Ecce Rex Tuus

Lately, as was evident in my post on the Annunciation, I have been spending a good bit of time looking at pictures by Fra Angelico, and I thought that during Holy Week I would post his depictions of the events of Christ's Passion and death. This painting of Jesus's triumphal entry into Jerusalem is a panel from the Armadio degli Argenti, a large silver chest in the at the church of Santissima Annunziata in Florence. I'm going to write more about the Armadio tomorrow, but today I want to talk a bit about the scripture references at the bottom and top of the picture.

At the top, we see a passage from the Old Testament, Zachariah 9:9 which reads:

     Ecce rex tuus venit tibi mansuetus sedens super asinam et pullum filium subiugalis.

The words "et pullum" aren't on the scroll in the picture and the word "filium" doesn't look quite like that.

In the Douay Rheims translation it reads:

     Behold thy King will come to thee, the just and saviour: he is poor, and riding upon an ass, and 
     upon a colt the foal of an ass.

I know enough Latin to know that it doesn't seem like an exact translation but not enough to be able to tell exactly what's different. Still, the main thing is that its relationship to the scripture at the bottom (from Matthew 21:9) is clear.

     Osanna filio David benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini

     Hosanna to the son of David: Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord...

And, of course, a few verses earlier we have read that:

     ...they brought the ass and the colt, and laid their garments upon them, and made him sit thereon.

The inclusion of these two scriptures in the picture reveal Christ's entry into Jerusalem as more than a single event in the life one man. It indicates that the the New and Old Testament are integrally woven together and that Jesus plays his part in both. He more than the son the Mary, he is the son of David, and the long awaited King.

Fra Angelico frequently painted the same events in the life of Christ many times, but this is the only painting I can find of the entry into Jerusalem. I can't say that I'm much of an expert; however, so there may be more.

Guido de Pier(t)i was born sometime in the early 1390s and died in 1455. In religious life, he was known as Fra Giovanni, Brother John. He was beatified by Pope John Paul II on October 3, 1982. I don't know much about his life, but Diane Cole Ahl, who wrote the book, Fra Angelico, which is my prime source for much of which I will write the week, writes about, "Gelati's painting [which] was inspired by [Georgio] Vasari's evocative description of the devout friar, who 'never took up his brush without saying a prayer or painted the Crucifix without tears streaming down his cheeks.'" (Vasari had written about Fra Angelico in 1568.) This is the picture about which Ahl is writing.

Fra Angelico is the kneeling figure. 

This isn't the only portrait we have of the angelic painter. Here are a few others.

Micheletto

Raphael

Signorelli

Dolci

And that is all for today. Tomorrow, I'll write about the over-arching theme of the Armadio degli Argenti.

AMDG

Birds and Berries

It was a very nice day here today. It was an actual Spring day with a breeze and blue skies and birds and all that. We've had a few nice days now, but what made this one especially nice was that it fell on a Saturday, and that I didn't have to leave my property all day long.

A few weeks ago, we had a nice Saturday afternoon and Bill and I went to the nursery and bought $35.00 worth of strawberry plants, hanging planters and potting soil. I fixed them all up and hung them on the porch and I, who am the world's worst grower of plants, felt so accomplished. And then we had to bring them inside for about a week because it was freezing overnight and still freezing when we got home. They seemed to do well anyway, and then we could leave them out during the day, and then all the time, and Thursday evening I found this.

This is what a $35.00 strawberry looks like. I was so excited. I've been talking about planting strawberries ever since we moved here 12 years ago, and now I have finally accomplished a berry.  So, yesterday morning Bill and I ceremonially split said berry and consumed thereof. There are several more in the offing, and if I can get just nine more, they will only have cost $3.50 a piece and there's a LOT of potting soil left, so that will make it a pretty good deal.

Today, Bill got out the rototiller and got to work, and hopefully tomorrow we can buy some flowers for the front of the house, and maybe a new tree to replace the one that fell down in the ice storm year before last. (No, not that one, the other one.) All this planting will be a first for me.

Another exciting thing is that we have decided that there really is a bird living in the birdhouse. I'm not sure what it is, but it isn't a martin. It might be a bluebird, but we just can't get a good enough look at it to be able to tell. I have had many, many birds in my yard and offered them a goodly number of birdhouses, but this is my first tenant. I hope it doesn't eat my strawberries.

I'm thinking that this year's bumper crop might be huge bumble bees. They are everywhere, and one of them is hanging around at eye level just outside my kitchen door. This is very irritating because this is the first year I have been able to use that door due to the fact that the previous owners removed the steps. Now I have nice new steps, and a friend repaired the door which was in rather bad shape, and now the stinking bee wants to challenge me every time I open the door.

And today, I almost performed a most prodigious feat, which is that I finally did my taxes. I have been putting it off because it always seems so overwhelming and it always turns out to be pretty easy, and it wasn't even as costly as I thought it would be. In a year of pretty big financial surprises, this turned out to be good one.

As you may have figured out by now, I am not going to get around to finishing St. Martin before the end of Lent. This is because I can see that if I am to do it right, I will have to read the book again and take notes as I go along. I still plan to do it, but this has not been the best time.

I do have something planned for Holy Week, which is simple, but which I hope will be nice.

And now, the moon is 95% full and I will wish you a good evening.

AMDG

Journey Inward

By Catherine Doherty

Somewhere along the road of life, by the grace of God, my soul woke up, and its hunger became a fire, a fire that consumed me, ate me up, with its intense, devouring heat. 

 I could not rest anywhere except in motion—in a motion that led me to God. That is how I began the journey inward, that long, endless journey that every soul must undertake if she is to meet her God. 

 It is a strange journey, across arid plains and verdant valleys, and deserts—a journey of many crossroads and endless sharp turns that confuse and clamor for a rest. But the hunger for God knows no rest. So I go on and on and on. 

 Yes, it is a strange journey that slowly makes me shed all the baggage I took for it—the baggage I took for it before I knew that it was too heavy a load for this kind of journey. 

I don’t know where I left it—somewhere back there by some crossroad. Now I am baggage-less, but somehow still too heavily burdened. 

 My hunger drives me on. But now for speedy traveling, it demands that I start shedding my clothing.

There on this stone I must lay the cloak of selfishness that kept me warm. I am cold without it, but I can walk faster, as my hunger urges me to. 

 Here, on this branch, I must hang my dress of self-love and compromise with the world. I shiver now in earnest, but my feet seem to have wings. 

 Yet this sheltered rock begs for my underwear. Slowly, reluctantly, I shed one by one my undergarments. Here goes self-indulgence. Tidily, next to it, I lay greed for possessions and love of ease and comfort. 

 Next, not so tidily, go, helter–skelter, all the things in me that are not God’s. Lord, behold I stand naked before thee, with wings on my feet. Now my journey inward will be swift. 

 But it is not. For I still stumble and fall and walk haltingly—inches instead of miles—while the hunger for God flays me and urges me to make haste. 

 Oh, I had forgotten my shoes, the heavy, comfortable shoes that shielded my feet from the cutting stones, from the sharp pebbles. 

 I must unlace my shoes, my comfortable, stout shoes, the last covering of my naked body—the last stronghold of my non–surrender to God. 

 I hesitate. The narrow path upwards is so hard. It has so many sharp stones, so many knife–edged pebbles. 

 But the hunger for God flames in me, a furnace of fire unquenchable: the fire of love, of passionate utter love of God. 

 I must go on, on that journey inward that alone will bring me face to face with him for whom I hunger constantly, without ceasing. 

 Quickly I bend. With hasty, clumsy fingers I unlace one shoe, then the other. My eagerness is becoming part of my hunger. Recklessly I throw one shoe this way, the other that, not caring whither which falls.

And now I am free. I am free and naked and my feet have huge wings that carry me across the sharp stones and the knife–edged pebbles, without harm. Now brambles and thorns that edge the path open up and point the other way. 

 I am a naked soul, free and untrammeled, driven by the hunger of my love for God. Driven by my love for God—on and on—on this journey inward. 

 I did not know it was going to be so easy, now that I shed all my garments. 

 But now I know. For my hunger is being assuaged, satiated, filled, even as I fly on my winged feet along the steep path upward. 

 It is being filled, that hunger of mine, so much, so well, that I can feed others with the surplus of the food given to me so abundantly. 

Yes, my soul hungered for God before it was even clothed with flesh. 

 God meets half way the soul that starts on its journey inward, provided that the soul, driven by its hunger of love for him, strips itself naked. 

 That is the secret of his love and of his kingdom that begins even on this earth. 

 But the price, I repeat, is nakedness complete—even unto discarding shoes.

I think maybe another 30 Lents will get me there.

This has been a long, long, long, long Lent. I seem to be getting more hideous as I go along. I'm hoping that it's just Lenten temptation or something.

AMDG

More Rambling

I had something I really wanted to write about tonight, but I'm just too tired. I went to work early and worked an hour late, and lost sleep last night because I was worrying about all that I have to do before Easter. The thing is, this is the first time it's been Easter since I started working at the church, and I know that there are a million things that go into getting ready for Holy Week, and I worry about missing something important. It's not that I worry about forgetting something. It's that I think there might be something that I just don't know--that no one has told me--so there's no way for me to remember. Oh well, I have more than enough to do even without whatever it is.

I typed the text of the Passion so that the people who are going to be reading it can easily find their parts. I'm a fast typist, but it still took a while. I though I might see something there while typing that I hadn't noticed before, but for the most part the words go straight from the text to my fingers. I didn't even noticed when I turned two pages at once and missed the institution of the Eucharist. One thing did get my attention though.

It's the scene in the Garden of Olives when Peter cuts of the ear of one of the soldiers. How many times have I read or heard this? I can't imagine. And I never thought this before. Peter carries a sword? Have you ever pictured the apostles walking around with swords, or have you ever seen a picture of the apostles with swords--a knife, yes, but a sword? Has he always had it, or did he just start carrying it because he felt Jesus was in danger? Had Jesus been looking at Peter and thinking, "What is that guy doing now?" Was he saving that comment about those who live by the sword dying by the sword for just the right moment? I guess I'll never know in this life.

Okay, so I looked up the sword of Peter because I wanted a picture of Peter with a sword, and what I mostly found was images from the Narnia Chronicles, but lo and behold, I also found this.

I found it here, where I learned that some people believe that this rather peculiar sword, which can be found in a Polish archdiocesan museum, might actually be the sword of Peter. Apparently, Joseph of Arimathea is supposed to have taken it to Britian, where it ended up at Glastonbury Abbey (along with the Holy Grail, I suppose--Glastonbury seems to have all the luck). Then it belonged to St. George. I'm not sure how it got to Poland.

Well, there you go. I'm still not sure what he was doing with it. I mean, when Jesus said the apostles should carry, " neither walking stick, nor sack, nor food, nor money, and let no one take a second tunic," when they went on their missionary journey, surely he wouldn't have forgotten to say, "And you really ought to leave the sword behind."

As you can probably tell, I really need to get to bed early tonight, so I will close here. Goodnight and God Bless.

AMDG

A Wide Variety of Things

The Truth will set you free.

How often do we hear or read this quote from today's gospel from John 8? It doesn't necessarily always come from a religious source. You know, the truth could be your own truth--not just something that somebody else has taught you. And how often do we see that quote in context?

Jesus said to those Jews who believed in him, “If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

In the first place, He's not talking to just everybody; He's talking to those who believed in Him. And then, you can't just hear something somewhere, or think something up that you consider truth. To know the truth, you have to remain in His word. You have to be in His word if you want to be set free, and you have to remain there. It's not a quick fix.

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This was the first reading at Mass today. It's one of my favorites.

Of course, it's not exactly the same. I mean, the furnace was really white hot.

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And speaking of bunnies.

Remember this. I was a bit worried because we haven't had a sign since Christmas, but thank goodness we can still get presents with our fillings. I have to wonder a bit what it is that dentists put in Easter Baskets. Do they just abandon all pretense of concern about your child's teeth and give him the good stuff, or is the basket filled with novocaine and orthodontia?

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I took this blurry picture night before last when we got home. It was a beautiful sunset, but what really excited me was that there was a purple martin (not in the picture) examining my purple martin house. I didn't really expect to ever have martins in the birdhouse because I've never seen one in my yard before, so it made me very happy. I suspect it won't move in, though, because some other bird has been wreaking havoc with the birdhouse, but it was nice to have a visitor.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So now the trunk of the fallen tree has become a sort of hanging garden of violets. Just to give you an idea of the size of that tree trunk, the violets are about even with my head. And remember what I wrote yesterday about the woods carpeted with flowers. I stopped this morning and took a picture. 

I was so intent on getting the picture that I didn't realize the sun was playing in the branches like that. This one might be better if you click and enlarge it.

And finally, a couple of things we saw on our walk today.

Shortly before I took the picture of the dogwood, we were harried by a large barking dog, but my excellent husband told him, "NO," in a very stern voice and he backed down. Thank goodness he didn't come along when I was walking by myself in the same area last week. I'm not a very convincing alpha dog.

AMDG

P.S. In proofreading this post, I realized that someone who doesn't know me might get the idea I actually think that there is such a thing as your own personal truth. Well, I don't.  JTC

Dangerous Beauty

This morning when my husband told me it was 36 degrees Fahrenheit outside, I was not particularly thrilled. I am just about tired of being cold. We've had some afternoons that were almost too warm, but almost every morning is cold. At least we seem to have gotten over frost on the windshield.

As I was driving to work though, I got over worrying about the temperature. All along the way, there was one breathtakingly beautiful sight after another. There was mist, and at one point I could look in the rearview mirror and see a shimmering pink veil behind me, and then look forward and see a shimmering blue veil ahead. The mist was lying in sheets above the fields. The trees in woods while still bare themselves were surrounded by a thick carpet of small white flowers. All the colors were somehow pale and bright at the same time, and every once in a while an intensely red cardinal would fly up from the side of the road. It's really a good thing that there wasn't much traffic, because I was so busy looking at everything that it was a bit dangerous.

This got me thinking about beauty and danger and the love of God, because, of course, God's love is the most beautiful and the most dangerous thing. The more He draws us toward Himself, the more we forget to be cautious about all those things that we used to think were important. We lose control of our lives--well, we never really had control of our lives--we lose the idea of control of our lives. We take our eyes of whatever our goals were before and drive right off the road to whatever sort or success we were trying to reach. And then we find we're safe for the first time.

This was taken in the Fall. I put it here because I wanted a beautiful picture and couldn't stop to take one this morning.

AMDG