The Heart
The man with clean hands and pure heart will climb the mountain of the Lord.
Morning prayer this morning touched on the heart more than once. One of the antiphons was that above: the man with clean hands and pure heart will climb the mountain of the Lord. The notion of ascension of course, a recurring theme in contemplative theology, familiar to Carmelites in St John' of the Cross’ sketch of the ‘ascent of Mt Carmel’
Translations are useful for us who don’t read English of course, and one is included in the Kavanaugh translation of his collected works. It’s a beautiful diagram to ponder, with the crowning statement upon the mount being: only the honour and glory of God dwells on this mount. Leave all else behind - hence the psalmist’s insistence on clean hands and a pure heart. If your Lenten penances aren’t clearing these distractions, you need to reassess quickly and resolutely.
The didactic statements at the base of the mount are beautifully, hauntingly simple, yet typical of his resolve and pure, unadulterated fidelity to the contemplative pursuit of God:
To reach satisfaction in all, desire satisfaction in nothing. To come to possess all, desire the possession of nothing. To arrive at being all, desire to be nothing. To come to the knowledge of all, desire the knowledge of nothing. To come to enjoy what you have not, you must go by a way in which you enjoy not. To come to the possession you have not, you must go by a way in which you possess not. To come to what you are not, you must go by a way in which you are not.
The last line, the sense of purgation, even negation, suggests stripping away anything and everything that is contrary to Christ, to our true selves, made in the image and likeness of God: You must go by a way in which you are not. One is reminded of Paul’s letter to the Galations: I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me; and the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
We do not strip ourselves away to reach a void, or a nothingness - we seek the trinitarian God who dwells in the deepest recesses of our souls. We climb, we scramble, we try to leave behind the distraction, the dross and the disillusionment of our materialism, our self satisfaction, our own designs.
Then the heart again, in the scripture reading from this morning’s Lauds, taken from Joel:
Come back to me with all your heart, fasting, weeping, mourning. Let your hearts be broken, not your garments torn, turn to the Lord your God again, for he is all tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in graciousness, and ready to relent.
If you needed any clearer illustration that we don’t flee from suffering (aside from Calvary itself), you won’t find much better. Sorrow, repentance and conversion - not the outward show, the morbid display of self pity - but the humble turn to a God who is all tenderness and compassion.
The consolations of the Office are manifest and multifold. If you’re looking to deepen your prayer life in the pursuit of a fruitful Lent, I couldn’t recommend it enough. Even with the awkward, fumbling beginnings we all have with the ribbons, the psalter, the propers, the feasts - the riches of scripture, the tenderness of prayer, the treasures of Holy Mother Church, held in the breviary, are unparalleled.
I marvel. I fumble. I climb and stumble. Grazed knees and torn knuckles are all part of the journey. You shouldn’t want it to be any other way.