+ As we strive to persevere in our daily Lenten disciplines of prayer, fasting and almsgiving in order further to tackle vice and to grow in virtue, this morning the Sacred Liturgy of our Holy Mother the Church takes us up a high mountain to experience the transfiguration of the Lord—almost by way of encouragement, by way of reminding us that our penances are not the goal of Christian life, but are simply a means to the end of sharing in that divine life glimpsed by Peter, James and John (and also by us) on the mountain. We are not created in order to do penance: we do penance in order to be able to share in the gift of that transfigured life for which we were created by God.
 
And, to borrow St Peter’s words, it is good for us to have been taken up the mountain. For much of our lives below are less than transfigured, as it were. We become entangled and even trapped in situations and behaviours that are not of God and can easily despair of our ability to escape them. We need to remember that there is a mountain wherein God dwells. We need to know that the Lord wishes us to lead us up to its very summit to participate in the very life of God Himself.
 
This, of course, is the very purpose of the Sacred Liturgy. It is why we invest so much in its celebration—from the very arrangement of the stones that constitute the church building, its worthy furnishing, the singing of the precious riches of the Church’s traditional chant, the use of precious materials for the vessels of the altar, to the vesture and comportment of those called to celebrate and assist in the sacred rites. Even in the most basic of circumstances the Sacred Liturgy, if it is truly to be the Work of God, must include that simple nobility that leads us up the mountain where we can glimpse the very glory of Almighty God anew.
 
But we are not tourists on the mountain. We are not aesthetes at the Sacred Liturgy. The Lord does not lead us to the place of His Presence in order to anaesthetise us from worries and worldly woes or ultimately even to console us with the reality of God. No. He led Peter, James and John up the mountain, just as He has brought each of us here this morning, in order to speak to us. He has brought us here so that God the Father can say: Hic est Filius meus dilectus…ipsum audite. “This is my beloved Son…listen to Him.”
 
Certainly, He does this amidst the glory that is rightly attends divinity—on the mountain than as in the Sacred Rites of His Church today. But the Transfiguration, be it that on the mountain or be it that which is daily renewed in our churches, is not a spectacle to be observed. It is an encounter that can never leave us the same again. It changes us.
 
And yes, this encounter is consoling, for as a result of it we know in faith that God is, that His Son Jesus Christ is the unique revelation of God in human history, and that by listening to Him we can ourselves share in that divine life which our first parents, Adam and Eve, lost for us at the Fall. The mundane burdens we must daily carry are lifted—even as they seek to press us down—by the realities into which we have been drawn. They sustain us and give us light even as we must endure the darkness and suffering of the Cross in its many forms.
 
Yet there is more than consolation in this encounter. There is the requirement that we listen to Him. We are to be attendantly docile to Him, to His teaching. That is a polite way of saying that we are to convert our lives to Christ’s teaching, to the teaching that His Church faithfully hands on to us today. And of course, this brings us to the very heart of the demands of Lent: the conversion of our lives to He who is nothing other than the Way, the Truth and the Life. (cf. Jn 14:6) This Lent we must each take the time and make the space to listen to Him in the very depths of our hearts, minds and souls. Whatever it takes we must enable ourselves to hear what it is that He has to say, and we must be prepared to take the advice of our Blessed Mother and do whatever He tells us. (cf. Jn 2:5)
 
In seeking so to do, some do build tents on the mountain. This is precisely what St Benedict did in establishing those ‘schools of the Lord’s service’ that we call monasteries—privileged places where we daily glimpse the transfigured face of Christ so as all the more deeply to attend to His voice for the conversion of our lives. Bonum est nos hic esse, we say again with St Peter—it is good for us, for the Church and for those who come to us to share in our life, howsoever briefly, that we are here, and for the grace of that vocation we thank Almighty God from the depths of our hearts.
 
Yet even if we are not called to remain on the mountain, we must all nevertheless listen to the sweet, saving voice of Christ. As we go now to the altar and renew His loving Sacrifice let us as beg the grace necessary to do so ever more attentively and efficaciously this Lent. +

+ “Man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” By referring to the passage from Deuteronomy, which Our Lord quotes in making this declaration to the devil, the richness of this text is highlighted. It is recounted that the Israelites, humiliated and hungry, were fed by God. In order to test their hearts, God decided whether or not to give them food. This passage also emphasizes that during these forty years of wandering in the desert, the Israelites’ clothes did not wear out. If God can make our clothes not wear out for such a long period, Scripture teaches us that he could also, if He had wanted, enable them to live without food. Yet he gave the manna in order to satisfy their incessant requests.
 
In this particularly sacred period of Lent, God does not deprive us of food: he gives us manna in order to satisfy our many requests. God does not deprive us of food, but he asks us to abstain from it. He requires this discipline from us to teach us that he is the Lord. It is an act by which He teaches us as a father teaches his son, so that we learn to love him with a pure heart—a heart that seeks only the treasures of heaven.
 
By leading the Israelites into the desert for forty years, God sought to prepare them for the riches of the promised land, a land full of good things. As the prophet emphasizes, all these good things come from God and should lead us to give him glory and praise. Through our fasting, prayer, and almsgiving, God reminds us that in all circumstances, in prosperity as in poverty, we must be faithful to God and give Him glory. This is why the apostle exhorts us to pray without ceasing.
 
The monastic tradition has reflected at length on the best way to fulfil this commandment. How is it, the desert fathers ask, that we can continue to pray even when we sleep? We too, even if we are not in the desert of Egypt, must also ask ourselves this question. This continual prayer is achieved by our regular return to Choir so that the members of the Church gather during the day to sing the praises of God. Certainly, we cannot ignore our duty of state nor our own well-being. We cannot pray without ceasing. But we can still maintain a recollection that ensures that every moment of our day remains oriented towards Christ. With such recollection we can ruminate on the word of God, a word necessary for our life.
 
Each year, through the observance, liturgical and physical, of the time of Lent, God gives us the opportunity to renew our recollection, atoning for the negligence of other times. Through our fasts, we humble ourselves and remember that we are not sufficient unto ourselves. We discipline our bodies to obey the spirit. Through our prayer, we direct our attention to God, telling Him again that we rely on Him for all sorts of things, and that we must thank Him for the graces He gives us. Through almsgiving, we turn our attention to our neighbours around us, bringing them to God, according to the missionary command given by Christ at His Ascension.
 
However burdensome the atonement for negligence and the correction of vices may be, it can never be anything but misery and gloom. By looking beyond and concentrating instead on the result we desire, in fact, through the observance of Lent here below, we want to arrive at the eternal ends: this sharing in the glory of God. We should then be filled with that openness of heart which accompanies the journey toward God. This is why the chapter of the Rule of Saint Benedict on Lent is the only place where Saint Benedict speaks of joy. This adds another aspect to Christ's command: we must rejoice while we fast and at the same time keep our penances in the secret of the Father who can thus give us our just reward.
 
Keeping the word of God in our hearts is not simply a matter of contemplation, but also of converting our lives so that our actions conform to the Word. Contemplation—the rumination of the word of God—is essential, because it is from it that, by the grace of God, all righteousness proceeds. By striving to ensure that our prayer is continuous, our discipline unwavering, we can always progress further towards God. The traditional triple observance of Lent—prayer, fasting and almsgiving—gives us the opportunity to pray without ceasing in all charity, in order to allow God to see that our hearts are sincere and seek only Him. In this way we lay up for ourselves treasures in heaven, where they will not rust and will not be stolen, but will be stored so as to be given to those who persevere to the end. +

+ “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” the blind man cries out in this morning’s Holy Gospel. And when those who were near him rebuked him, telling him to be silent he cried out all the more: “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

On this Quinquagesima Sunday, but days before we commence the Great Fast of Lent, Our Holy Mother the Church places before us the impertinent faith of this blind man as an example and as an encouragement. But let us attend to the Gospel carefully, for this blind man is not like the nine ungrateful lepers who, once healed, never returned to give thanks (cf. Lk 17:11-19). Rather, his response to his healing is most instructive.

Let us first consider his “impertinent faith.” Who was this blind man to demand, indeed, to insist, that Our Lord heal him? It may be that those around him who sought to silence his presumptuous cries knew him, and in knowing him were embarrassed that he should dare so to cry out. He does not even seem to have the humility to say “…have mercy on me a sinner,” as did the tax collector earlier in the same chapter of St Luke’s Gospel (18: 13).

Yet this does not perturb our Lord. A relatively straightforward dialogue takes place, and the man receives that for which he has asked. Now he can see. “Your faith has made you well,” Our Lord tells him.

Not only impertinence, but impertinent faith seems to be the recipe required here. Indeed, without faith impertinence is simply rudeness. Yet with faith, this audacity becomes a virtue: one which we may well—indeed which, at times, we must—imitate.

For how often do we become discouraged in respect of the graces we need? How often are frustrated by falling into the same sins time after time again? For how many years and years do our vices blind us to the mercy and healing that Our Lord came to bring?

Let us ponder this carefully as we make our immediate preparations for Lent. For Lent is the time above all for us to cry out “Jesus…have mercy on me!” with impertinent faith. It is the season in which, if we have remained sitting by the wayside blinded by our sins, we should dare to ask once again to see—even if the voices around us (or within us) would urge us to be silent, not even to dare even to try.

Of course, our cry cannot consist of mere words. Our actions must correspond to the faith they express. Again, Lent is the God-given “acceptable time” in which to (re-)align our thoughts, words and deeds by making firm resolutions and engaging the ascetic disciplines necessary to sustain them. There is little point in resolving to confront one vice whilst continuing to engage in several others! A certain, if not brutal, realism on our part is necessary. Our Lord’s mercy and healing are available, and rightly should we ask for them, but we too must do our part through that prayer, fasting and almsgiving are the traditional weapons we take up in Lent, as well, of course, as making the good and humble confession of our sins in order to prepare for worthily making our Easter Communion that is required by the precepts of the Church.

The blind man who received his sight responded by immediately following Our Lord and glorifying God. This is, as it were, as it should be, is it not? Certainly. But we know from the Gospel itself (with nine out of the ten healed lepers) that in reality, this is not always the case.

We would be wise, then to prepare ourselves for this requirement of the reception of God’s mercy. For His healing and mercy is not simply a one-off medication about which we can forget. No. It is, rather, something which establishes (or reestablishes) a relationship that, whilst sustaining me, requires of me a life of thanksgiving and of preparedness to follow Our Lord in faith wherever it is that He calls me to go.

​The fruit of impertinent faith is not self-contented pride: it is audacious discipleship. By daring to demand to be able to see, by having the courage to pray the Collect of this Holy Mass, “Lord…release us from the bonds of sin and guard us from all adversity,” we are asking to enter into a relationship that will give us more than that for which ever we could have hoped, certainly. But it is one which will also make demands the likes of which we may never have imagined. May our Lenten disciplines prepare us for them well! +

+ As the Holy Father’s health deteriorates in what appears to be his final illness we must pray for him with a profound fervour that he might die a good and holy death.

Weeds and thorns are a curse set upon man due to original sin. Uprooting them is a constant struggle allowing us to only eat by the sweat of our brow (Gn 3:19). It is no surprise then that some of the seed, which is sown, lands among thorns, yet even when it doesn’t the farmer must take care that briars do not start to grow. Likewise, as the crop develops it will need to develop ever deeper roots, which are still liable to encounter rocks which cause the plant to whither before harvest time, losing all the good that it had started to develop.

Without changing the interpretation given to the parable by Our Lord, we can nonetheless interiorise it as an account of our personal life. He sows the seed of His Word and expects us to cooperate with those seeds, that grace, to bring forth the good fruits which He wishes us to accomplish in our life’s work. It is the development of that fruit, under God, which must demand our attention. Yet a part of that is also seeing that the plants have the right conditions in which to grow and bear fruit.

God, through His Word, will often inspire men to accomplish many things that are right and just. Often, however, the moment in which it can be accomplished is brief. By allowing a delay to occur before following up on the inspiration, we allow the devil to come and snatch it away so that it cannot be accomplished. The ancient enemy will not, moreover, be content to leave the plant that is starting to push up: he still sends the slugs and snails of doubts and fears to try and eat the plant before it can develop to maturity. Protecting the plant from such fears, doubts and anxieties is necessary for the fruit to be given a chance to develop. Such is best accomplished by a sincere trust in God.

By simply rushing into the work, however, there has been no chance for the roots to develop and sustain the work through the struggles that will necessarily come to bear against it. Whilst any delay in starting the work cannot be suffered, a due preparation is still necessary to assure that everything is ready to start the work itself. The central root is, moreover, humility. The greater the plant the more the foundational root of humility is needed to assure that sufficient water is reachable below the soil, and that the growth does not dry up and be left incomplete.

Roots that develop for a plant to start growth, however, are not enough to sustain it all the way through its gowth up to the bearing of fruit. The continual development of these invisible foundations is necessary in order to bring it through to completion. Difficulties and obstacles are going to be that much stronger and harder to overcome with a plant bearing bigger fruit. Thus, it is he who perseveres unto the end who shall be saved.

Thorns provided by worldly pleasures and distractions will never cease to spring up. But these not necessarily be constrained to riches and power, but anything that develops a dominance over our mind such that we cannot focus on the good things before us as necessary to accomplish – such an obsession can even be directed towards something that is itself good or even minor if it is kept under control and discipline. We must be careful, however, not to assert that this undue attachment is something which is dragging us away from the nobility of purpose for which God intends us to work on and is not something which is in truth an aid to that task. It is only the thorns and briars that need uprooting not the fruit-bearing plants.

On the day of judgement, we shall be called upon to give an account of all our works throughout our life. It is only at the hour of our death that we can give an account of everything, for our death shall be the consummation of our entire life. God shall look over the field and count all of the fruit it has produced. How much of it has not allowed the seed to take root in the ground; how much has been plucked away by the birds? How much of the seed has just wilted away? How much of the seed has been strangled by thorns?

Never is it too late to return to God, to pull up the weeds and break the rocks so that springtime can once again show forth in our works.

Proclaiming this parable just before we begin the great Lenten fast, the Church reminds us that what is important is bringing forth the fruits of charity, worked under the inspiration of God and through His grace. Lent is given to us to break through these obstacles and restore us to that God-given vigour in producing good fruit. The foundations rooting us in Christ and protecting our efforts from the distractions of the enemy must be constantly be renewed. +
​

Once again, with new stocks, we are pleased to be able to offer for sale
a pall for use in covering the chalice at Holy Mass
made exclusively for the monastery using its 'pax inter spinas' design.

Encore une fois nous sommes heureux de proposer à la vente
une pale qui est utilisée pour couvrir le calice durant la Sainte Messe
réalisée exclusivement pour le monastère en utilisant notre modèle de "pax inter spinas".

Made of white linen, the pall is 17cm x 17cm, rigid,
and embroidered in a gold coloured thread.
An ideal gift for monasteries or convents,
or for priests with a monastic connection (oblates, etc.)
it is on sale at 95,00 euro per pall, plus shipping.
It may be ordered using the button below, or by contacting us.

La pale est faire d'un carré de lin blanc rigide de 17cm de côté.
La broderie est faite en fil doré.
Cadeau idéal pour un monastère, couvent
ou encore pour des prêtres ayant un lien avec un monastère (par exemple un oblat),
le prix d'achat est de 95€ par pale plus frais de transport.
Pour commander, il suffit de cliquer sur le bouton ci-dessous
ou de nous contacter directement.

+ Lumen ad revelationem gentium: et gloriam plebis tuae Israel. “A light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to thy people Israel.” Together, according to the ancient tradition, we have sung these prophetic words of Simeon whilst receiving the blessed candles. We have processed with them held alight in our hands. And we have heard these words yet again, proclaimed just now in the Holy Gospel: lumen ad revelationem gentium: et gloriam plebis tuae Israel.
 
What is this light? What is it that the ritual purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the Temple—something required by the Law and of itself by no means extraordinary—makes clear to us?
 
Let us first underline that this ritual takes place in the Temple, in Jerusalem—in the place where, at the time, God is considered to be present on this earth. This is no local synagogue: it is the Temple.
 
And let us consider Simeon: a devout old man (seemingly not a Levite or someone regarded as holding any official religious position) had been promised sight of the long-awaited Christ of God. Simeon is inspired to come to the Temple for this ritual and, taking the child Jesus in his arms, proclaims without hesitation:  “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word; for mine eyes have seen thy salvation which thou hast prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to thy people Israel.”
 
Simeon’s eyes have finally seen God’s salvation: he holds Salvation Himself in his arms! This Child is the light for revelation to the Gentiles (that is, to us). He is the glorious fulfilment of all that for which Israel hoped.
 
This is precisely what the light of this feast makes clear. This is what our blessed candles help us to see—that in the child born in a stable in Bethlehem we have the definitive revelation of God in human history; we have the gift of salvation from our sins made man. And so too, as Simeon makes clear, this revelation, this coming of salvation, is not only for the Chosen People: it is also for the Gentiles. The Incarnation is not merely the fulfilment of the expectation of Israel; it is the once and for all revelation of God’s saving mercy to the whole of humanity.
 
Thus, Candlemas consummates Christmas, as it were, with Simeon making explicit that which the shepherds and the Wise Men implicitly recognised in the child Jesus. (This is one reason why the devotional Christmas crib is only removed after Candlemas—the Christmas feast continues, as it were, until today.)
 
Indeed, the light of this feast places the reality of who the Christ-child in fact is in sharp relief. And in so doing, it demands of us a response. Having today ourselves seen God’s salvation, having held aloft that light in our own hands, we cannot remain indifferent. We are free, certainly, to choose how we respond. But we can no longer pretend not to have seen He whom Almighty God from all eternity willed to send for our salvation.
 
We may be weak and need to say in all humility with St Peter: “Depart from me Lord, for I am a sinful man.” (Lk 5:8) But then, in time, we shall come to know the Lord’s grace and understand why He called us. We may be inclined to first go and do this or that, as were those called in the ninth chapter of St Luke’s Gospel (vv. 59-62); but we need to understand that our seeing the Saviour, our coming to know the reality of Who the Christ-child is, admits of no procrastination. Its implications come before everything else.
 
It could also be that, having seen the Saviour, we choose to turn away and return to the riches we have built up for ourselves, as did the rich young man in St Mark’s Gospel (10:17-22) in spite of the love our Saviour has for us. For whilst He shows Himself to us in this feast, our response to what we are shown must needs be our own. The light that we carry in our hands today should enable us to see more clearly, but it does not blind us. We are called to become faithful sons and daughters, indeed heirs, of the Kingdom of God, not slaves or prisoners.
 
Whilst this light indeed does not blind us, as the Epistle intimates, the light of the Lord’s presence in the Temple is also something that purifies us and judges us. And so it should be today. Thus, the candles we carry should serve also to burn away all that is not of God in us, banishing the shadows of vice that lurk in our souls and replacing them with grace and virtue.
 
 Lumen ad revelationem gentium: et gloriam plebis tuae Israel. “A light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to thy people Israel.” Let us beg the Lord now, here at His altar, that the revelation that we celebrate today shall truly illumine our hearts, minds and souls so that we may see that which the Lord asks of us in the different circumstances in which we live and work, and have the courage to do it. And through our so doing may those still blind to the reality of Who the Christ-child is themselves come to see the salvation God has prepared for all people. +