“Can the prey be taken from the mighty, or the captives of a tyrant be rescued? But says the Lord: ‘Even the captives of the mighty shall be taken, and the prey of the tyrant be rescued; for I will contend with those who contend with you, and I will save your children.’” (Isaiah 49: 24, 25)
On January 6, 2001, Pope Saint John Paul II promulgated his encyclical Novo Millennio Ineunte in which he wrote, “We do not know what the new millennium has in store for us, but we are certain that it is safe in the hands of Christ, the ‘King of kings and Lord of lords.'” (NMI #35) Nine months later, on September 11, 2001, the World Trade Center in New York City collapsed.
How are we to ransom these captives: the prey of terrorists, the unborn child, those who are victims of abuse or addictions, those taken captive by the tyranny of relativism – our children? At the dawn of the new millennium, fully aware of the dangers of the “culture of death”, Pope Saint John Paul II called Christians of the world to their knees: “Yes, dear brothers and sisters, our Christian communities must become genuine ‘schools’ of prayer, where the meeting with Christ is expressed not just in imploring help, but also in thanksgiving, praise, adoration, contemplation. listening and ardent devotion until the heart truly ‘falls in love’.” (NMI #33) “God… invites us to invest all our resources of intelligence and energy in serving the cause of the Kingdom. But it is fatal to forget that ‘without Christ we can do nothing.’ (cf. Jn. 15: 5)” (NMI #38)
Robert Cardinal Sarah echoes the clarion call of John Paul II in his deeply insightful reflections in his book, The Power of Silence, when he states: “Christ alone can give man the strength to confront evil and come to terms with it… ‘Apart from me you can do nothing.’ (Jn. 15:5) By the strength of his Cross, he has the power to save mankind…” (#282) “Confronted with evil, man gets organized by gathering the means necessary for his defense… his greatest defense is humble faith and profound prayer.” (#286)
On our knees, in the depths of relationship with Christ, in a “genuine dialogue of love” – this is the beginning, the middle and the end of the battle for our children’s souls. Yet, the pope says, “we well know that prayer cannot be taken for granted. We have to learn to pray, as it were learning this art ever anew from the lips of the Divine Master himself...” (NMI #32) To help us learn this art, we have another saint, from a former time and another place: Saint Francis de Sales.
At the turn of the seventeenth century, Francis de Sales not only used all his resources of intelligence and energy in serving the cause of the Kingdom as a young missionary priest in the Chablais, but also, as Bishop of Geneva, he completed the homework assignment Pope Saint John Paul II gave us for the dawn of the twenty-first century, by making his entire diocese a school of prayer. He handed in his “homework” four centuries early by weaving the fabric of prayer into every aspect of his episcopacy: into his own daily routine of liturgy, sacramental life, and meditation – including the recitation of the complete rosary; by reforming monasteries that had become lax; by establishing the Oratory of Our Lady of Compassion at Thonon as a trade school and seminary; by founding the Florimontaine Academy and the Confraternity of Christian Doctrine in Annecy; by writing thousands of letters of spiritual direction to individuals who wished to become devout Christians; by authoring the spiritual classics, Introduction to the Devout Life and Treatise on the Love of God; and finally, by co-founding with Saint Jane de Chantal, monasteries of the Visitation of Holy Mary, to “give to God daughters of prayer“.
St. Francis tells us that in prayer we occupy ourselves with God in love, great faith, and trust. In prayer we remember that God’s heart is very large and generous and ours is only very small, yet as we draw near to him and his heart, a bonding takes place. In Book VII, Chapter I of his Treatise on the Love of God, Francis, who was the eldest son of a large family, uses the metaphor of a nursing baby to describe this relationship of bonding. How often and attentively he must have regarded his young mother’s attentions to his new baby brothers and sisters! He saw the infant, pressed to his mother’s breast, nursing with delight, seeking to cuddle ever closer to this world that was his mother: a world of warmth, of affection and, of survival. This is Francis’ elusive yet effective image of prayer. In prayer, we desire to unite ever closer to the source of our being and, in turn, God presses us ever closer to his heart.
In the Introduction to the Devout Life, addressed primarily to lay people, Francis takes his students step-by-step through the various kinds and degrees of prayer. He does not want them to get lost along the way in daydreams or discouragement. Always he emphasizes that our prayer must enhance our charity, our sense of duty, and our desire to please God and not ourselves. Here it is that he defines and explains how to say vocal prayers and meditate and contemplate… But Lent is fast approaching and we may not have the leisure to study long at his school. Still, we have captives to ransom and preys to rescue – so we turn to St. Francis to help us.
Not only is Lent coming, but with Lent comes fasting. Jesus told us that some kind of demons are cast out only by prayer and fasting. So let us listen to a word of Francis on this subject. In his sermon for Ash Wednesday, February 9, 1622, St. Francis preaches: “Fasting fortifies the spirit, mortifies the flesh and its sensuality and raises the spirit to God… it disposes the heart to seek to please God alone and with great purity of heart.” He then asks us to fast wholeheartedly, but unostentatiously -just for God. This kind of fasting helps us to pray well. In his book, The Power of Silence, Robert Cardinal Sarah explains, “Asceticism is a means that helps us to remove from our life anything that weighs it down, on other words, whatever hampers our spiritual life, and therefore, is an obstacle to prayer.” (#268) Francis gives us the details: “…not only must we make the bodily senses fast, but also the soul’s powers and passions – yes, even the understanding, the memory, and the will… In short, we ought to hold in check all those things which keep us from loving or tending to the Sovereign Good. In this way interior fasting accompanies exterior fasting.” We have to ask ourselves, what am I willing to give up outside myself, or to silence within myself, in order to make this Lent a time of prayer? To quietly do battle to save an innocent life or to restore innocence to one who has lost it along the way?
Do we believe in miracles? We are praying for moral miracles. Do we have the faith to expect them? In his Lenten sermon of February 17, 1622, Francis de Sales gives us an example found in the Gospel story of the Syrophoenician woman, who, upon hearing that Jesus is staying in her neighborhood, encounters Jesus and intercedes for her little daughter who is possessed by an impure spirit. In his homily, Francis tells us her secrets of success. This Gentile woman, who knows very little of prayer, knows how to love; and out of love comes her lively faith and ardent prayer. Having heard of Jesus’ power, she boldly crosses the threshold of the home where Jesus is staying; and, disregarding Jewish observances, throws herself at his feet and begs him to cast out the demon from her child. Instead of casting out the demon, he tosses her an insult: “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” Undaunted, she catches the slight, humbles herself the more, and tosses back an alternative as she begs to be, if not a child of the Covenant, at least its little pet puppy. “Sir,” she counters, “even the little dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” (Mk. 7: 24 -30) At this remark, Jesus is won over, concedes the match, throws in the towel, and immediately casts out the child’s demon.
St. Francis points out four virtues that accompany this woman’s simple prayer: trust, perseverance, patience, and humility. “What great trust!” he marvels. “She believes that if the Lord has pity on her, her daughter will be cured. She doubts neither his power nor his will, for she cries out only, ‘Have pity on me!’ …Certainly the greatest defect that we have in our prayers… is our lack of trust.”
As for perseverance, Francis notes: “We grow weary of praying… The Canaanite woman did not act in this way. For although she saw that our Lord was paying no attention to her prayer, since He gave her no word of response and seemed in this to do her an injustice, nevertheless, this woman persevered in crying out after him… Let us persevere in prayer at all times. For if our Lord seems not to hear us, it is not because He wants to refuse us. Rather, his purpose is to compel us to cry out louder and to make us more conscious of the greatness of his mercy.“
Next is patience. “When this woman heard our Lord (who, we recall, had just referred to her as a dog) she did not lose patience at all. Neither was she offended nor saddened. Prostrating herself at his feet, she replied, ‘It’s true. I am a dog. I admit it. But I take you at your word, for the dogs follow their masters and feed on the crumbs that fall under their table.’
“This humility was the fourth virtue that accompanied the faith and prayer of the Canaanite woman – a humility so pleasing to the Savior that he granted her all that she asked of him… Certainly all virtues are very dear to God, but the virtue of humility pleases him above all the others, and it seems that he can refuse it nothing.” Instead of resisting the woman and her request, He now finds her irresistible. By becoming utterly pathetic, she arouses his pathos and elicits his mercy. Immediately, her daughter is released from her captivity.
Do we believe in miracles? Do we have the love, the trust, and the stamina to keep praying intensely even when no answer seems to come? Do we have the patience to wait for an answer to our prayers and the humility to accept God’s silence? Perhaps these forty days of Lent will not apparently ransom any captive or rescue any prey, yet we must believe our humble, silent cries will be heard and that his merciful love will provide the answer, in His time and in His way.
