Arhivele lunare: mai 2017
Psalm 53
Psalmii
Capitolul 53
Dumnezeule, întru numele Tău mântuieşte-mă şi întru puterea Ta mă judecă.
Dumnezeule, auzi rugăciunea mea, ia aminte cuvintele gurii mele!
Că străinii s-au ridicat împotriva mea şi cei tari au căutat sufletul meu şi n-au pus pe Dumnezeu înaintea lor.
Dar iată, Dumnezeu ajută mie şi Domnul este sprijinul sufletului meu.
Întoarce-va cele rele vrăjmaşilor mei; cu adevărul Tău îi vei pierde pe ei.
De bunăvoie voi jertfi ţie; lăuda-voi numele Tău, Doamne, că este bun,
Că din tot necazul m-ai izbăvit şi spre vrăjmaşii mei a privit ochiul meu.
„Dieu présent en toute création”
Şi a privit Dumnezeu toate câte a făcut şi iată erau bune foarte.
Şi a fost seară şi a fost dimineaţă…
Geneza/ Facerea 1, 31
Dieu est présent en toute création, en moi aussi.
Il nous a créés par amour, car il nous a voulus de toute éternité.
Toi aussi, qui lis. Crois-tu cela ? Tu sais, tu n’es pas obligé…
Dieu ne force personne car il est l’Amour. Un grand coeur transpercé par amour.
Dumnezeu e prezent în toate cele ce le-a zidit. Deci si în tine.
Te iubeste. Ma iubeste.
Indiferent daca suntem oi albe sau negre, muguri de floare sau iarba uscata…
Ne-a creat din iubire, pentru ca Dumnezeu este Iubire.
Si pe tine, te-a dorit din vesnicie, si iata ca existi.
Crezi tu aceasta?
Stii, nu te sileste nimeni.
Iubirea adevarata lasa celuilalt toata libertatea.
Dumnezeu, revelat într-o Inima ce s-a lasat deschisa, strapunsa cu o sabie.
Poveste despre leopardul Diabolo
This is the first full length documentary film on the art of animal communication. Nominated for Best Long Documentary, Best Director of “Jade Kunlun” Awards of 2012 World Mountain Documentary Festival of Qinghai China.
Director: Craig Foster | Producer: Vyv Simson | Narrator: Swati Thiyagarajan
Genre: Documentary | Produced In: 2012 | Story Teller’s Country: South Africa
Documentar produs în 2012 .
Anna Breytenbach si-a dedicat viata unei activitati pe care o numeste „comunicare între specii”. Ea le trimite animalelor mesaje prin imagini si gânduri, primind în schimb mesaje remarcabil de clare. Asa a reusit sa-l convinga pe fiorosul leopard negru numit Diabolo, salvat dintr-un zoo european unde fusese chinuit, sa iasa din cusca si sa se relaxeze… devenind, în cele din urma, daca nu chiar „duh/spirit”, un soi de motan mare.
Al carui nume a fost schimbat. Diavolo a devenit Spirit.
Inutila povara
Un episod din copilaria lui Hillary Clinton explica multe lucruri legate de un moment de criza din campania ei pierduta pentru presedentia SUA. Momentul în care a facut o pneumonie, fara sa anunte pe nimeni, pâna ce aproape a colapsat. Povesteste dr Gabor Maté:
“Când Hillary avea patru ani, niste copii din vecini o necajeau si ea a intrat speriata în casa. Mama ei îi raspunde – ceea ce se considera un exemplu de educatie menita sa-l “caleasca” pe copil – ca în casa ei nu e loc pentru fricosi. Si o trimite sa-si rezolve singra problema…
Ce mesaj îi trimite copilului o asemenea atitudine? Ca nu poti fi vulnerabil în propria casa? Ca nu exista aici loc pentru emotii? Ca raspunzi singur de soarta ta? Dupa 60 de ani, copila de alta data e o persoana impermeabila la emotii, într-atâta încât unii o considera inumana… Poate ca educata primita i-a adus succes într-un anumit sens, dar i-a redus competenta emotionala în alt sens. Are pneumonie si nu spune nimanui nimic… Soiul asta de comportamente are radacini adânci si grave consecinte pe planul sanatatii. Boala a fost un “nu” spus de corpul ei, si ea nu a ascultat.
“Împovarat de responsabilitati”. Iata ce doresc sa le spun celor care se simt astfel, continua Gabor Maté. Ca adulti, ne simtim raspunzatori, dorim sa facem ceva, sa avem empatie pentru ceilalti, sa luam seama la nenorocirile celor din jur, la nedreptatile vietii. Dar a fi “cocosat sub povara raspunderii” e cu totul altceva.
Responsabilitatea nu ne îmbolnaveste, dar povara raspunderilor, da. Orice povara care ne cocoseaza ne afecteaza sanatatea fizica sau emotional-mintala. Iata ce le spun celor care se simt asa: povara voastra nu e din pricina starii lumii. Dimpotriva, se leaga de orientarea voastra psihic-motionala, care îsi are radacinile chiar înainte ca voi sa puteti sti ceva despre lume, orientarea aceasta are radacini în prima copilarie, în relatiile cu mediul care v-a hranit. În general, se simt “coplesiti” cei ai caror parinti au fost dezechilibrati, stresati, disfunctionali, iar copilul s-a simtit obligat sa-I faca pe parinti fericiti. Obligatie care este o sarcina peste puterile unui copil. Cu toate acestea, cei mai multi dintre noi sunt în aceasta situatie, fiindca un copil raporteaza automat si inconstient totul la persoana sa. Simtind în jur stres, asistând la situatii dificile, copilul îsi închipuie ca e din cauza lui si ca are datoria sa dreaga lucrurile.
Iata povara de care trebuie sa va descotorositi, daca va simtiti depasiti de greutati. Iar când v-ati eliberat de ea, atunci va puteti pe deplin asuma responsabilitatile, la modul prezent, si puteti cauta solutii pntru problemele pe care le observati în lume.
“Când învatam sa ne oprim ca sa devenim pe deplin vii în momentul prezent, atunci intram cu adevarat în legatura cu viata, cu ceea ce se petrece în noi însine si împrejur. Nu ne mai lasam furati de trecut, de viitor, de gânduri, idei, emotii si proiecte”. Dixit înteleptul maestru zen Thich Nhat Hanh.
“When we learn to stop and be truly alive in the present moment, we are in touch with what’s going on within and around us. We aren’t carried away by the past, the future, our thinking, ideas, emotions, and projects.”
You cannot serve God AND money
Inițial publicat pe Public Orthodoxy: by Rev. Dr. John Chryssavgis In fourth-century Constantinople, an archbishop named Gregory contemplated why God was so silent before the immorality and corruption in politics. Why, he wondered, did God resemble a sleeping lion? But of course a sleeping lion can be awakened and antagonized. We have waited and…
Dieu au-delà de tout/Transcendent God
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zna2poZoeWU
« Ô Toi l’au-delà de tout, comment t’appeler d’un autre nom ? Quelle hymne peut te chanter ? Aucun mot ne t’exprime. Quel esprit te saisir ? Nulle intelligence ne te conçoit. Seul, tu es ineffable ; tout ce qui se dit est sorti de toi. Seul, tu es inconnaissable ; tout ce qui se pense est sorti de toi. Tous les êtres te célèbrent, ceux qui parlent et ceux qui sont muets. Tous les êtres te rendent hommage, ceux qui pensent comme ceux qui ne pensent pas. L’universel désir, le gémissement de tous aspire vers toi. Tout ce qui existe te prie et vers toi tout être qui sait lire ton univers fait monter un hymne de silence. Tout ce qui demeure, demeure en toi seul. Le mouvement de l’univers déferle en toi. De tous les êtres tu es la fin, tu es unique. Tu es chacun et tu n’es aucun. Tu n’es pas un être seul, tu n’es pas l’ensemble : Tu as tous les noms, comment t’appellerai-je ? Toi le seul qu’on ne peut nommer ; quel esprit céleste pourra pénétrer les nuées qui voilent le ciel lui-même ? Aie pitié, ô Toi, l’au-delà de tout ; comment t’appeler d’un autre nom ? Amen. »
Saint Grégoire de Nazianze (329-390)
PRAYER OF ST. GREGORY OF NAZIANZEN
To The All-Transcendent God
O All-Transcendent God
(and what other name could describe you?),
what words can hymn Your praises?
No word does You justice.
What mind can probe Your secret?
No mind can encompass You.
You are alone beyond the power of speech,
yet all that we speak stems from You.
You are alone beyond the power of thought,
yet all that we can conceive springs from You.
All things proclaim You,
those endowed with reason and those bereft of it.
All the expectation and pain of the world coalesces in You.
All things utter a prayer to You,
a silent hymn composed by You.
You sustain everything that exists,
and all things move together to Your orders.
You are the goal of all that exists.
You are one and You are all,
yet You are none of the things that exist,
neither a part nor the whole.
You can avail Yourself of any name;
how shall I call You,
the only unnameable?
All-transcendent God!
Soulagement
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The meaning of suffering
… according to Rebecca West
from https://www.brainpickings.org/2017/02/24/rebecca-west-black-lamb-grey-falcon/
While recovering from surgery in an English hospital in the fall of 1934, West heard on the radio that Yugoslavia’s King Alexander I had been assassinated — the first monarch of a young country born out of the horrors of WWI, murdered by the same fascist forces that would pave the way for WWII. She recognized instantly, with a sorrowful urgency, that such local crises of inhumanity never exist in isolation from the whole of humanity. A quarter century before Martin Luther King urged us to see that “we are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality [and] whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly,” West reflected on hearing the radio announcement:
I had to admit that I quite simply and flatly knew nothing at all about the south-eastern corner of Europe … that is to say I know nothing of my own destiny.
And indeed, from West’s regional focus on my native Balkans radiates a larger inquiry into the collective fate of humanity, with all its tragedy and tenaciousness, and the ultimate resilience of the human spirit — nowhere more so than in a passage describing her encounter with a woman on a mountain road in Montenegro. West relays the woman’s response to being asked how she had ended up there, across the country from her hometown of Durmitor:
She laughed a little, lifted her ball of wool to her mouth, sucked the thin thread between her lips, and stood rocking herself, her eyebrows arching in misery. “It is a long story. I am sixty now,” she said. “Before the war I was married over there, by Durmitor. I had a husband whom I liked very much, and I had two children, a son and a daughter. In 1914 my husband was killed by the Austrians. Not in battle. They took him out of our house and shot him. My son went off and was a soldier and was killed, and my daughter and I were sent to a camp. There she died. In the camp it was terrible, many people died. At the end of the war I came out and I was alone. So I married a man twenty years older than myself. I did not like him as I liked my first husband, but he was very kind to me, and I had two children of his. But they both died, as was natural, for he was too old, and I was too old, and also I was weak from the camp. And now my husband is eighty, and he has lost his wits, and he is not kind to me any more. He is angry with everybody; he sits in his house and rages, and I cannot do anything right for him. So I have nothing.”
To the question of where she is headed on that mountain road, the woman responds:
“I am not going anywhere. I am walking about to try to understand why all this has happened. If I had to live, why should my life have been like this? If I walk about up here where it is very high and grand it seems to me I am nearer to understanding it.” She put the ball of wool to her forehead and rubbed it backwards and forwards, while her eyes filled with painful speculation. “Good-bye,” she said, with distracted courtesy, as she moved away, “good-bye.”
This woman [was] the answer to my doubts. She took her destiny not as the beasts take it, nor as the plants and trees; she not only suffered it, she examined it. As the sword swept down on her through the darkness she threw out her hand and caught the blade as it fell, not caring if she cut her fingers so long as she could question its substance, where it had been forged, and who was the wielder. She wanted to understand … the mystery of process.
I knew that art and science were the instruments of this desire, and this was their sole justification, though in the Western world where I lived I had seen art debauched to ornament and science prostituted to the multiplication of gadgets. I knew that they were descended from man’s primitive necessities, that the cave man who had to hunt the aurochs drew him on the rock-face that he might better understand the aurochs and have fuller fortune in hunting and was the ancestor of all artists, that the nomad who had to watch the length of shadows to know when he should move his herd to the summer pasture was the ancestor of all scientists. But I did not know these things thoroughly with my bowels as well as my mind. I knew them now, when I saw the desire for understanding move this woman. It might have been far otherwise with her, for she had been confined by her people’s past and present to a kind of destiny that might have stunned its victims into an inability to examine it. Nevertheless she desired neither peace nor gold, but simply knowledge of what her life might mean. The instrument used by the hunter and the nomad was not too blunt to turn to finer uses; it was not dismayed by complexity, and it could regard the more stupendous aurochs that range within the mind and measure the diffuse shadows cast by history. And what was more, the human will did not forget its appetite for using it.
In a sentiment that calls to mind Hannah Arendt’s timelessly incisive perspective on the only effective antidote to evil, found in the fact that “one man will always be left alive to tell the story,” West considers the essential quality of spirit which the Montenegrin woman modeled:
If during the next million generations there is but one human being born in every generation who will not cease to inquire into the nature of his fate, even while it strips and bludgeons him, some day we shall read the riddle of our universe. We shall discover what work we have been called to do, and why we cannot do it. If a mine fails to profit by its riches and a church wastes the treasure of its altar, we shall know the cause: we shall find out why we draw the knife across the throat of the black lamb or take its place on the offensive rock, and why we let the grey falcon nest in our bosom, though it buries its beak in our veins. We shall put our own madness in irons.
„Insultat fiind, nu a raspuns la insulta…”
Dacă suportaţi suferinţa, deşi faceţi binele, aceasta este un har înaintea lui Dumnezeu. De fapt, la aceasta aţi fost chemaţi, căci Cristos a suferit pentru voi lăsându-vă exemplu ca să mergeţi pe urmele lui.
El, care nu a săvârşit păcat,
şi nici nu s-a găsit înşelăciune în gura lui,
care, insultat fiind, nu a răspuns la insultă, suferind, nu ameninţa, ci s-a dat pe sine în mâna celui care judecă cu dreptate. El însuşi, pe lemn, a purtat păcatele noastre în trupul său pentru ca noi, murind pentru păcate, să trăim pentru dreptate. Prin rănile lui aţi fost vindecaţi. Căci eraţi ca nişte oi rătăcite, dar acum v-aţi întors la păstorul şi supraveghetorul sufletelor voastre.
1 Petru 2, 20 b-25
Frères,
Si l’on vous fait souffrir alors que vous avez bien agi, vous rendrez hommage à Dieu en tenant bon. C’est bien à cela que vous avez été appelés, puisque le Christ lui-même a souffert pour vous et vous a laissé son exemple afin que vous suiviez ses traces, lui qui n’a jamais commis de péché ni proféré de mensonge : couvert d’insultes, il n’insultait pas ; accablé de souffrances, il ne menaçait pas, mais il confiait sa cause à Celui qui juge avec justice. Dans son corps, il a porté nos péchés sur le bois de la croix, afin que nous puissions mourir à nos péchés et vivre dans la justice : c’est par ses blessures que vous avez été guéris. Vous étiez errants comme des brebis ; mais à présent vous êtes revenus vers le berger qui veille sur vous.
Commentaire de l’évangile de ce 4e dimanche:
Paul VI, pape, Message pour la Journée de prière pour les vocations 1971
Quand Jésus se présentait lui-même comme le Bon Pasteur, il se rattachait à une longue tradition biblique, déjà familière à ses disciples et aux autres auditeurs. Le Dieu d’Israël, en effet, s’était toujours manifesté comme le bon Pasteur de son peuple. Il en avait écouté la plainte, l’avait libéré de la terre d’esclavage, il avait guidé dans sa bonté le peuple sauvé par lui dans sa rude marche au désert vers la Terre promise… Siècle après siècle, le Seigneur avait continué à le guider, bien plus, à le porter dans ses bras comme le pasteur porte ses agneaux. Il l’avait aussi conduit depuis la punition de l’exil, l’appelant de nouveau et rassemblant les brebis dispersées pour les acheminer dans la terre de leurs pères.
C’est pour ces motifs que nos pères dans la foi se tournaient filialement vers Dieu, l’appelant leur Pasteur : « Le Seigneur est mon Berger, je ne manque de rien ; sur des prés d’herbe fraîche il me fait reposer, vers les eaux du repos il me mène, il y refait mon âme ; il me guide par le juste chemin » (Ps 22). Ils savaient que le Seigneur est un Pasteur bon, patient, parfois sévère, mais toujours miséricordieux envers son peuple et aussi envers tous les hommes…
Lorsque, dans la plénitude des temps, Jésus vint, il trouva son peuple « comme un troupeau sans pasteur » (Mc 6,34) et il en éprouva une peine profonde. En lui s’accomplissaient les prophéties et s’achevait l’attente. Avec les paroles mêmes de la tradition biblique, Jésus s’est présenté comme le Bon Pasteur qui connaît ses brebis, les appelle chacune par son nom, et donne sa vie pour elles. Et ainsi, « il y aura un seul troupeau et un seul pasteur » (Jn 10,16).
http://www.ktotv.com/emissions/priere-et-vie-de-l-eglise/priere/en-marche-vers-dimanche
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