And My Fingers to War

Blessed Mass and confession this morning! The nothing Catholic hermit was asked to lector. At the last minute, the woman who usually does so, arrived. The nothing nodded to the Sacristan that it was all right, as the nothing returned to a pew. But the elderly sacristan walked by and said, "You will read", and explained to the woman. These situations make the nothing uncomfortable, and poke its unworthiness to the core of its heart.

Yet it was good to proclaim the Word of God. David slew Goliath; the psalmist then praised God.

Blessed be the Lord my God, who teacheth my hands to fight, and my fingers to war....Man is like to vanity: his days pass away like a shadow. Put forth Thy hand from on high, take me out, and deliver me from many waters....

Jesus, in the Gospel healed a man on the Sabbath. The Rector spoke of our striving to do as Jesus--to spend our day in the will of God, by the Holy Spirit, doing good.

The nothing Catholic hermit, after Mass, confessed two or three stand-out sins. One sin hid but will be addressed later. There is a sorrow over having flared, even if briefly, and of having to set a boundary. It was done in frustration. Frustration is a form of anger. Other things were discussed. The nothing confessed two suggested criticisms which the nothing agreed were faults; but the confessor said that when one writes in the public light, criticisms are to be expected. He said that when people come to him to say, "This is being said about you," he responds, "It's all right. It doesn't really matter." However, he said it is all right to go over criticism to see what good can be brought from it.

As for the nothing Catholic hermit's concerns that the increasing contentment and love of being hidden, of the extreme horror of thinking its name would be in the paper, of the lack of desire to go anywhere, do anything, be something--the confessor said that this is a grace given in the vocation. However, the nothing must remain true to those about, such as the loving presence and give and take with adult children. [One must not dissolve into isolation!] The closeness to God, the peace of the Holy Spirit, the love of oneness with all souls--this is to be shared in God's own design upon and from each humble servant.

The writing. Oh my. The authority comes from being a humble servant of God, the nothing was told. And, when writing in a publicly accessible arena, one must expect others to take issue or not. But it seems as if others so easily might personalize, might think that what is written is for them: self-intended. Well, people will assume what they wish. That does not stop one from writing, from expressing thoughts about God, of the saints' advice, of the maidservant's servant's struggles on the spiirtual climb. Could not the nothing hermit do as the Carthusians, and simply write for and to God? No, the blogs are just fine and to be continued. The nothing must accept that it cannot escape from others. Well, no, the Lord has brought the world to the door of Agnus Dei: through the neighborhood and bloggerhood.

Did the confessor notice in the Mass readings that the fingers are trained to war? A smile grew on the other as the nothing motioned its basketball-hand fingers in typing motion. God teaches the imperfect fingers by the touching power of the Holy Spirit, to fight the war against spiritual darkness.

My mercy, and my refuge: my support and my deliverer: My protector, and I have hoped in Him...Lord, what is man, that thou art made known to him?....Lord, bow down thy heavens and descend: touch the mountains, and they shall smoke. Send forth lightning, and thou shalt scatter them: shoot out thy arrows, and thou shalt trouble them....but happy is that people whose God is the Lord.