Aug 08 | CPE Journal #26: July 25th

I gave my final evaluation today, and as I wrapped up I actually told them about the two visions I had had – the palmful and cupful of fire.

I had some gorgeous prayers said for me at the blessing. One of my classmates sang, “Don’t you feel downhearted, don’t you feel sad and lonesome: Jesus is walking on the water, won’t you go and follow him down.” My supervisor referenced Moses and the burning bush in his prayers.

I loved that song about Jesus on the water, because I love the story! It ties in perfectly with my sense of fear at what lies beneath chaos, and I even talked about it in an earlier entry!

I did find that I couldn’t look at anyone after the prayers, and at a few other times. I was disturbed to find myself laughing and smiling as I described terrible feelings of self-loathing to the group, to which they reacted with faces full of shock and sadness (much like my mother had). I always thought that was something that only damaged people did – laughing while describing feelings of anger or deep sadness. I wouldn’t call myself damaged…but I guess it was just another one of those “Only OTHER people do that.”

In the last little while I’ve thought a lot about how the shame of my childhood shaped me, and how the shame was reinforced over time. I had this amazing moment where I realized that part of why I couldn’t look people in the eye when they are wishing me well or feel tender toward me because of tears is because I’m afraid of what I usually see in the mirror when I am in tears. I feel incredibly awkward and exposed – as loathsome and ugly. Even just writing about it makes me feel triggered. I need my emotions to be mirrored by the eyes of love. I should not be afraid. The eyes of shame are a distortion I am free not to accept anymore.

I can’t believe it’ll all be over tomorrow.

***

I did some reading exploring Teilhard de Chardin’s theology of the Sacred Heart. He writes:

“The cross was placed on the crest of the road which leads to the highest peaks of creation. But, in the growing light of revelation, its arms which at first were bare, show themselves to have put on Christ: crux inuncta. At first sight the bleeding body may seem funereal to us. Is it not from the night that it shines forth? But if we go nearer we shall recognize the flaming seraph of Alvernia, whose passion and compassion are incendium mentis. Christians are asked to live, not in the shadow of the cross, but in the fire of its creative action.”

The incendium mentis they refer to is defined as a “conflagration of the soul.” I had heard of the word conflagration, but never knew what it meant before. When I looked it up on dictionary.com, it was defined as: “a destructive fire, usually an extensive one.” I love this! The use of the word “destructive” may frighten some, but I can’t help but remember the vast forest fires that tend to sweep through BC every late summer, which are indeed destructive but also massively helpful for the fertility of the soil. I actually wrote a song years ago about God’s love being similar to a fire like this, which only makes this passage all the more appropriate to consider in the light of my own ministry.

The flaming seraph of Alvernia is the angel that marked St. Francis of Assisi with the stigmata. This is even more amazing! I described my encounter with Prayers as being similar to experiencing a form of stigmata. Bonaventure confirms this by writing in his biography of Francis:

“Eventually [Francis] understood by a revelation from the Lord that…he was to be totally transformed in the likeness of Christ crucified, not by the martyrdom of his flesh, but by the fire of His love consuming his soul. As the vision disappeared, it left in his heart a marvelous ardour…”

I love this idea of the fire of divine love as representing an alternative passion, and to me it is marvelously open to be experienced by many others.

Teilhard de Chardin called the Sacred Heart “a mysterious patch of crimson and gold in the very centre of the Saviour’s breast.” He writes:

“It is in the Sacred Heart that the conjunction of the divine and the cosmic has taken place…There lies the power that, from the beginning, has attracted me and conquered me…All the later development of my interior life has been nothing other than the evolution of that seed.”

He also has a narrative about the Heart that has the figure of Christ growing progressively more indistinct with radiance. I wondered then in my notes on this about whether or not I could actually experience the presence of the Heart on my own, or if I always had to be with somebody else. That is part of the teaching of this gift, I think.

***

The biggest news of the day is that my supervisor thinks I could do this for a living. So…maybe I’ll explore the residency for next year. It’s a paid gig. Could I do it? Maybe.

-Clarity

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