Monday, March 16, 2015

Peter Maurin, a St. Francis of modern times


Peter was the poor man of his day. He was a St. Francis of modern times. He was used to poverty as a peasant is used to rough living, poor food, hard bed, o no bed at all, dirt, fatigue, and hard and unrespected work. He was a man with a mission, a vision, an apostolate, but he had put off from himself honors, prestige, recognition. He was truly humble of heart. Never a word of detraction passed his lips and as St. James said, the man who governs his tongue is a perfect man. He was impersonal in his love in that he loved all, saw all others around him as God saw them, saw Christ in them.
  He never spoke idle words, though he was a great teacher who talked for hours on end, till late in the night and early in the morning. He roamed the streets and the countryside and talked to all who would listen. But when his great brain failed, he became silent. If he had been a babbler, he would have been a babbler to the end. But when he could no longer think, as he himself expressed it, he remained silent.
...
  "We need to make the kind of society," Peter had said, "where it is easier for people to be good." And because his love of God made him love his neighbor, lay down his life indeed for his brother, he wanted to cry out against the evils of the day -- the state, war, usury, the degradation of ma, the lack of a philosophy of work. He sang the delights of poverty (he was not talking of destitution) as a means to making a step to the land, of getting back to the dear natural things of earth and sky, of home and children. He cried out against the machine because, as Pius XI had said, "Raw materials went into the factory and came out ennobled and man went in and came out degraded"; and because it deprived a man of what was important as bread, his work, his work with his hands, his ability to use all of himself, which made him a whole man and a holy man.
  Yes, he talked of these material things. He knew we needed a good social order where men could grow up to their full stature and be men. And he also knew that it took men to make such a social order. He tried to form them, he tried to educate them, and God gave him poor, weak materials with which to work. He was as poor in the human material he had around him, as he was in material goods. We are the offscouring of all, as St. Paul said, and yet we know we have achieved great things in these brief years, and not ours is the glory. God has chosen the weak things to confound the strong, the fools of this earth to confound the wise.
  Peter had been insulted and misunderstood in his life as well as loved. He had been taken for a plumber and left to sit in the basement when he had been invited for dinner. He had been thrown out of a Knights of Columbus meeting. One pastor who invited him to speak demanded the money back which he had sent Peter for carfare to his upstate parish, because, he said, we had sent him a Bowery bum, and not the speaker he expected. "This then is perfect joy," Peter could say, quoting the words of St. Francis to Friar Leo, when he was teaching him where perfect joy was to be found.

Excerpt from chapter Peter's Death, by Dorothy Day in her autobiography The Long Loneliness.

Peter Maurin, was co-founder with Dorothy Day of the Catholic Worker movement and is chiefly responsible for the movement's visionary qualities.

To find new life


An old Indian poem I read in Louis Fischer's Life of Mahatma Gandhi.

I died as a mineral and became a plant,
I died as a plant and became an animal,
I died as an animal and was a man.
What should I fear? When was I less by dying?


Wednesday, March 4, 2015

In You is my consolation, O God


As soon as man recalls the Godhead, a certain sweet movement fills his heart. . . . Our understanding has never such great joy as when thinking of God.
St. Francis de Sales

Monday, March 2, 2015

Tenderness


Isaiah writes about the Messiah:

He will not cry or lift up his voice,
or make it heard on the street;
a bruised reed he will not break
and a flickering wick he will not quench.
(Isaiah 42:2-3)