Let There Be Light

I read a blog called 'Spiritual Travels.' It combines several things that I'm interested in: spirituality, travel and history. This week Lori, the blog's author, published a post on light using a poem by Hafiz to beautifully illustrate her subject. Light resonated in me as during the past week, I traveled to Provence and experienced light in various ways. Most notably, here in the Abbaye Notre Dame de Senanque monastery where light was used to not only illuminate the monks' living quarters, but also to cast a spiritual light on elements of worship within the ancient church itself. Narrow on the outside, these many windows lining the walls on both sides of the monks' dormitory are splayed outward on the  inside to catch and diffuse as much light as possible. Hear what Hafiz says about light...

GOD POURS LIGHT

God
pours light
into every cup,
quenching darkness.

The proudly pious
stuff their cups with parchment
and critique the taste of ink

while God pours light

and the trees lift their limbs
without worry of redemption,
every blossom a chalice.

Hafiz, seduce those withered souls
with words that wet their parched lips

as light
pours like rain
into every empty cup
set adrift on the Infinite Ocean.

~ Hafiz ~

(Interpretive version of Ghazal 11 by Jose Orez

 Lori's post and Hafiz's poem remind me to open and let God pour His light into me. Even small cracks and narrow openings will flood my soul and bathe me in God's lovely light.

For more photos and information about this Cistercian monastery, click here to go to Melanged Magic.

Happy Easter!

Joyeuses Paques!

God's Favorite Season

I think spring might be God's favorite season. Not only does spring provide Him with so many ways to remind us of His presence, we're also so ready to be aware of Him after the long, dark, cold winter. The perfume of blooming trees, the beauty of their flowers, sunlight glittering on the river, the smell of rich soil ready to welcome seeds, the fragrance of new-mown grass, birdsong from before dawn until after dark, bees buzzing, frogs croaking....all are God's miracles of spring, His gifts to us. Let us enjoy them in wonder and with gratitude in our hearts.

Traveling

The next few days are going to be filled with last minute preparations for my trip and with the journey itself. My mind is abuzz with details, details. Already there have been some surprises and complications to contend with. Everyone says to me 'aren't you just so excited?' The answer is yes, of course, but that excitement is overlaid right now with the logistics of closing up my house and putting my business affairs in order for an extended length of time as well as the details of traveling with Lucie, renting cars, figuring out how to get from the airport in Paris to Laury's house. Throw in a France-wide strike on September 23rd and maybe you can understand why my excitement isn't bubbling to the surface right now. I predict that I won't truly feel it until I'm standing with Lucie in Laury's living room! Until my arrival in France, Dona Nobis Pacem will be on hold. Come back after September 24th for the 'rest of the story.'

Where Does This Path Lead?

As I spend time reflecting on images I receive, both mentally and through my camera, I'm struck by the ones that involve walking, paths, and feet. I even take photos of floors like this one that I took inside the Notre Dame de Beaulieu church in Cucuron. I love black and white design and the beautiful pattern of the tomette tiles intrigued me. What you can't see in this photo is the cool sheen of moisture on the floor. It was a very hot day outside, but the cool, dark interior of the church caused condensation on the tiles. This 'path' led from the heavy wooden doors in the back of the church up to the altar...very predictable. The paths in my life right now are not quite so predictable. As in this photo, they fade into the shadows, and I'm not quite sure where they lead. I think about the feet that have walked this tiled path...hundreds, maybe thousands over the years. Did they know where it was leading them, or like me, did they simply put their faith and trust in God and embrace the adventure of it all? Was their path smooth and cool like this one or filled with rocky obstacles and moments of hot, sweaty terror? Are there lessons for me to learn from their  feet, their journey?

Sainte Foy

Who is this young girl kneeling in faithful supplication before the hand of God? Why is she in such need of His loving presence? She is Sainte Foy, and I found her at Conques, a magnificent pilgrimage site in the Aveyron. Here is her story:

Foy, whose name means "Faith" in the Occitan language of her times, was the 12 year old daughter of a wealthy Agen nobleman. Born in 290 C.E. Foy was cared for by a wet-nurse who taught her the Christian faith which she embraced with love and enthusiasm. She especially liked to take food to poor Christians who lived outside her family's villa. She was encouraged in her good acts by Caprais, a local Christian bishop, but her father was angered that she stole food and gave it to Christians.

The years between 294 C.E. and 305 C.E.were especially dangerous for Christians as the new Emperor, Diocletian, began a new wave of persecutions. His local governor, Dacien, carried out his edicts and martyred many Christians in his district. He visited Agen in 303 C.E. There Foy was betrayed by her own father and sent to appear before Dacien. He ordered her to give sacrifice to either Diana or Jupiter to prove that she was not a Christian. This 12 year old child stood up to the Governor refusing to do either and proclaiming that she was a Christian and in the name of Jesus Christ was ready to suffer any kind of torture. Dacien ordered her flogged, then had her tied, naked, to a metal grill to be burned alive. It is said that snow fell miraculously putting out the fire and wrapping Foy in a mist to cover her nakedness. Undeterred, Dacien then had her beheaded...a martyr for her faith.

Many miraculous deeds are attributed to this young saint who is described as fun loving and playful. She has healed blindness, helped mothers in childbirth, and has a special penchant for freeing shackled prisoners. Her remains were brought to Conques in the 9th century where they are venerated in the Abbey Church there.

Here in one of the chapels around the nave of the church, Sainte Foy is seen holding the sword that killed her and the palm branch that symbolizes her martyrdom.









This grillwork, some of the best example of Roman ironwork in France, is said to have been made of the iron fetters from the chains of prisoners who owed their freedom to the intercession by Sainte Foy.

I am mesmerized by this young girl's story. A child of 12 years, not yet a woman, whose faith was so strong she could stand up to the Roman government and die for her love of Christ. A faith so strong....would I have this strength? Would you?

Bells

Life in rural France is measured by church bells. From my bed at Laury's I could hear the hours and half hours chimed from two different village churches along the Lot. Last Saturday evening I heard bells coming from a different direction calling the villagers of Cadrieu to Mass. Their itinerant priest celebrates Mass the last Saturday of every month, and the bells ring to remind them..."This is the day...come!" In Conques I heard the bells persistently calling the Brothers to church for 7:30am matins and 7:30pm vespers. Watching them hurry into the church, their long white robes flapping wildly over their sandaled feet made me hurry as well. Slipping quietly into a back pew, my heart was thrilled by the sweet tenor voice that began to sing the liturgy the moment the bells became quiet. The bells that chime in my photo are from the church in the tiny village of Cenevieres. Protected by its 12th century chateau, the church and its villagers have been marking time, praising God, celebrating Holy Eucharist, giving thanks for births, marriages, and saints, and mourning deaths to the rhythm of these bells for centuries. Worshiping God and measuring life...always reminded by the bells.