There is a sort of heartbreak about viewing art, especially viewing artwork that really strikes you. Maybe it even cuts you to the heart. Suddenly, you feel the excitement of discovering a new favorite artist or something about the artwork that draws you in: a dark figure that seems to stick out underneath layers of a painting, dialogue in a theater performance that brings you to tears, or a raw poetic lyric that catches you in a hip-hop song. What’s heartbreaking about these experiences is that they can only last for a fleeting moment, or moments, depending on how long you sit with it or how many times you are able to come back to it. It is a temporary experience of beauty that can’t last forever, as much as we want it to. We can’t hold on to that moment when a work of art gets you and draws you in deeper.
My Dear Sisters in Christ,
On today's feast day, the feast of St. Francis Xavier Cabrini, we are so excited to release our newest book...Behold: The Sorrowful Mysteries.
This program in particular was the fruit of much prayer on one of the most difficult parts of our faith, but also one of the most beautiful, redeeming, and hopeful.
I recently moved to New York, and one of the most striking things is the constant stimulation I have felt in this bustling city. My life has been filled with so many new things since moving here, and yet, there has been such a sense of emptiness and lack of being satisfied.
As I ponder the Beatitudes, there is something deep down which makes me uncomfortable. There is an unrest which I cannot silence, no matter how long I may try.
“I cried this morning. I know that my Father is sad too. I feel this sadness very much. Why does it have to be so?”
“My child, beloved child. I cannot spare you tears. Sometimes, I even wait for them. Then I wipe them and say, ‘do not cry.’ What remains is to await a new maturity.” Radiation of Fatherhood, page 19
My Dear Sister,
I write these words as I pray through my own sorrow.
For weeks, I have wanted to write, but have been unable to do so. There has been so much written, and so many emotions expressed, that I desired to pray for words of healing in this time.
Our Church is hurting. Christ is hurting. His Bride is hurting. You and I are hurting. We ache.
It has been quite a while since we have posted on the blog! I am writing today to share our exciting news of why we have not been able to post as much recently.
This past Thursday, I moved to Manhattan, New York City because we are partnering with Frassati NYC (http://frassati.nyc) !!!
For the next year, we will be doing ministry with Frassati and leading a Visio Divina prayer group on Wednesdays. We are so very excited to be leading young women and men in the heart of the city to come to know the Lord more by praying with art.
The upcoming Visio Divina is this upcoming Wednesday, September 12 at 7 PM. If you are in the area, we'd love to have you join us!
7pm: Fellowship/Dinner. Bring your own dinner or come at 6:45pm to order for $7
7:30pm–9pm: Prayer time. Begins with Liturgy of the Hours Evening Prayer. Then reading and praying with Scripture and art.
Location: Kolping House. 165 E 88th St S. New York, NY 10128 (Between Lexington and 3rd Ave) Buzz and walk back to the double doors
The wheel above my head squeaks as I slowly pull the rope, raising my water jar from the bottom of the well. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I sigh in relief and think about today’s plans. I grab the lip of my water jar. It is such refreshment to touch the cool stone as I lift it out of the well.
Then, I hear it.
“Repent, the Kingdom of God is at hand!” (Matthew 3:2)
My heart races. These words strike me as important.
It is just a usual morning.
I walk into the water — it is a little cooler than yesterday. The rough rocks and sand brush up against my feet as the waves gently roll in and out.
Today was a good morning of fishing. My brother, Andrew, calls out to me. His net is worn from his last catch. “Peter,” he says, “you are so skilled at mending nets — can you help me?”
With my callused hands, I weave in the ropes of the net. It is rough — but this brings me joy … it is all too familiar to me. As I mend the net, I recall with my brother some childhood memories of fishing.
Everything seems so simple, calm, ordinary, comfortable. Until … I hear my name. No, this isn’t Andrew.