The mother you have forgotten

I am the mother you have forgotten.

I stand in the corner,
my skin a deep brown,
coloured with the soil of the country
from whence your ancestors lived and died,
toiled and fought, loved and made peace.

Once they sang to me of their sorrows and joys,
showered me with flowers,
fanned me with coconut fronds,
vested me with gold and embroidered cloth,
honoured me with a sprinkling of water and turmeric,
and waved flickering lamps before my face.

I stood there in the temple
with the strength of the banyan tree,
the gentleness of water,
and expansiveness of wind and sky.

Hope filled their hearts as they gazed into my holy flame,
my sacred flame,
my creative flame,
my purifying flame,
my life-giving flame,
my never-ending flame
of love, renewal, and inspiration.

Then the imams and friars came.
They tore off my tapis and my headdress,
ripped the gold and pearls off my neck,
forced me to wear a veil and wimple,
and covered my nurturing breasts.

My flame was extinguished,
and my children driven out of my temples and shrines.
My sacred places flowed
with the martyred blood of my babaylans and healers.
My diwatas became demons,
and my priestesses became witches.
Gone were the rich perfumes and the incense of prayer,
the garlands of sampaguita and ylang-ylang,
but my mercy, protection, and healing power did not cease.

They gave me a new face and a new name,
a face that wasn’t my own,
powdered with the muck of imitation and duplication,
as my children began to believe
that they were inferior subjects of a foreign king.

But you called to me again and again,
crying out to my new name in the rosary,
raging against oppression and injustice,
weeping for the children lost and exploited,
the maidens raped,
and the brothers slaughtered.

You cried out to me as the soldiers of two kings,
an emperor, and of a republic
trampled on the holy soil of your nation.

I have not forgotten you,
nor have I abandoned you,
but I have heard your every prayer,
and held them closely to my heart.
My abalone eyes have never ceased from watching you.

I will deliver you from your fear,
your anguish,
and your misery.

Take up my cause once again,
of reconciliation and equanimity,
of dignity and worth,
of life and light,
of righteousness and truth.

Relight the wonder and beauty
and look into my holy flame,
opening your hearts to compassion,
awakening to wisdom and hope,
and showering me with flowers of your life’s virtues.

Let them bloom as a testament and testimony to me,

The mother you have forgotten.

Copyright © Joshua Ligan 2012.

My votive offering to Our Lady of Walsingham: A hymn presented at the Shrine Church

In the spirit of Erasmus, who presented a set of verses as a pilgrim to Walsingham, I composed this hymn and presented it to one of the brothers on my last visit to the Shrine Church in Walsingham today. It is sung to the tune of Parry’s “Jerusalem” .

1.
We are the water of this well;
Simple and small our lives may be,
but if we give to God our all
Christ takes our lives for all to see:
A miracle, a change divine,
as it breaks through our lowly lives,
as Mary bids her Son in prayer
to change our water into wine!

2.
Make us God’s workshop, build us up,
O chisel out our hearts of stone,
then raise us up from death to life,
with skill and virtues e’er to hone!
Holding the Christ-light in our hands,
let us go forth along the way
of this Old England’s Nazareth
across the dry and barren lands!

3.
Lead us from sorrow into joy,
from lack to gain, from fear to love,
and in our hearts a holy house,
where dwells the Spirit from above!
O holy Maid of Walsingham,
tend to thy children near and far,
lead us to thine own holy Child,
Emmanuel, the great “I AM”!

4.
Wake from thy slumber, Virgin Church,
open thy heart to God’s own grace,
In Mary, Christ gives us his hand,
to save our fallen, broken race!
No more in us, shall Adam die,
but live in Christ, risen again;
No more in us shall Eve despair,
but unto Mary run and fly!

Copyright ©  Joshua Ligan 2012.

“The central truth about God is the assertion of His love. His love is not limited to time. It is a part of His eternal Being, existing, real, active, before the work of creation began. Through eternity the life of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost has been. The love of the Father for the Son, of the Son for the Father, of the Father and the Son for the Holy Ghost, of the Holy Ghost for the Father and the Son, had no beginning, as it will have no end. The doctrine of the Holy Trinity—of the three Persons who are one God—was seen by the Church to be necessarily implied in the teaching of Holy Scripture, and was made part of the constant message of Christian truth. In their emphasis on this doctrine Catholic theologians endeavoured to meet the deepest needs of Christian thought and devotion. For these needs cannot be satisfied save in the God who is eternal, in whose eternal Being there are the activities of life, and in whose life before as well as after creation is an abiding exercise of love. A theology which departs from the doctrine of the Holy Trinity, which Tractarian and Anglo-Catholic have received from the Universal Church, may have a temporary attraction; but its failure to satisfy the abiding demands of human thought and prayer deprives it of real and lasting value.”

-Darwell Stone, The Faith of an English Catholic

The night the wall came down

The night the wall came down
he stood in front of me and called my name.

“Come closer”, he said,
beckoning, bidding me to draw near.

He held a flickering candle in his hand
that glowed more brilliantly
than the light of a thousand suns.

I stood there, paralyzed with fear,
paralyzed after the shouts,
the praise-songs,
the cymbal-crashes,
the blaring trumpets
had shattered the silence I once knew.

"Come closer”, he said,
“I have come to liberate you”.

Again, he beckoned to me,
tenderly pleading my name.

I looked around the vast, smoldering ruins
of everything that I had built.
Brick upon brick lay in the streets,
mingled with faeces, urine, blood,
and broken concrete.

It was all gone, reduced to rubble,
ashes, dust, flames, and destruction.

This was the cost of my liberation?
The sacrifice I had to make?
The price I had to pay?

“Then I will come closer”, he said,
“I will not hurt you.”

He spoke my name.

I stared at him blankly,
as he stepped over where the wall once stood
and drew closer to me.
He covered me with his coat
handed me the candle,
and held me close.

He whispered my name.

I raised my head and looked at the stars.
I turned to him,
and shedding a tear,
I said softly,
ever so softly,
piercing the quiet between us,
“Please, sir, I’ve forgotten my name.”

Copyright © 2012 Joshua Ligan.

It's time

So I have made my decision.

I have decided to finish my education. It's been a long time since I've been back in college, but it's time. I'm not getting any younger. And this time, I'm serious about my education. I don't want to be left behind.

There are questions, however. How am I going to finance my education? I'm not making any money right now. What will I study? Where will I study? Things like that.

I could probably study a lot of things: English literature, Creative writing, Classics, World languages, History, and Theology. I'd love to study it all, haha. Dutch and Afrikaans would be nice too. I could learn Chinese or a South Asian language. I might even fulfil my mother's wishes and learn Spanish. But all of that sounds a bit greedy. And probably a bit expensive. 

But what sort of job could I do with that? In the back of my mind, I always thought I'd end up a priest, a deacon, or somehow working within the church. Quite frankly, the call, and not just any call, but the call to be a member of the clergy scares me. I'm terrified of that prospect. Talk about total life change and commitment. You have to grow up, put yourself aside, deny yourself and follow Christ.

Does this mean that I'm too engrossed with myself?

Besides with my wild past, I'm not entirely sure that any ordinations committee would be so pleased to see me. It would count as life experience, however.

Even if I were a priest or deacon, most Episcopal clergy in the United States have another job or experience in another field. It's the very reason why seminaries prefer that you have a BA in something else besides Theology, Philosophy, Religious Studies, or Divinity. Usually, you get a BA in something else before you get an M.Div. Episcopalians have a tradition of overeducated clergy. 

There are loopholes, however. One could always go for a Scottish masters degree (which starts as an undergraduate degree) in divinity or theology. 

I figure that if I do decide to become a priest or a deacon, I'd like something else to help support my call. Being a teacher or a writer perhaps. Even being a tour guide. I'd love to teach English in a foreign country, or write a book. English is my mother tongue after all, and it's a beautiful language.

But first things first. I need a degree. And to get a degree, I need money. So how exactly am I going to get the ball rolling?

Much prayers needed, thank you. And advice.

And if I were to get a BA, it would be wonderful if I could do joint honours/double major along the lines of any of these combinations (depending on the college/uni, of course): English Literature and Creative Writing, English Studies, English and Afrikaans, English Literature and History, English and Classics, English and Theology, English and a modern language, what have you. It doesn't have to be any of those combinations - I could do History and African Studies or Hebrew and Middle Eastern Studies. So let's see what I can do.  

I think the heart of the Gospel is neither about liberation, justification, theosis, redemption, nor even the forgiveness of sins. Rather, the good news of Jesus is simple: We are not alone, and we have never been alone. God has always been faithful, and will continue to be faithful to us. God's love is enough for us. Amen.

Vir altyd

“Ek is jou man”, hy het vir my gesê.
“Jy kan nie van my afloop nie.
Jy is myne vir altyd en altyd en altyd.”
Ek kyk goed na die sterre,
terwyl ons op die soetgras en rooi aard lê.
Ek wonder, ek mymer,
“Kou my toekoms met hierdie man,
hierdie wonderlike man,
hierdie seun van Afrika,
soos daardie sterre wees?”

Ek ruik sy cologne en streel sy wang.
Sy soene smaak na groenappels,
en hy neem my hand.

Ek sluit my oë en sug.

Ai! Wat doen nou ek?
Dis ‘n gekke ding,
‘n baie dome ding,
maar ek kan net smelt
terwyl die vlame van sy hartsog
verteer heeltemal my liggaam en siel.

Sal ek vir hierdie ding na hemel of hel om te gaan?
God. Almagtige God. Allerhoogste God.
Hy het die eerste tyd soos die reën en die wind gekom.
Ek kon nie hom weerstaan nie
want hy het met sy magiek en sange afgerokkel,
en het nuwe wêrelds
in die woestyn van my lewe
met belofte, met mooiheid bloemgemaak.
Hy het nooit my vertrek nie,
maar altyd my vasgehou.

Ek weet nie wat die toekoms gaan aandra nie,
maar ek nader na hom,
ek rus in sy arme,
ek antwoord, ek fluister,
saggies, maar baie saggies,
sonder twyfel, sans twyfel,
“Ja, jy is my man,
my pragtige man, my fraaie man,
my sterke man.
Ek sien in jou God,
my God, onse God,
onse barmhartige God.
Vergeef my. Ek is joune.
Vir altyd en altyd en altyd.”

Copyright © 2011 Joshua Ligan. 

New Every Morning is the Love by John Keble (1792–1866)

New every morning is the love
our wakening and uprising prove;
through sleep and darkness safely brought,
restored to life and power and thought.

New mercies, each returning day,
hover around us while we pray;
new perils past, new sins forgiven,
new thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.

If on our daily course our mind
be set to hallow all we find,
new treasures still, of countless price,
God will provide for sacrifice.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
as more of heaven in each we see;
some softening gleam of love and prayer
shall dawn on every cross and care.

The trivial round, the common task,
will furnish all we ought to ask:
room to deny ourselves; a road
to bring us daily nearer God.

Only, O Lord, in thy dear love,
fit us for perfect rest above;
and help us, this and every day,
to live more nearly as we pray.

"I am an Anglican and that is part of my life; that I really feel at home in the Anglican Communion."

-The Rt. Hon. Adrienne Clarkson, former Governor General of Canada

Love Bade Me Welcome by George Herbert (1593 – 1633)

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
      Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
      From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning        
      If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'
     Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
      I cannot look on Thee.'  
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
      'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame
      Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'  
      'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
      So I did sit and eat.