Since Easter was so early this year, and hence Pentecost as well, we didn't rush to get this issue out on time for Pentecost but are rather calling it a "Spring" issue, though by time you receive this issue, even this blessed season will be already more than half over. Spring is one of my favorite seasons, along with Fall. (Winter is too dreary, though we always need the rain, and Summer is too bloody hot and always carries the threat of wildfires.) I like to see the new life budding from the earth, bright flowers and fruit-tree blossoms full of honeybees, and the air fragrant with the mingled scents of all things being made new.

Even though, as the story goes, the almond tree speaks of God by blossoming, I'd like to avoid the usual clichés and analogies of the cycles of creation and the spiritual life—not because they are not true or helpful, but simply because they tend to tire from overuse, and I'd like to go a little deeper, though at the moment I find myself at something of a loss to do so. I confess I don't even understand the mysteries of the spiritual life well enough to offer adequate illustrations from nature or anywhere else. I'm kind of like the clueless farmer of the parable who "scatters seed upon the ground, sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows, he knows not how" (Mark 4:26-27). Nature's wonders and all God's works proliferate, but I know not how. Life happens without much help from us, guided by an unseen Hand that designs and directs it all, we know not how. Spiritual life has its own mysteries that do not cease to germinate whether or not we know what is going on—though this growth will surely turn to decomposition if we ignore it altogether. For we came from dust, as Scripture says, and presently we're on our return trip there, but the Lord calls us to bear fruit in the meantime, before we become mere fertilizer for future flowers.

I hope you're not waiting for me to make a point, for I haven't come up with one yet. I set out to write some sort of springtime reflection, but then I realized it has all been said before. "All is vanity," says Qoheleth; "a generation goes and a generation comes… the sun rises and the sun goes down… all streams run to the sea… what has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; and there is nothing new under the sun" (Eccl. 1:2-9). Ecclesiastes is a rather grave and somber book, apparently designed to be read with sighs. Some have wondered how it even managed to find its way into the canon of Scripture, and I rarely read it myself. (If the author had faith in resurrection, it would have changed everything, though.) Is there really nothing new under the sun?

I suppose if we looked only at the regularity of the life-cycles of nature and the endless follies of men we might come to that conclusion. But there's something that Qoheleth, with his limited access to divine revelation, might be missing. He didn't realize that the vanities of this life were not the sum total of reality. He didn't know that we were created for immortal life in a Paradise that surpasses even the original one, from which we fell into mortality and the countless woes which made the Preacher lament: "all things are full of weariness" (Eccl. 1:8).

When we're dealing with immortal souls, I think we cannot rightly conclude either that all is vanity or that there is nothing new—that all has already been said and done in the long ages of human history and the recurring cycles of nature. At several instances of God's sovereign interventions in human history, He says: "See, I am doing something new" (e.g. Isaiah 43:19). Human beings, though they are predictable in many ways, still hold out the possibility of being God's agents of change, of bringing something new into the world, enriching life in ways that have perhaps not been seen before. This is largely because of the delicate interplay of divine grace and human free will working within embodied souls (or ensouled bodies) destined for eternal communion with the ever-ancient, ever-new, all-transcendent and all-immanent God. The seemingly endless wonders of the natural world are all products of the creative mind and will of God, who is infinitely creative—so see, there can be new things under the sun and even within our own jaded hearts. If we let Him in, good and wonderful things will sprout and bloom, even if we know not how.

"It is the Spirit that gives life," said the Lord (John 6:63). The creative Spirit that hovered over the primordial chaos and brought the universe into being is also ready to order our inner chaos and make a paradisal garden out of our souls. This interior garden can only grow if it is "watered" by the grace of the Holy Spirit. Now don't think I'm making up an analogy or metaphor; I got it from Jesus. "If anyone thirst," He cried, "let him come to me and drink." Why? "Out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water." But what is this water? "Now this He said about the Spirit…" (John 7:37-39). This is the Gospel we proclaim on the feast of Pentecost.

To the prophet was revealed the same connection several centuries earlier: "I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground; I will pour my Spirit upon your descendants, and my blessing on your offspring" (Isaiah 44:3). I will pour water… I will pour My Spirit… This is how God makes all things new. "It is not by measure that he gives the Spirit" (John 3:34), that is, the Holy Spirit cannot be parceled out or rationed but is given whole and entire, as the fullness of the gift of God's grace. Rivers of living water flow from the Heart of Christ, not droplets or trickles. So if we bear little fruit the fault lies in ourselves and not in the gift of the Creator.

What is going to be new under the sun? What is going to be new in your soul because of the presence of the grace of the Holy Spirit? That is something that has to be sought from God. We don't automatically know what He intends to do within us, and we know not how He will bring it all to pass. But every year we are reminded that there still is life in what may appear dead; what look like barren branches suddenly burst into flower.

Tolkien's Silmarillion is a kind of myth that might be said to roughly parallel the first eleven chapters of Genesis, at least insofar as it tells the tales of the "pre-history" of the world: the creation of the Earth, the rise and fall of both heavenly and earthly creatures, and the consequences of evil—even unto the destruction of the greater part of the inhabitants of Earth. The story is full of wars and sorrows and unexpected twists of fate (though some delightful tales offer welcome relief), but the unhappy result of this tragic history is that "there is not now upon Earth any place abiding where the memory of a time without evil is preserved."

Yet evil never did gain a total victory. Ere the Two Trees of Valinor (the Blessed Realm) were destroyed, their miraculous light was preserved within three unique jewels called silmarilli (only one of which, however, survived the greedy machinations of those who lusted after them). And ere the White Tree, Nimloth the Fair, was felled by the evil counsel of the wicked Sauron, a fruit was taken from it that later sprouted and grew a new tree, full of healing powers. And there remained a remnant of the Faithful, who were still blessed from on high. Periods of peace alternated with new struggles and new evils, but hope was never entirely vanquished.

So it is that when we think that all is vanity, that the wicked will continue to prosper in the world, that there is nothing new under the sun—a fresh sprout arises, something of the Light of Paradise is discovered anew. Spring helps us to remember it, as the cold and apparently barren ground suddenly sprouts with flowers, as the darkness of winter recedes, as the very fragrance of the air somehow lifts the spirit to a level at which joy is possible and hope is renewed. If we don't breathe the invigorating air of Spring, we might indeed succumb to the sense that "all things are full of weariness." But even though we are still exiled from Paradise, the Lord is ready to do new things in this vale of tears as He prepares all things for our eventual Homecoming. To believe that all things are possible with God is the first step toward the perception of what the Lord of all possibilities is actually doing.

Well, there's my Spring reflection. I still can't tell if I really said anything, but maybe something will grow out of it, I know not how. For the present, I think I'll go out and inhale of bit of that honeyed air wafting from the blossoming madrones. I do it every year, but it always seems new…

—Abbot Joseph

A woman came to tell Mother Macrina about a quarrel she had had with a friend. She explained in detail how it came about, and how difficult her friend had been. She was sorry she got so angry, but still…

Mother listened patiently till the woman ran out of breath. Then she asked her, "Why don"t you tell your friend you are sorry and be done with it?"

"But Mother," the woman exclaimed, "did you not listen to me at all? It wasn't my fault; I explained it to you already!"

"So you did," answered Mother Macrina. "What a strange thing it is that to say one is sorry takes only a moment, but to explain why one should not say it takes over an hour!"

(from God is not Reasonable, and Other Tales of Mother Macrina, by Irma Zaleski)

This Spring issue of Gladsome Light is a rather odd one. I still don't know what to say. At a loss from the beginning, I sort of tried to say something in the greeting article, and now I'm faced with having to say something in this article, but I'm still at a loss. Is my brain drying up? Have I already said everything that I have to say? Is it time to retire?

I would tend to answer "yes" to all three, but I cannot see things as the Lord sees them, so maybe He would answer in some other way. God doesn't let me know what He's thinking, so my understanding of his mysteries is "apt to be faint and formless sometimes to the weary eyes of faith alone" (R.H. Benson). In any case, it seems to me that if I am to say anything at all, I must not desperately search for interesting topics but simply return to the most basic things. It occurs to me to ask myself: what would you say to people if you had just one chance to say something?

Probably the first and most fundamental thing I would say is this: Believe in Jesus. What? You already believe in Jesus? Perhaps, then, I've nothing more to say. But wait. What does it mean to believe in Jesus? That He existed? That He died for our sins and rose from the dead? That in itself may be hard for some people to believe, but it really isn't nearly enough for true and full Christian faith. I fear that there are relatively few true Christians here in the West. Maybe even you aren't one of them; maybe I'm not, either. There are a lot more in Asia and Africa and the Middle East. Why is that? Historically, they received the Gospel mostly from Westerners, after all. I think it comes down to what Jesus means to them and hence what they are willing to endure for his sake.

I recently read a book entitled The Heavenly Man, by the Chinese evangelical pastor, Brother Yun. He was imprisoned several times for his faith, in China and in Myanmar (Burma). He was separated from his family, beaten, tortured, starved, and put to forced hard labor; he became very sick and full of parasites due to the filthy conditions in which he was forced to live for months or years at a time. But, like St Paul, he rejoiced in his sufferings; he grew spiritually through harsh adversity. He loved the Lord so much he could sing to Him in the midst of terrible pain and hardship. And the Lord blessed him abundantly.

Brother Yun is only one of many thousands of Christians who have had to suffer like this, and one of many millions who daily live under persecution, under threat of imprisonment, torture, and death for Jesus' sake. They really believe in Him; He is everything to them; they live not for this world but for the Kingdom of Heaven. They are true Christians. It doesn't matter if many of them are not Catholic. Martyrs for Christ are not required to present certificates of Church membership at the Pearly Gates. The Searcher of Hearts knows those who are his.

Christianity is pretty easy for us here in the West. It's even kind of a "take it or leave it" thing for a lot of people, and many are content to be nominal Christians (which is a contradiction in terms; if you are a Christian merely in name you are not a Christian at all.) Sure, we might be made to feel uncomfortable in certain circles if it is known that we believe in Jesus. But no one going to confiscate all our possessions or send us to prison—or torture us to death—because we believe in Christ. Maybe that's one reason why our faith is not too strong or why it's not, in practice, the "one thing necessary" for our entire life here on earth. Maybe we're not real Christians unless it costs us dearly to be such. I'm not entirely sure about that yet, or how universally it may apply. But I do know that for decades Christianity has been severely declining in the West and sharply rising in places where one suffers for being a Christian. Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. You love most that for which you are willing to suffer most.

Perhaps now you will consider more thoughtfully the question concerning your faith in Jesus. To believe in Him really means to walk the way of the Cross with Him and to love Him even when doing so brings much hardship into your life. It means doing all things with his will alone as the chief criterion and goal. Believing in Jesus also means accepting what He has handed on through his Apostles and thus the Church. The Jesus we believe in cannot be, if our faith is to be genuine, a Jesus of our own making, a Jesus in our own image, a Jesus who likes only what we like, a non-demanding, non-judgmental, warm-fuzzy Jesus. We believe rather in the Jesus of the Bible and Holy Tradition, the eternal Son of the Living God, the Savior of the world, the Judge of the living and the dead.

What else would I say? A sort of corollary to believing in Jesus is not putting your trust in the "world." One who knew Jesus personally and profoundly once wrote: "Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the pride of life, is not of the Father but is of the world. And the world with its seductions is passing away; but he who does the will of God abides forever" (1John 2:15-17).

Now it should be clear that when he says not to love "the things in the world" he's not talking about flowers and mountains and stars and oceans and spouses and children. We ought to love those things in the world. He actually does explain what he means, though not in great detail. "All that is in the world," according to the evangelist, and which we should not love, is "the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the pride of life." I've explained this "threefold concupiscence" in some detail in a previous issue, so I needn't repeat myself here, but these things in the world are basically things that are products of, or sources of, or have some relation to, human sin. Most sins can be reduced in one way or another to some form of lust or pride. The combination of these two produced the original sin in Eden and have been at work in human souls ever since.

The world is full of sin; sin is inimical to true faith in Jesus and can even drive it out of a soul. Being a true believer in Jesus will land you in Heaven for an eternity of joy and blessing. Loving that which is not of the Father, the things of the world which breed sin, will land you in Hell for an equally endless eternity of torment and horror. It's not a matter of God being mad that you lusted after the things of the world and rejected Him in the process, and now He's getting you back for it. He is simply grieved that you twisted your soul so terribly as to have rendered yourself unable to choose what is really good for you, what would have given you true and lasting happiness. He reluctantly lets you go the way you have chosen, because freedom is a precious gift, something that is part of his image in us, so He will not destroy or hinder it.

That is why the second thing I would tell you is not to put your trust in the world and the things of the world. It is all passing away, for all the things that people lust after in this world are earthly, material, and as such will not last for ever. But desire is something spiritual and remains in the soul. The power of desire is a power of the soul, and the soul is immortal. If one's power of desire has habitually been directed toward that which passes away, toward that which is not of God, toward that which is against all that faith in Jesus stands for, then one will be found incapable of desiring God in the end, when God is the only goal of desire left in the universe. One must then proceed in despair to the place where people eternally lust after things which no longer exist, for they refused in this life to direct their desire toward He-Who-Is, the only true fulfillment of the deepest longing of every soul created in his image.

Is there anything else I would say? Perhaps it would be that you should join AA. I don't mean Alcoholics Anonymous (unless you need it). I mean "Abandon Anxiety." It shouldn't be hard to gain admittance to this group, since it has so few members (for so few qualify) and is always anxious to gain more—no, I mean, it is always eager and willing to gain more. See how the language of anxiety comes so easily? Well, it does to me, anyway. I think for me it is harder to abandon anxiety than to believe in Jesus or to renounce the world. That may simply be part of my temperament, but I see that it involves a contradiction that I'm anxious to overcome.

You see, if I really believed in Jesus, with all that entails—especially the willingness to suffer for his sake and that of the Gospel—then of whom or of what should I be afraid, or what could make me anxious? Even if there were some grave external threat to myself or to the monastery as such, if I trusted in God's providence and will, I should still be at peace. If it is his will that I or the monastery come crashing down, who am I to argue with his wisdom? I ought to trust that He knows what He's doing and has something in mind that is for our benefit and salvation. I suppose I'm more anxious about my own faults and weaknesses than any external threat, for the Lord has to be more cautious in navigating the labyrinth of free will, and it is in fact within my power to throw stupidly away my salvation, which Jesus has suffered to win and which I (at least as far as I can tell) ordinarily desire quite heartily. It's one thing to say you believe in Jesus and even hope for salvation from Him, but when Judgment Day rolls around and all are handing in their multiplied talents while you are still trying to remember the place in the ground you buried yours, professions of faith are quite useless. So I tend to be a little anxious about that, though I also put my hope in the Lord's mercy—really, the only hope anyone has, don't kid yourself—knowing He has managed to save the likes of me in the past, and his mercy is not yet spent.

The Lord has had much to say about anxiety, and nothing good. It's all about giving it up. Here are three sample passages of Jesus' teaching on anxiety: "Do not be anxious" (Mt 6:25); "Do not be anxious" (Mt 6:31); and finally, "Do not be anxious" (Mt 6:34). I think it's not difficult to grasp the essence of what He is saying. The difficult thing is trying to untie that knot in your stomach, the one that develops spontaneously without consulting your Scripture studies first. It may seem to be an impossible task, but we've all our lives to get it right. Trust in God is really a precious commodity. It's part of that package called "believing in Jesus"; one is not possible without the other.

St Paul finally reminds us: "Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus" (Phil. 4:6-7). So trust doesn't exclude asking for help; just notice that the Apostle says we are to let our requests be made known to God "with thanksgiving." That says almost all we need to know about trust. The fruit of grateful, trusting prayer is peace, beyond all understanding, which means, in part, peace when there may seem to be no logical reason for you to have peace in your present circumstances.

I suppose if you prodded me enough I might come up with other things I'd like to say if I had only one chance. But I will leave you with just one more, and then your life will be complete: Live the Great Commandment. Actually there are two of these, but they come in the same package and cannot be separated: Love God with your whole heart, mind, soul, and strength, and love your neighbor. I don't want to say here "as yourself," since people like to go on all kinds of psychological detours about that, and then they become so self-absorbed as they try to discover if they really love themselves that they never quite get around to loving their neighbor. So even if you don't love yourself, or don't love yourself rightly, love your neighbor anyway and you'll come out ahead.

What could go wrong, spiritually seen, if your life is spent loving God and loving other people? This gives us the opportunity to practice a host of virtues, not only that of religion in our direct worship and prayer to God, but in loving our neighbor we get to be patient, forgiving, generous, self-sacrificing, etc. The Lord showed us in the parable of the Good Samaritan that our neighbor is anyone who needs our love, and, as a sort of corollary, He also told us that there's no credit in loving only those who love us. We think love is a many-splendored thing when our beloved is likewise many-splendored. But when we are called to love wholly unsplendored beings, aye, there's the rub.

This Great Commandment business is quite demanding, and even though God is infinitely more lovable and marvelous and beautiful and awe-inspiring (and infinitely less cranky, rude, malicious, annoying or hurtful) than any human being could be, we still may find the Most High rather exasperating at times, simply because his ways are not our ways and we are clueless and impatient and afraid of suffering and all the rest. So it may even be an effort sometimes to love God, at least as wholeheartedly, whole-mindedly, etc, as we are required. But this is our life, the whole of it, essentially, and if we fail here, we are eternal failures. So love God and love one another. It's the only right way to live and the only right way to die.

You may have noticed, in reading what I've had to say, that these four things—believing in Jesus, avoiding the world's seductions, abandoning anxiety, and loving God and neighbor—are not just random ideas drawn out of a hat. They include and presuppose each other. (I must confess that I had no idea what I would say when I sat down to write this, so these elements were not part of a pre-meditated clever presentation!) They are all woven into the same seamless garment of life in God, life in this world that leads to eternal life. If any of these falls out of the picture, your life will be thrown off balance, for you will be disobeying the word of God and will even be placing your salvation in jeopardy. (I might add that if you are in fact neurotically anxious, you can still be saved if you are faithful to the other three, but your life will still be pretty miserable, and I would spare you that.) Know what's important; know what's not. Live accordingly. This is the simple and saving way.

So, that's all I'd like to say. If I never say anything else, do those things and you will live. And may the blessing of the Lord be upon you, through his grace and love for mankind, both now and forever. Amen.

—Abbot Joseph

Prayer seems more focused if I have a "feel" for whomever or whatever I'm praying for. China has been often in my prayer for years, partly for sympathy with our persecuted brothers and sisters there, and partly because, from my amateur reading, I like China. If you're praying for China, perhaps this latest effort at a quick sketch of her history might help.

Here we focus on Christianity, though Christians have been mostly absent or marginal in China. China treasures her ways; mountains and seas have mostly protected her from foreign changes. Foreigners have often been a trouble to China, making them unwelcome. Our Church is old; China is old. Vatican II's position allows for respect; this may be helpful. We are in an era of change; one can't say how things will go in the near future.

MID-1^ST—MID-7^TH CENTURIES: China has already had Taoism and Confucianism in her culture for centuries, when Christ Jesus is born. The legend about apostle St. Thomas preaching in China is said to have no solid foundation. Sorry: no news about Christians in China during this period. Buddhism was founded in India in the 6^th century, and will flourish deeply, well, and long in China.

MID-7^TH—MID-9^TH CENTURIES: In A.D. 635, during the T'ang dynasty, a Nestorian monk named Alopen arrived in China from the Middle East and settled near the capital city of Sian, in the Shensi province. From this came a respectful reception at court, Nestorian missionaries, the translation of hundreds of Christian books into Chinese, and the building in different regions of monasteries from which Nestorian Christianity spread. In English, "Alopen" sounds like "I'll open," which is appropriate: he opened the first known contact between China and any form of Christianity.

In A.D. 781, a marble slab was inscribed, describing Alopen's arrival and the subsequent development of the Nestorian Church in China. This historical monument, nearly eight feet tall, also gave the names and titles of about 70 missionaries. Nestorianism was flourishing.

MID-9^TH—10^TH CENTURIES: In 845 an Imperial Decree was issued, aiming at the destruction of Buddhist monasteries. It also set the Christians back pretty hard.

11^TH—13^TH CENTURIES: During this period, Nestorian Christianity again flourished. So did the neighboring Mongolians, who proceeded to conquer nearly the entire known world—including Eastern Europe, much of southern Asia, and most of China—and kept it for a few generations. When Kublai was elected—yes, elected—Khan, he completed the Mongolian conquest of China, united the land (which had been divided for a few centuries), and so this brilliant general and statesman became the first Mongol emperor of China, and founder of the Yuan or Mongol Dynasty (1271).

Marco Polo, his father and his uncle visited China in the 13^th century, making Kublai Khan famous in Europe, and reporting that the Nestorian Christians had spread into northern, central, and southern China. (Tombs, sarcophagi, and crosses with Christian names and Syriac script were found in China from this era, not so long ago.) Kublai Khan had Mr. Polo deliver a letter to the Pope, asking for 100 missionaries. (He might have sent it by the Mongolian Pony Express—they did have such a thing, and it was swift—but perhaps thought His Holiness might find Mr. Polo's services more respectful.)

14^TH CENTURY During the 14^th century, Franciscans arrived as missionaries in China, just after Kublai Khan's death; one of them, John of Monte Corvino, became Archbishop of Khanbaliq. (That means "City of Great Khan"; it had become the capital city and would later be called "Peking" or, nowadays, "Beijing.")

The Franciscans started well but, unfortunately, the great plague hit Europe, preventing further support for them. China also suffered, from a great flood, occasioning a mighty rebellion that chased the Mongolians clear out of the land, and established the Chinese Ming dynasty. The Franciscan missions declined; they vanished. (The Nestorians did, too.)

It is said that most historians conclude that very few Chinese were converted—by Nestorians or by Franciscans. In the 14^th century there may have been 30,000 Catholics in China, for example, but probably not Chinese. When the nation expelled their foreign dynasty, everything allied with it was thrown out as well. So, we may say that the Nestorians and the Franciscans came and went, doing what good they could while there, and were gone. And so we say:

MID-14^TH—LATE 16^TH CENTURIES:   No Christians in China.

16^TH CENTURY In Europe, the Reformation and the Protestant Churches began. Portugese navigators re-discovered a way to China, but found China very reluctant to admit any foreigners. St. Francis Xavier (early Jesuit) tried to enter but died (1552), only a few miles from the mainland. For 30 years Jesuits, Augustinians and Dominicans tried, but were not allowed, either. Only merchants could enter—and only in Canton; and only for short periods—and only under strict supervision. Foreigners were decidedly most unwelcome.

Italian Jesuits (Valignano, Ruggieri, and Ricci), however, adapted to Chinese culture and, in 1583, two were allowed into China.

17^TH CENTURY In 1601, after 18 years in China, Matteo Ricci was allowed to settle in Peking, and his work bore fruit: at his death there were 2,500 Catholics in China, many from the educated class, and 9 of the 18 Jesuits there were Chinese. The Jesuit mission was established, and Chinese were accepting Christ.

Augustinians and Dominicans were then allowed as well; soon, every province was hearing the Gospel. Nobility at court converted and sent letters asking the Pope and the Jesuit superior general for prayers and more missionaries.

Then the Manchu attacked from the north, missions were devastated, and missionaries were divided as China was caught up in another change of dynasties (1643). Some missionaries were expelled or imprisoned, others found favor at court. Their services in science and diplomacy won favor—at last, Emperor K'ang Shi allowed the Christian religion to be preached freely.

18^TH CENTURY In 1700, the Catholic Church in China was most numerous (300,000) but problems brewed. Rome established vicariates in China, conflicting with the rights Rome had previously granted Portugal (and making problems for the missionaries). The Chinese Rite, favored by all missionaries, was opposed by offices in Rome.

When the papal legate delivered Rome's decision to prohibit the Chinese Rite, the Emperor expelled him, and required all missionaries to respect the rites and customs of China. When Rome insisted, Emperor K'ang Shi did, too: he prohibited the preaching of Christianity and deported all missionaries except those at court. His successors intensified the persecution and most missionaries were deported; then the death penalty was established for preaching or embracing Christianity. Persecution flared from time to time in the provinces; only missionaries with the Emperor were safe. Many Christians died in the persecution of 1784-85 and few missionaries remained in China after that. Thus Rome saw that these were ways of conducting missions that do not work. (With the French Revolution, the suppression of the Jesuit order, and the Napoleonic wars, the bishops in China were on their own, hard pressed to keep Chinese Christianity alive for better times. These were very hard times, in both China and Europe, for Christianity.)

19^TH—20^TH CENTURIES: Another severe persecution, 1796-1820, brought the expulsion of the few remaining foreigners from Peking. As for Catholics, there were roughly 230,000 by 1840, missionaries fewer than 40, and Chinese priests fewer than 40.

In the 19^th century, China was forced into unwanted treaties with European nations, which included forcing China to accept Christian missions and churches. Anti-Christian sentiment continued, which erupted from time to time in a number of violent rebellions and persecutions (e.g. T'ai P'ing Rebellion of 1850-64; Massacre at Tientsin; and especially the Boxer Rebellion of 1900). The European powers would make use of such violence to justify military action and to gain further concessions.

In the 20^th century, the monarchy fell in 1911, a weak republic was proclaimed, during which missions of course suffered from the turmoil, and as unity was being restored, the Sino-Japanese War and World War II upset everything in China again. Yet missions had progressed; the Catholics, for example, had grown to 3,000,000 by 1938 and many Catholic institutions had been established, including schools and hospitals. The Pope had consecrated six Chinese bishops in 1926, and the veneration of Confucius, ceremonies honoring deceased ancestors, and other national customs were declared by the Holy See to be purely civil and hence permissible to Catholics. A well-trained Chinese clergy was established, along with sound institutions, and things looked very favorable.

MID-20^TH CENTURY And once again, everything fell apart, for the Communists came into power in 1949 and began a severe persecution that has lasted till our own day. In the last few decades, despite harsh persecution, the underground Church has been flourishing and spreads the Gospel of Christ today.

—Brother Seraphim

"I pray and I pray," a friend told me a while back, "but I think this is one prayer request that the Lord is saying 'No' to." The suffering in this man's life was substantial, but he made a conscious effort to persevere in prayer. He prayed, the suffering continued, he prayed more and asked for some relief, but heaven was silent. "Is God listening to me?" my friend asked dryly. I assured him our prayers are always heard because it is God Who inspires our desire to pray. We've all experienced the frustration in not receiving a quick reply or an answer in a way that meets our approval.

God wants to give good things to His children, but sometimes we're our own worst enemy. God is helping us, but perhaps we can't see His intervention because we may be attached to the thing we're asking Him to deliver us from. He may be calling us to remove something that keeps Him at a distance from us. Trust in the Lord. He wants to fill your life with His riches. Don't be afraid of change, be afraid of a stagnant life.

God invites us each day to unite ourselves to Him. He wants you close to Him because He loves you in an intimate way. Through prayer, we unite ourselves to Him and find joy in returning His goodness back to Him as an extension of His glory. You'll find yourself eager to love the difficult person for God's glory, to suffer a hurt or disappointment for God's glory, to rejoice in the abundant goodness in your life for God's glory, the list goes on and on.

Pentecost gives us the courage to rejoice in the Lord in all circumstances. It's easy to rejoice during a spiritual "wedding at Cana" in your life. The challenge comes during the darker moments when God seems very distant. You are suffering, but it's then when you can remember that you're not alone in your hurt. Christ suffered too, and you've been given an opportunity to resemble Him in an infinitely smaller way. It's not the amount of suffering that's important. It's remembering God is holding your hand during those moments, holding your hand and loving you in return. "I'm here, My beloved. I will not leave you."

There's a story of a person who was going through a difficult time. Problems arose in her life that intensified while more problems entered her life. The darkness in her life seemed insurmountable, but she never gave up on prayer. Finally, she told the Lord, "I'm hurting, Lord, and feel crushed by the weight of these problems. What have I done to You?" From the depths of her heart came the reply, "You have loved Me, my child."

The inevitable suffering in our lives can add to the richness of our earthly sojourn because we are given the amazing chance to unite our pain to Christ and help a multitude of souls (1 Ptr 2:21). God is a loving Father Who gives us the means to do this for His glory. It's a gift you don't want to miss out on.

—Br James

The doctrine if the Most Holy Trinity (that we believe in one God in three Persons) is a joy and a wonder, but for me it has also provided a puzzle to wrestle with for about 30 years, so it was with joy that I recently saw resolution of my puzzlement. I will offer these thoughts, in case anyone shares a similar puzzlement.

With me, the puzzlement was this: it seems that we are persons (or personal beings) because we can choose; and choose, not like robots or computers, but on the basis of our valuing; and choosing and valuing in a way that won't atrophy for lack of use, but remains because we act upon them.

This being the case (thought I), why ever do we consider our Lord God Most High to be three in persons, when He has only one divine Will and divine Power?

There: that was a stumper for me! And that, despite having the answer staring me in the face, in many readings that I consulted. A good poring over some articles in the New Catholic Encyclopedia recently, however, brought me the light (thank you, writers of encyclopedia articles!).

Here's the way out of this puzzlement: it finally dawned on me that I had mistaken person for spirit (probably because in any person or spirit except the Most Holy Trinity, they go so completely together). Just think: what makes one a spirit is the having of will, the ability to value and choose; and let what makes one a person be what makes us relate to others. Then the tangle will unravel and become straight.

—Br Seraphim

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