They're back!

Picture from the Devon Wildlife Trust

A Pentecost blessing from the returning swifts.  I have thought I've heard them on the last few mornings, very early, while I've still been half asleep, and each evening I've scanned the sky for a sight of them. And tonight I saw them for the first time, soaring and whirling and screaming.  So few, though, compared with past summers. I've read that a third of swifts have been lost to Britain since 1995. How precious these tiny airborne scraps of life, coming to us all the way from Africa to herald summer each year. How fragile and beautiful. 

Pentecost - for Sunday Snippets

"You have listened to fears, Child," said Aslan. "Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them. Are you brave again?" (C S Lewis, Prince Caspian, Ch. 11)

Happy Pentecost! I'm back at RAnn's Catholic Carnival after a while away, so here are a few Sunday Snippets from the last few weeks:

Reflections on my trip to Sweden

Some morning thoughts

And, just for fun, what's in your shopping basket?

I've also been writing on my other blog, which is about Labyrinths - A Gracing Maze

De gustibus...

Have you ever played the game where you sneak a look into someone's trolley at the supermarket and try to guess the story behind their choice of purchases? I once saw a trolley containing nothing but a large crate of tinned cat food and a bag of quick-drying cement (can't even begin to guess...); another had two thermal vests and a pineapple (feeling the cold and longing for the tropics?)

So here's a glimpse into a virtual trolley, courtesy of Amazon. I would so love it to be one person who bought all three items (in case you can't see, it's a "pin the tail on the donkey" game, a multi-coloured sombrero and a copy of St Augustine's City of God). I bet they throw great parties!

And what on earth was it in my shopping history that prompted the connection?!

Morning

First on, there was nobbut God (Yorkshire version of Genesis 1:1)

To praise you is the desire of man, a little piece of your creation (St Augustine, Confessions, I:i)

It's early... The house is empty. I am sitting up in bed. I can hear birdsong outside, and distant traffic; clocks ticking and hot water in the pipes; beyond, beneath and within that, silence... I can feel the breeze from the window. A van pulls up and its engine idles... I am distracted. Who is it? Are they coming here? My thoughts are outside in the street, neglecting the bliss of my body snuggled in pillows and duvet. I return... My hands are warmed by a Chinese cup holding African red bush tea: I sip it and savour the delicate honey-warm taste. I think of the Cloud of Unknowing, and in my own little flawed way I try to follow its advice: I breathe the word GOD, in and out. 

It's the season of Beltane.  It's May, Mary's month. It's still Eastertide.  It's good.

April showers...

The morning view from my bedroom window

...of snow, between spells of brilliant sunshine and blue, blue skies. Just back from Sweden! We had stunning views flying in and out of Stockholm: water criss-crossed with ice (the cracks in which caught the Sun's light as we flew over, as though little silver salamanders were scuttling along beneath us); a patchwork of snow, green grass and brown earth on the land. If I were of a flowery literary bent I'd write of the fecund cusp between winter and spring, but perhaps not... On my flight home I was treated to the company of a bright Sun-Dog running along the clouds beside the plane - and if you click on the link you'll see the famous Sun-Dog painting in Stockholm Cathedral, which we saw, and can read all about it. Assuming you've nothing better to do. But then, if you had, you wouldn't have read this far anyway...

We stayed at Marielund  (do look at the lovely pictures on their site), the Catholic diocesan centre. The workshop went well (I think! Some generous feedback anyway) and we had a lovely, wise and dedicated group of spiritual directors-in-training to work with. It was good to reconnect with old friends and see some more of Stockholm too. A great few days!

Morning light in the house chapel...







Evening light in the church...






A warm setting for bedtime tea and cake. I love Swedish hospitality!

Paschal mystery in word(le)s

H/t to Silvana for her Wordle of the month. I enjoy Wordles - I was first introduced to them by a Benedictine nun as a way of doing Lectio Divina - and thought I'd see what a Wordle made from my posts for Holy Week and Easter looks like. Like Silvana, I like to look for patterns... I can see "life, Benedicite, one, now"; "moon, sky, see, air - look though"; "holy morning homily love."  There's also a slightly puzzling "Ratzinger kitchen luminous" (which it no doubt is)...  And I notice a stray "Benedicte" [sic] - it must be a typo in the John Heath-Stubbs poem I cut-and-pasted from an old file. Or perhaps a vocative for Benedictus?

What can you see?

Still bitterly cold here... Snowing again! Now, enough of these displacement activities (yes, I'm at it again!) and I must pack my case. Off to Sweden tomorrow morning to give a workshop in Stockholm on Dynamic, Discernment and Desire in the Spiritual Exercises. Prayers please, if you'd be so kind!  

The Sun Dancing

The Risen Christ as Sol Invictus, with the chariot of the Sun

Canticle of the Sun

Dancing on Easter Morning (John Heath-Stubbs)

I am the great Sun.  This hour begins

My dancing day – pirouetting in a whirl of white light

In my wide orchestral sky, a red ball bouncing

Across the eternal hills;

For now my Lord is restored: with the rising dew

He carries his own up to his glittering kingdom –

Benedicite, benedicite, benedicte omnia opera.

Look, I am one of the morning stars, shouting for joy –

And not the least honoured among those shining brothers,

O my planetary children – now that my dark daughter,

The prodigal Earth, is made an honest woman of;

Out of her gapped womb, her black and grimy tomb,

Breaks forth the Crowned, victory in his pierced hands –

Benedicite, benedicite, benedicte omnia opera.

You too, my lovers – little lark with trembling feathers,

Sing your small heart out in my streaming rays;

And you, grave narrow-browed eagle, straining your eyes

Against my wound – foretell

These fiery dales and flame-anemoned meadows

Shall be a haunt for shy contemplative spirits –

Benedicite, benedicite, benedicte omnia opera.

And now with joy I run my recurring race;

And though again I shall have to hide my face

With a hand of cloud out of the heart of schism,

Yet the time is sure when I once more shall be

A burning giant in his marriage-chamber.

A bright gold cherub, as I came from my Father’s halls –

Benedicite, benedicite, benedicte omnia opera.