this is what has always terrified me, Sarah. The apprehension that, the closer we follow Christ, the sooner we reach the cross. What is that Antonio Porchia quote? "Suffering is above, not below. And everyone thinks that suffering is below. And everyone wants to rise." We all place our faith in the resurrection, as if that would "save" us from the crucifixion. But the words of Kierkegaard, perhaps, ring louder than any others: "Christianity is a demand, not a consolation."

I speak of Christ, but not of Mary, and I suppose this is the very substance of my affliction; my guilt. For I have said that Mary is mercy, and the purest consolation. Mary is not a call. She, perhaps even more than The Holy Spirit, deserves the appellation "comforter". She does not call us to follow Her. She does not set "heavy burdens and grievous to be borne" upon our shoulders, and bid us heave them up the hill to be a sacrifice for all the world. She is not The Christ. But it may be that She is the guide of all of us who are yet unfit to follow Him. She is "milk for babes", and He is "meat for strong men". I look to Her, increasingly, because I am ashamed to look Him in the eye.

You are one of His treasures. I know that much.

Thank you again for being a friend,

Samuel

Medical Materialism and Religious Genius

From: "The Varieties Of Religious Experience" by William James

There can be no doubt that as a matter of fact a religious life, exclusively pursued, does tend to make the person exceptional and eccentric. I speak not now of your ordinary religious believer, who follows the conventional observances of his country, whether it be Buddhist, Christian, or Mohammedan. His religion has been made for him by others, communicated to him by tradition, determined to fixed forms by imitation, and retained by habit. It would profit us little to study this second-hand religious life. We must make search rather for the original experiences which were the pattern-setters to all this mass of suggested feeling and imitated conduct. These experiences we can only find in individuals for whom religion exists not as a dull habit, but as an acute fever rather. But such individuals are 'geniuses' in the religious line; and like many other geniuses who have brought forth fruits effective enough for commemoration in the pages of biography, such religious geniuses have often shown symptoms of nervous instability. Even more perhaps than other kinds of genius, religious leaders have been subject to abnormal psychical visitations. Invariably they have been creatures of exalted emotional sensibility. Often they have led a discordant inner life, and had melancholy during a part of their career. They have known no measure, been liable to obsessions and fixed ideas; and frequently they have fallen into trances, heard voices, seen visions, and presented all sorts of peculiarities which are ordinarily classed as pathological. Often, moreover, these pathological features in their career have helped to give them their religious authority and influence.

If you ask for a concrete example, there can be no better one than is furnished by the person of George Fox. The Quaker religion which he founded is something which it is impossible to overpraise. In a day of shams, it was a religion of veracity rooted in spiritual inwardness, and a return to something more like the original gospel truth than men had ever known in England. So far as our Christian sects to-day are evolving into liberality, they are simply reverting in essence to the position which Fox and the early Quakers so long ago assumed. No one can pretend for a moment that in point of spiritual sagacity and capacity, Fox's mind was unsound. Every one who confronted him personally, from Oliver Cromwell down to county magistrates and jailers, seems to have acknowledged his superior power. Yet from the point of view of his nervous constitution, Fox was a psychopath or detraque of the deepest dye...

Perhaps the commonest expression of this assumption that spiritual value is undone if lowly origin be asserted is seen in those comments which unsentimental people so often pass on their more sentimental acquaintances. Alfred believes in immortality so strongly because his temperament is so emotional. Fanny's extraordinary conscientiousness is merely a matter of over-instigated nerves. William's melancholy about the universe is due to bad digestion- probably his liver is torpid. Eliza's delight in her church is a symptom of her hysterical constitution. Peter would be less troubled about his soul if he would take more exercise in the open air, etc... We are surely all familiar in a general way with this method of discrediting states of mind for which we have an antipathy. We all use it to some degree in criticising persons whose states of mind we regard as overstrained. But when other people criticise our own more exalted soul-flights by calling them 'nothing but' expressions of our organic disposition, we feel outraged and hurt, for we know that, whatever be our organism's peculiarities, our mental states have their substantive value as revelations of the living truth; and we wish that all this medical materialism could be made to hold its tongue.

Medical materialism seems indeed a good appellation for the too simple-minded system of thought which we are considering. Medical materialism finishes up Saint Paul by calling his vision on the road to Damascus a discharging lesion of the occipital cortex, he being an epileptic. It snuffs out Saint Teresa as an hysteric, Saint Francis of Assisi as an hereditary degenerate. George Fox's discontent with the shams of his age, and his pining for spiritual veracity, it treats as a symptom of a disordered colon. Carlyle's organ-tones of misery it accounts for by a gastro-duodenal catarrh. All such mental over-tensions, it says, are, when you come to the bottom of the matter, mere affairs of diathesis (auto-intoxications most probably), due to the perverted action of various glands which physiology will yet discover.

And medical materialism then thinks that the spiritual authority of all such personages is successfully undermined... But now, I ask you, how can such an existential account of facts of mental history decide in one way or another upon their spiritual significance?... A good example of the impossibility of holding strictly to the medical tests is seen in the theory of the pathological causation of genius promulgated by recent authors. "Genius," said Dr. Moreau, "is but one of the many branches of the neuropathic tree." "Genius," says Dr. Lombroso, "is a symptom of hereditary degeneration of the epileptoid variety, and is allied to moral insanity." "Whenever a man's life," writes Mr. Nisbet, "is at once sufficiently illustrious and recorded with sufficient fullness to be a subject of profitable study, he inevitably falls into the morbid category.... And it is worthy of remark that, as a rule, the greater the genius, the greater the unsoundness."

Now, do these authors, after having succeeded in establishing to their own satisfaction that the works of genius are fruits of disease, consistently proceed thereupon to impugn the value of the fruits? Do they deduce a new spiritual judgment from their new doctrine of existential conditions? Do they frankly forbid us to admire the productions of genius from now onwards? and say outright that no neuropath can ever be a revealer of new truth? No! their immediate spiritual instincts are too strong for them here, and hold their own against inferences which, in mere love of logical consistency, medical materialism ought to be only too glad to draw...

In the natural sciences and industrial arts it never occurs to any one to try to refute opinions by showing up their author's neurotic constitution. Opinions here are invariably tested by logic and by experiment, no matter what may be their author's neurological type. It should be no otherwise with religious opinions... Immediate luminousness, in short, philosophical reasonableness, and moral helpfulness are the only available criteria. Saint Teresa might have had the nervous system of the placidest cow, and it would not now save her theology, if the trial of the theology by these other tests should show it to be contemptible. And conversely if her theology can stand these other tests, it will make no difference how hysterical or nervously off her balance Saint Teresa may have been when she was with us here below...

The medical materialists are therefore only so many belated dogmatists, neatly turning the tables on their predecessors by using the criterion of origin in a destructive instead of an accreditive way... But the argument from origin has seldom been used alone, for it is too obviously insufficient. Dr. Maudsley is perhaps the cleverest of the rebutters of supernatural religion on grounds of origin. Yet he finds himself forced to write:-

"What right have we to believe Nature under any obligation to do her work by means of complete minds only? She may find an incomplete mind a more suitable instrument for a particular purpose. It is the work that is done, and the quality in the worker by which it was done, that is alone of moment; and it may be no great matter from a cosmical standpoint, if in other qualities of character he was singularly defective- if indeed he were hypocrite, adulterer, eccentric, or lunatic..." ...In the end it had to come to our empiricist criterion: By their fruits ye shall know them, not by their roots.... Our practice is the only sure evidence, even to ourselves, that we are genuinely Christians...

[The] nature of genius has been illuminated by the attempts, of which I already made mention, to class it with psychopathical phenomena. Borderland insanity, crankiness, insane temperament, loss of mental balance, psychopathic degeneration (to use a few of the many synonyms by which it has been called), has certain peculiarities and liabilities which, when combined with a superior quality of intellect in an individual, make it more probable that he will make his mark and affect his age, than if his temperament were less neurotic... The cranky person has extraordinary emotional susceptibility. He is liable to fixed ideas and obsessions. His conceptions tend to pass immediately into belief and action; and when he gets a new idea, he has no rest till he proclaims it, or in some way 'works it off.' "What shall I think of it?" a common person says to himself about a vexed question but in a 'cranky' mind "What must I do about it?" is the form the question tends to take.

In the autobiography of that high-souled woman, Mrs. Annie Besant, I read the following passage: "Plenty of people wish well to any good cause, but very few care to exert themselves to help it, and still fewer will risk anything in its support. 'Some one ought to do it, but why should I?' is the ever re-echoed phrase of weak-kneed amiability. 'Some one ought to do it, so why not I?' is the cry of some earnest servant of man, eagerly forward springing to face some perilous duty. Between these two sentences lie whole centuries of moral evolution." True enough! and between these two sentences lie also the different destinies of the ordinary sluggard and the psychopathic man. Thus, when a superior intellect and a psychopathic temperament coalesce- as in the endless permutations and combinations of human faculty, they are bound to coalesce often enough- in the same individual, we have the best possible condition for the kind of effective genius that gets into the biographical dictionaries. Such men do not remain mere critics and understanders with their intellect. Their ideas possess them, they inflict them, for better or worse, upon their companions or their age...

To pass now to religious phenomena, take the melancholy which, as we shall see, constitutes an essential moment in every complete religious evolution... Few of us are not in some way infirm, or even diseased; and our very infirmities help us unexpectedly. In the psychopathic temperament we have the emotionality which is the sine qua non of moral perception; we have the intensity and tendency to emphasis which are the essence of practical moral vigor; and we have the love of metaphysics and mysticism which carry one's interests beyond the surface of the sensible world. What, then, is more natural than that this temperament should introduce one to regions of religious truth, to corners of the universe, which your robust Philistine type of nervous system, forever offering its biceps to be felt, thumping its breast, and thanking Heaven that it hasn't a single morbid fibre in its composition, would be sure to hide forever from its self-satisfied possessors? If there were such a thing as inspiration from a higher realm, it might well be that the neurotic temperament would furnish the chief condition of the requisite receptivity. And having said thus much, I think that I may let the matter of religion and neuroticism drop.

Maternal Love

Ultimately, we love things best when they contain an element which is universally beautiful. Unless prejudice prevents our seeing it, then no matter what our perspective is, we will all find it beautiful. For example...

It is clear that everyone loves their mother uniquely, in a unique way. There are very specific memories, utterly impossible to replicate; combinations of smells, tastes, images, colors, sensations, sounds... This is not some abstract mother. This is Mother. Your Mother. She has a name and a history. And every inch of it enriches our experience of her reality and its fullness. In mysterious ways, it informs your love for her.

But, what you love most in your mother is something universal. Something we all love. The experience of motherly or maternal love is one we can all relate to. Even those of us who have never had the experience. We may have had no mother at all. No memories. But we relate, somehow, on a profound level, to the experience of having a mother, and being loved by her; held, cradled, soothed, and treated like the most precious object in the universe.

The ones who have had some taste of it, want more of it, and the ones who've never tasted it, what to drown in it for eternity. That is the beauty of the Shekinah.

We should endeavor to see it shining in the center of all that we love about our own mother. And we should endeavor to "flesh out" our conception of the Shekinah, without skimping on the imagination. The archetype of The Goddess, like our own mothers, ought to be specific. It doesn't matter if you imagine Minerva or The Lady Madonna, but that you see her clearly, and movingly, in your mind's eye.

Set before yourself an image befitting the exalted state of emotion you wish to inspire. As a result, your soul will be shaped like clay in the hands of a potter, and you'll be transformed into a holy grail, fit to hold and to dispense the sacred waters of life.

This is how the alchemy of religion is accomplished.

Holy Adoption

I am fond of this idea of how we are brought into the holy family by adoption.

25 Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.

(Is it curious that the witnesses are female?)

26 When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!
27 Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home.

Holy Adoption is the accomplishment of his mission.

28 After this, Jesus knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the scripture might be fulfilled, saith, I thirst.

[John 19]

With the love that Mary has for Christ, who is ascended to the Father, she loves the sinners, who remain behind. His mission is accomplished, but we have continual need of her nurturing and protection.

I am tempted to use peculiar expressions, like "nurturing protection" or "protective nurturing", since this is really what is meant. The love, and the effect of the love, which Mary has for us, is protective of us on account of its nurturing character, and it is nurturing to us on account of its protective character, because there is actually a natural symbiotic relationship between nurturing and protecting.

In nature, we see that what we call "order" is preserved in some particular area for a period of time, before larger forces necessitate a less placid, more sudden reorientation of energies. Something, which may not even be a force in itself, -- call it Providence, -- allows order to be maintained for a while. All things in the universe, provided they are protected, grow; to "have room" is the same as "to have room to grow". As long as anything is protected from the volatile elements in its surroundings, it will continue to grow. This is why protection is nurturing.

In the Hindu tradition, this would be Vishnu, The Preserver. The other two Gods of the Vedic Trinity are Brahma (Creation, Emanation) and Shiva (Destruction, Transformation). And there is a fourth, technically, which is Brahman, the transcendent, infinite, eternal, and ever-present ground of reality. This would be comparable, in my estimation, to God the Father (Creator of Souls), God the Mother (Providence, The Protective-Nurturer), God the Son (Conflict or Culmination leading to Higher Synthesis), and God the Spirit (The Holy Spirit, The Immanent and Transcendent Presence).

Devotions To Mary

Innocence by
William-Adolphe Bouguereau

Let the Lord have a care for justice; but the Lady is mercy entire.

“Holy Mary, Queen Of Mercy,...”

You grant every petition for mercy, even from the most hardened sinners. You hear and grant even the prayers which are unspoken, in hearts too weak to pray. So I know that you hear me now, and that my temptations are not as great as they might otherwise be, without your presence in the world. You lift me up, not for my own sake, since there is nothing in me worthy of honor, but for the sake of God, and the greater glory of His name. It is not I, but God, who is lifted up in me.


Therefore, there can be no reason to withhold your favors; since you are not stooping to regard an undeserving sinner, but rather raising up your hands in worship to the Most High. For where a sinner is downcast, there a vein of God's golden light is hidden and smothered under a heap; and where a sinner is saved, God's light is allowed to shine without obstruction.


  You are that light-bearer who delves into the darkness, in order to illuminate the hearts of darkened souls. You do not seek for other beacons like yourself, already shining in full glory and set upon a height. So it is proper that I, a low and disobedient servant, should raise my voice in prayer, and signal you, who are already seeking ones like me, in need of your divine pardon and protection.


Come, and clear away the gross debris which covers me, and the light of God which is in me. Blow a kiss, and obliterate with your sweet breath the ashes of my sins, and the dust of my self-love which crowds and clings and holds me down. Consecrate me entirely to this love, and to the service of love. Blot out all traces of my former life, and carry me swiftly into the radiance of the life to come. Suffer me not to look aside, where diverse creatures seek my capture, nor let me cast a backwards glance into the pit I called my home. Bring me joyful and solemn into the presence of my King.


Before ever I raised my voice to you in prayer, before ever my heart sank into the seat of contrition in my soul, you heard and hearkened unto me, and guided my heart to the place of repentance. I know this, because it is a grace even to pray for graces, and to discover that one is lost is the beginning of finding one's way. You are the Mother of my soul, whose love and solicitude on my soul's behalf is without parallel, except for the transforming and triumphant love of Christ, Your Son.


But, while His love for me is the love of an older for a younger brother, yours is a maternal love, more tender still in its expressions. To all, you are a mother, but most of all, to those who cry out to you, being greatly in need of your protection. To your breast we are gathered, as ripe wheat in a field, and carried safely out of the rain. In your lap, we are cradled like tiny lambs. Our cares are smoothed like wrinkles in cloth.


"O blessed hope! O safe refuge!
The Mother of God is my mother!
How firm should be our confidence
since our salvation depends on
the judgment of so good a Brother
and so tender a Mother."
~ Saint Anselm


Let my first thought, in the hour of temptation, be of you, sweet Mother, so that your spirit will promptly be alerted to my danger, and your gentle strength come swiftly to my rescue. Let me place my confidence in you, Sweet Lady, who exists only to answer the cries of the wretched, and to bring comfort to the hearts afflicted with sin.


Be always in my reflections, and in the secret stirrings of my breast. And as the cool dew that bends upon the morning grass, let your name form upon my lips, first thing, when I awake. To call you "Mother" is the only honor I would seek.

Proverbs And Counsels

The place of God is presence itself. The time of the encounter is now.

Let the Lord have a care for justice; but the Lady is mercy entire.

His mercy commands a humble heart.

"Mercy" is the inscription over the gates of heaven;
it is through mercy that we enter into the life of paradise.

Man was created last, and left incomplete.

Your foot has stumbled on the earth; you have incarnated.
Your foot has stumbled on the earth, but do not fall.
Only learn to keep a watchful step.

Once, you sought His face. But now you are in awe of the mystery.

Who can search His depths? They are without limit.
But, of what a man may know, there is a limit.

Hypocrites! Their eyes search the scriptures with a carnal lust.

The lily of the valley is gentle, modest and without complaint. She is startling for her purity. Her beauty is subtle and unsurpassed. The presence of the Lord is the Light in which she stands.

The Lord God is not an abstraction, but a reality in which you "live, move, and have your being". In order to effectively call God to mind, it is necessary to imagine yourself in His presence. Therefore, when you pray, when you reflect on sacred matters, or when you read and consider the sayings of wise men, never forget to think of yourself in the presence of the Most High. Place yourself before the throne of God, and be illuminated by the Light of the Lord.

Praise the Lord! who is the source of all praise, and all that is praise worthy. Without beginning or end, unbound by time. No mind can conceive Him, no eye behold, nor ear hear him. He is undiscovered and beyond discovering. Less than a speck of dust beneath His feet is our entire universe; for He has no corporeal frame. Everything comes from and belongs to Him, and all things ring with the vibration of His voice, though His voice itself cannot be heard. He is everything, and He is unlike anything. No words can describe Him. Before the world existed, He was complete.

The Sabbath was made for us. It is a gift from the Lord. A refuge from distraction and a temple fortress.

Remembrance of God is the dawn of a new day.

At any time, we may cultivate peace and order in honoring the paths of the Lord. This is a proof of His mercy. No matter how far we run from the law of the righteous, He is always beside us. We need only turn to Him, in order to return to Him.

The greatest joy is a prayer to God. Praise Him, and remember His glories, for He is the rock of saints; the ground where it is fit to stand. He is the consolation of our ancestors, curer of the ages, friend to the afflicted, sustainer of the wise, -- He is the Lord God, upon whose power even the Master Jesus depended in prayer, -- strength of the prophets, and light of the wise, by which they read and recover their wisdom.

It is sweet to praise, and to recover, Him. It is fortune, to discover His mercy. The presence with which He clothes us is a token of His charity. The signet of His letter is love.

To be seated in prayer is to arise before the Lord.

A contrite heart is an altar consecrated to the worship of the Lord.

He gives vigor to those whom sorrow has weakened and snared within her net. He is a sign of hope, even to the most sorely oppressed. His word is a hand that reaches into depths, and rescues the damned. He is the love that binds together families and friends, to make bulwarks against tidal waves of grief. He is the song on the lips of a righteous man.

To seek Him, to walk -- or to run! -- in the direction of His kingdom, is to be healed. Who reads from the books devoted to the Lord, is ministered to by saints, prophets, and often angels. Only a blind and heartless fool, deprived of all proper guidance in life, neglects the utterances of wise men. Learn to love by studying the signs of those who love and have loved God. Learn peace from the peaceful and charity from the saints.

When we mourn the death of Jesus, we are close to celebrating the resurrection of Christ.

By scorning the ways of God, we have fallen into sickness and confusion. But by observing the habits of righteousness, we are brought into alignment with All.

Do not hold a grudge, but say to yourself, "I, too, have hurt others this way," and remember that the pain and resentment you feel is precisely what motivated the very actions which offend you now.

Be of a charitable heart and a kindly disposition, keeping wisdom always at the ready. The one whose recourse is wisdom will be slow to anger and quick to make amends. His attention is where God is and his treasure is the Lord's. He will not return evil for evil. Out of the riches of righteousness he gives alms.

What is the upright man like? To what may we compare the disciple of Christ, and the servant of the Father Most High? He is like a city surrounded by peacemakers, diplomats, and ambassadors bearing all manner of generous gifts; the fruits of a culture rooted in the rich soil of devotion.

With the possible exception of the forgiveness of wrongs (and perhaps the asking of forgiveness), there is no offering or sacrifice more pleasing to the Lord, or more befitting the legacy of His most devoted servant, Jesus Christ, than the giving of alms to the poor, the healing of the sick, and the showing of kindness, or love, to those who lack it. Give bread to the hungry, herbs to the diseased, and, with compassion, season the bitter heart.

There is no ignorance to compare with the blindness of a closed heart; who shuts up the heart buries the soul alive and seals the tomb.

Lazarus is a representative of the hearts resurrected by the power of Christ; by the power of Christian Love (or what the Greeks called "Agape"). There is no life where love is absent, but when love approaches, all creation comes to life; the eyes perk up, the pulse is quickened, and the arms are ready to embrace.

Hope smiles from the breast of Love, and clings thereto, like a child full of promise. Her older children, -- daughters Mercy, Charity, and Compassion, and sons Prayer and Fasting, -- tending her needs and serving her wishes, nearly complete the image of familial bliss. Her husband, Light (or Truth), stands ready to assist, offering a helpful word or two. What is it, then, to walk in the Light? It is to husband the spirit of Love, and be a father to the children of heaven.

He shepherds the generations of the righteous, whom He feeds on the Gospel of Truth, that they may know the prosperity of serving Him. With their wool, He clothes the naked. Their milk is nourishment for babes. For them, the Lord labors, and for their peace.

Do not insist upon your right to counsel men, or lay blame on others, when your advice is not taken up, and your pride is stung. Who are you, that men should listen to you? Are you a righteous man? Have you brought your own mind, heart, and soul into accordance with the ways of God? Have you healed yourself, that you are fit to play the physician?

There are those whose chief task in life is to calm the passions, and those who must learn to stir the blood. Just as there are times in life when it is good to be silent, and times when it is good to speak. Virtue is always a golden mean, between two extremes; of excess and of deficiency. Modesty is no virtue in a man overcome by complacency, indifference, and superficial concerns. Meekness is even a pitfall, in a man with a tepid heart. For, while it is good to be convinced of our own wretchedness, and to lift no finger in our own defense, we should not be slow to stand up for the righteousness of God. Even anger may be righteous, in the heart of a submissive man; whose breast is inflamed, not on account of self-pride, but because his confidence is in the Lord.