Sunday, April 8, 2012

Exsultet of Easter

Sunday, April 1, 2012

A Letter to the silent God.

Matter of confession
In the darkness...
Lord, my God, who am I that you should forsake me? The child of your love–and now become as the most hated one–the one you have thrown away as unwanted–unloved. I call, I cling, I want–and there is no one to answer–no one to whom I can cling–no, no one.–Alone. The darkness is so dark–and I am alone.–Unwanted, forsaken.–The loneliness of the heart that wants love is unbearable.–Where is my faith?–Even deep down, right in, there is nothing but emptiness and darkness.–My God–how painful is this unknown pain. It pains without ceasing.–I have no faith.–I dare not utter the words and thoughts that crowd in my heart–and make me suffer untold agony. So many unanswered questions live within me–I am afraid to uncover them–because of the blasphemy. If there be no God, please forgive me.–Trust that all will end in heaven with Jesus.–When I tried to raise my thoughts to heaven–there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts returned like sharp knives and hurt my very soul.–Love–the word–it brings nothing.–I am told that God loves me–and yet the reality of darkness and coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. Before the work started–there is so much union–love–faith–trust–prayer–sacrifice.–Did I make the mistake of surrendering blindly to the call of the Sacred Heart? The work is not a doubt–because I am convinced that it is His not mine.–I don't feel–not even a single simple thought or temptation enters my heart to claim anything in the work.

            The whole time smiling.–Sisters and people pass such remarks.–They think my faith, trust and love are filling my very being and that the intimacy with God in union to his will must be absorbing my heart.–Could they but know–and how my cheerfulness is the cloak by which I could cover the emptiness in misery.
In spite of all–this darkness and emptiness is not as painful as the longing for God.—The contradiction I fear will unbalance me.—What are you doing my God to one so small? When You asked to imprint Your Passion on my heart—is this the answer?
If this brings you glory, if you get a drop of joy from this–if souls are brought to you–if my suffering satiates your thirst–here I am Lord, with joy I accept all to the end of life–and I will smile at your hidden face–always.

--Mother Teresa, undated.

Where are you?

The days are dark and the nights are cold.

I cannot sleep.
You know about that story with the guy walking with God on the beach and he sees two sets of footprints? During his rough times he only sees one set of footprints, and asks God, where was God in that time. And God responded that it was He who carried him.

I know God exists. I know He’s there.
I cannot sleep.
But there’s an ache in my heart that says
What if he’s not there?
I cannot sleep.
There’s a large chasm of loneliness here.
No one can know the shame I bear.
I cannot sleep.

I feel like I’m the one on the cross, and he’s the one jeering at my face.

This is going to be a long post.

But when I come home, sit down in my room, the shadows come. And the days grow dark, nights cold. Haunted am I by the oppression of loneliness. Paralyzed by fear, cursed by God.

This is going to be an honest post. I shan’t bother with correct and precise theological terms and definitions. I just want to cry and shout my plea. But to whom shall I cry, for if my cause is against the Judge of Heaven?

Lord, I feel so weak right now. Like I have to put up a face of grace that others might come to you. But while I’m rushing others through the door for you, I dare not approach your altar, for I feel like you’ve let me down.

Remind me again how much you love me because I forgotten the days when you held my hand. Whisper how much you miss me because I miss you so. I know I’m not perfect, nor am I deserving of your love. But I know how you love to love me. But if you do love me, then why did you let this happen to me?

Remember that night o Lord, when you woke me up, called me, and spent the night with me, embracing me with the light of your stars and the warmth of your moon. Remember when I knelt before you, and we just sat together, in silence, like best friends do. Remember when I offered my morning sacrifice of praises to you, and you graciously accepted them, O Lord.

Why then, did you leave me here? Why, then, am I led out to this weary desert? Why won’t you answer me?

Lord, is that really you who hang upon that tree? Or is it me who is suffocating here? And you, in the face of the Pharisee, mocking me?

All I ask, to see you again. All I want, to behold you in your glory again. All I need, you.

But here I am. Alone. Silence. Darkness. Mocking voices, telling me that I’ve let you, your church, down. Here I am. Not mercy, but sorrow following my every footstep. Here I am. Lost. Broken. Dead. You have not a will for me.

Please, please, Lord. Please rescue me. Please, Lord, I’m begging you. Salve me, Domine. Libera me, et eripe me, Domine Deus.

Though you should slay me, I will still hope in you.

Friday, March 9, 2012

Please pray for me.

Kính mừng Ma-ri-a đầy ơn phước,
Đức Chúa Trời ở cùng Bà,
Bà có phước lạ hơn mọi người nữ,
và Giê-su con lòng Bà gồm phước lạ.
Thánh Ma-ri-a Đức Mẹ Chúa Trời,
cầu cho chúng con là kẻ có tội,
khi này và trong giờ lâm tử.


Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus.
Sancte Maria, mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.