Tag Archives: Peace

philosophy

Saint Urban the Numerous

by Howard Hain
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Walker Evans, “Subway Passengers, New York City: Woman in Velvet Collar with Arm Around Child”, 1938 (The Met)

The subway system

Quite a sight.

The ancient catacombs

Of a distant Rome.

Hidden communities

Offering sacrifice.

Paths and tunnels

Some new, most too old.

People flushed

Thru corroded pipes.

Concrete stairs

Led back to life.

Metal risers

Announce the light.

Worn-out treads

Paper-thin soles.

Tired pilgrims

Hollowed knees.

Back ‘bove ground

Thank God

Almost home.

Breathe deep

Somewhat cleaner air.

Subway saints

With an urban flair.

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

twitter.com/HowardDHain

If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

Web Link: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Walker Evans, “Subway Passengers, New York City: Woman in Velvet Collar with Arm Around Child”, 1938

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philosophy

Arriving in Hope

by Howard Hain

 

camille-pissarro-entree-du-village-de-voisins-1872

Camille Pissarro, “Entrée du village de Voisins”, 1872 (Musée d’Orsay)

 

Waiting and waiting, for exactly what I’m not sure.

The sun to rise.

The day to end.

The water to boil.

Mass to begin.

The cock to crow.

Christ to return.

———

A new day is here.

———

Father, thank You.

Jesus, I love You.

Holy Spirit, have Your way.

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

twitter.com/HowardDHain

If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

 

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philosophy

Where I Want To Be

by Howard Hain

 

Martin Schongauer Bust of a Man in a Hat Gazing Upward ca 1480-90 The Met

Martin Schongauer, “Bust of a Man in a Hat Gazing Upward”, ca. 1480-90 (The Met)

J.M.J.

 

There’s only one place I want to be.

On the Cross with my good Christ.

Strange. Odd. Uncomfortable to admit.

The Cross is where I want to be.

The Cross is where I feel free.

 

The thought of being lifted up high.

The chance to be in pain.

With Him Whom I still don’t know.

To want it to never stop.

To not understand a single thing.

To be burned alive.

I can only call it love.

 

Yes. So be it. It’s Your command.

 

The Cross is where I want to be.

The Cross is where I am free.

The Cross is where I encounter love.

 

Yes, Lord Jesus.

Let me hang with You.

If only for a while.

My sins and those of all the world.

Added to the funeral pile.

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

twitter.com/HowardDHain

If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

Web Link: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Martin Schongauer, “Bust of a Man in a Hat Gazing Upward”, ca. 1480-90

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philosophy

Postcards From Happiness: Morning Walk

by Howard Hain

 

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André Derain, “The Palace of Westminster”, 1906-07, (The Met)

…

She’s always looking down and I’m always telling her to look up.

Between the two of us we see just about everything.

It used to bother me that she stared at the ground.

It didn’t make any sense—she’s the most positive person I’ve ever met.

But that has nothing to do with it—she’s also the most grounded person I know.

Me on the other hand, I’m always in the clouds.

Maybe she’s just afraid to trip and fall while I’m simply petrified of missing something.

I guess that’s why we hold hands.

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

twitter.com/HowardDHain

If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

Web Link: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. André Derain, “The Palace of Westminster”, 1906–07

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philosophy

True Nobility

by Howard Hain

 

Jules Bastien-Lepage Pas Mèche (Nothing Doing) 1882 Scottish National Gallery

Jules Bastien-Lepage, “Pas Mèche (Nothing Doing)”, 1882 (Scottish National Gallery)

 

Stand your ground.

Be clear. Be strong.

Be kind.

Your dignity is Mine.

I planted within you “riches and honor and life.” *

Speak as heir.

Protect what’s Mine.

Truth. Beauty. Love.

These only I possess.

Handle with care.

Worry not what others say.

Listen carefully to what’s left unsaid.

My grace fills the gaps.

I send you not to give an answer.

I send you to be My Dignity.

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

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If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

Web Link: National Galleries Scotland. Jules Bastien-Lepage, “Pas Mèche (Nothing Doing)”, 1882

* Proverbs 22:4

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philosophy

Daily Grind

by Howard Hain

 

Rembrandt Two Women Teaching a Child to Walk ca. 1635-37 red chalk on gray paper

Rembrandt, “Two Women Teaching a Child to Walk”, ca. 1635-37 (red chalk on gray paper)

 

This day might perhaps be the most boring day of our life.

It might look a lot like yesterday.

A lot like last Friday.

A lot like last November.

Routine.

Monotony.

The daily grind.

Another peppercorn held in the mill.

Waiting its turn to be ground into dust.

Sprinkled on a paper plate.

Consumed by a ravenous world.

Never to be seen again.

Never to see the light of day.

Or perhaps we’re wrong.

Perhaps we’re chunks of crystal.

Salt from a dead sea.

Clear.

A tinge of pink.

When the light hits right.

To be sprinkled.

To preserve what’s sacred.

To give life.

Perhaps we are the salt of the earth.

Perhaps this day we shall meet some pepper.

Perhaps we’ll let God have His way.

Giving taste to what seems to so many just another day.

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

twitter.com/HowardDHain

If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

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philosophy

Falling Into Love

by Howard Hain

 

Francesco Sassetti (1421–1490) and His Son Teodoro Domenico Ghirlandaio ca. 1488.jpg

Domenico Ghirlandaio, “Francesco Sassetti (1421–1490) and His Son Teodoro”, ca. 1488 (The Met)

 

Dear Lord,

Let me begin with my apologies. Forgive me for coming to You yet again with nothing. I’m sorry. Look at me, I’ve just begun and here I go again, saying things that are just not true. Of course I do not come “with nothing.” No, I come with nothing of value. Yes, that’s better. For as You well know, Lord, I do come with plenty of things that simply get in the way of me doing my job, the job You Yourself assigned me, the job for which You Yourself designed me perfectly.

God, You are so patient. Truly.

Yes, Sir.

Forgive me…yes, I will stop talking. Of course I’ll listen to You. I’m all ears. Please, my Lord, go ahead, if You please, when You’re ready…

“My son, it is good to see you. I am always pleased to see you. You really have grown. Do you know what I hear when you speak to me? I hear hope. Yes, hope has a sound. No, it’s not like the sounds that you hear in the world. In heaven everything is Love. And the sound of hope is the sound of one of my children falling into Love. I never grow tired of you, or any of your brothers or sisters, speaking to me. Think about it. You know this yourself, the most painful thing for parents is for one of their children to turn away from them, to cease to talk, to cut off all communication, to deny their very existence. Oh, how that hurts. Don’t you see then how Jesus taught you all that you need to know? He taught you all that you will ever need to know while He hung upon the cross. He taught you to never turn away from me. To speak to me. To direct your heart and your mouth and your will toward me. He taught you to keep your eyes on me. The world only sees terrible pain and suffering upon the cross, I see you being set free. I see you this very morning coming to your Father and speaking openly. I see hope and I hear the sound of my dear child falling into Love.”

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

twitter.com/HowardDHain

If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

Web Link: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Domenico Ghirlandaio, “Francesco Sassetti (1421–1490) and His Son Teodoro”, ca. 1488

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philosophy

A Generous Silence

by Howard Hain

 

Pablo Picasso Woman in White 1923

Pablo Picasso, “Woman in White”, 1923 (The Met)

 

The fewest words possible.

It is hard to imagine why we speak any at all.

Nothing comes out right.

There’s never enough said.

What is uttered is always incomplete.

The vow of silence seems awfully attractive at times.

But how long would that last?

I remember taking early morning walks years ago.

I would see the sky, the horizon, the landscape, the fields, the trees, the rocks, the grass, the birds…

I would get so excited.

I would want to run home and tell my wife, to show her, to bring her to that very spot.

But I couldn’t.

By even thinking about doing so something had happened.

The sky, the horizon, the landscape, the fields, the trees, the rocks, the grass, the birds…they were all still there, but it was gone.

By wanting to run and show someone else, by desperately wanting to share—to not be alone—I was again the only one standing on that vacant road.

God of course was still there, and His holy angels and saints—the “great cloud of witnesses”—but I was no longer home.

For I was no longer there.

I was in the land of wanting, of wanting something else but the “here and now,” of wanting something else besides a glimpse of eternity—of wanting more than the kingdom truly being at hand.

For even the beautifully-human desire to share with others sometimes gets in the way.

What is needed is more faith.

What is needed is belief—the belief that the gift of God’s presence, when graciously and generously and humbly received, gives more to our family and friends, gives more to the entire world, than we could ever show or tell each and every one of them individually—even when our “receiving” takes place when we are completely and totally “alone.”

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

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If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

Web Link: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Pablo Picasso, “Woman in White”, 1923

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philosophy

Rip Tide

by Howard Hain

 

Matisse Bather 1909 MoMA

Henri Matisse, “Bather”, Cavalière, summer 1909 (MoMA)

 

What are we to do when the mighty ocean sucks us out to sea?

We are told that we shouldn’t resist, that we should let it take us into the deep—trusting in the bigger force at hand—trusting that the immutable current will win the day, that the overarching tide will eventually send us back to shore.

And in the meantime?

Tread water. Conserve energy. Keep eyes on heaven above.

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

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If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

Web Link: Museum of Modern Art (MoMA). Henri Matisse, “Bather”, Cavalière, summer 1909

 

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philosophy

Young Mother Sewing

by Howard Hain
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Mary Cassatt, “Young Mother Sewing”, 1900 (The Met)

A living faith works. It is always active, especially when we are docile to the Spirit.

When we walk by faith we see, we hear, we speak what God intends, especially when we are blind to the cares and anxieties of the world.

Small children are wonderfully active, superbly passive, and at times they seem completely blind, fantastically blind. They are alive. They see. They hear. They speak. They watch. They feel.

Mother Church calls all of us home, even when she is silent. She is always at work. She watches us even when her eyes are busy with the business of the day.

She sews. We just need to obey. To trust. To allow ourselves the freedom to lay across her lap.

In the short description upon the little museum card hanging beneath the painting shown above, God has planted great instruction. The work is by American impressionist Mary Cassatt.

According to the card, about the year 1890 “Cassatt redirected her art toward women caring for children and children alone—themes that reflected her affection for her nieces and nephews and the prevailing cultural interest in child rearing.” And then, after informing us that for this particular painting Cassatt “enlisted two unrelated models to enact the roles of mother and child”, the card completes its little catechesis by blessing us with a precious little anecdote and quote:

Louisine Havemeyer, who purchased it in 1901, remarked on its truthfulness: “Look at that little child that has just thrown herself against her mother’s knee, regardless of the result and oblivious to the fact that she could disturb ‘her mamma.’ And she is quite right, she does not disturb her mother. Mamma simply draws back a bit and continues to sew.”

God are we blessed. So blessed to have such a mother. All of us. Maybe give her a call today. Better yet, perhaps even stop by. She’d love that. She’d love to see your face. You’re always on her mind and in her heart. She lives in the closest church you can find, any building that truly houses her Son.

If she seems a little occupied with the “cooking and cleaning”, with all “the business of life”, don’t let that stop you or cut your visit short. No, throw yourself against your “mother’s knee regardless of the result and oblivious to the fact” that you could disturb your “mamma.”

It most certainly does not.

“Mamma simply draws back a bit and continues to sew.”

 

Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father.

Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain

www.twitter.com/HowardDHain

If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber (drop-down menu at top of page), or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.

Web Link: The Met Museum. Mary Cassatt, “Young Mother Sewing”, 1900

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