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1 January 1982 My dear Mother Rogé, my dear Sisters, and Father Lloret, Let me begin by expressing a prayer that this New Year, which is but a few hours old, will be for all of us a year of grace. There was a time in past centuries when people qualified every year in the calendar with that little phrase, "the year of grace." Although we do not use that phrase so frequently now, it is true, nonetheless, that for us Christians the year that has just begun is "the year of grace, 1982." All our years are years of grace because the mercy of God endures forever. But just as each year has its seasons with their own particular beauty, so there are seasons of God's grace, each with its own particular beauty. For people living in some parts of the world, there are just two seasons, the rainy season and the dry season. For us here in Europe, there are four seasons. Each season, however, has its own particular beauty, just as each season or epoch in our lives has its own particular beauty. As a new year opens, each of us wonders if perhaps it might be the last one which God is giving us on this earth. The elderly amongst us are particularly preoccupied with this thought. Allow me just to say this to the elderly and infirm, that just as there is a peculiar quality of beauty about the dawn, and a magnificent clarity in the noon-day light, so too is there a particular beauty about the sunset. I hope that our elderly and infirm Sisters will receive the grace of being able to see that peculiar beauty which, however difficult it may be for us to see, God gives to the sunset of a long life dedicated to Him in the service of the poor. This year of grace, 1982, will have its own special quality of beauty as God's grace reveals itself to the Church, to the Community and to ourselves as individuals. At the Community level we know there will be a special quality about the grace which God will offer us, because for a few months yet we will continue to celebrate the fourth centenary year of St. Vincent's birthday. Birthday celebrations are always a time of special grace, a time of special rejoicing. Birthday celebrations are occasions for the giving of gifts. I am certain that God is offering our own Communities some special gifts with which to celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of the birthday of his servant, Vincent de Paul. Of that there is no doubt, for we have had many proofs from the accounts we have received from the different provinces of the world. All of us are guests at this birthday celebration and one does not come to a birthday celebration empty-handed. So a good question for all of us who are celebrating St. Vincent's four hundredth birthday is this: What particular gift have I offered to his Community during this year of celebration? I do not mean gifts wrapped in fancy paper. The sort of gift I have in mind is the quality of my charity within the Community, the effort I have made to understand better those with whom I live, my spiritual contribution to the local community. In a word, can I truthfully say that I've brought such a gift to my Community, that I have enriched it and in that way have made it more easy for my Community to serve the poor? It is the year of grace, 1982. The grace of God is a mystery. St. Thérèse of Lisieux used to say, "tout est grace." Everything is grace. Perhaps because everything is grace, it is all the more mysterious to us. Events in our lives, appointments that we received in the past, the composition of our communities that we are asked to accept, may strain our faith to see how these events, these people, are graces to us. But the perspective of the years very often does enable us, especially if we are sufficiently humble and pure of heart, to see that these events, these people, these Sisters, were, in fact, real graces to us and that everything, sin excepted, is grace. Even our sins, which we find difficult at times to admit and accept, can be transformed into occasions of grace. For has not God in His goodness provided us with a Sacrament to enable us to repent and to be reconciled with Him and with the members of His body, so that even our sins can become occasions of grace for us? "Tout est grace." If we are to rejoice in the grace of God--and the grace of God is given to us in order to enable us to rejoice (doesn't the very word, grace, mean favor, gift, and gifts are given to us to rejoice our hearts)--we must have eyes that see and ears that hear. That in turn demands a reflecting heart, the sort of heart which Our Lady had and with which, according to St. Luke, she "pondered all things in her heart." (Lk 2:19). I often think that Our Lady must have had a marvelous capacity for wonder. The Magnificat bears that out, for the Magnificat is a song whose theme is wonder at "the great things" which God had done for her and for her race, and indeed for us all. There can be no wonder in our lives without silence, and the capacity or ability to be silent in order to be able to wonder is something which over the past decade or more, has slipped down, I feel, in the scale of values in our Communities. We are called to the service of the poor, but our service must come from a heart which resembles that of Our Lady who knew how to be silent, who knew how to wonder, who knew how to marvel at the grace of God, without which we can do nothing. No conference or address of St. Vincent ever ended without some real, down-to-earth, practical advice, and so, following his own practice, could I suggest to you that you try to snatch more moments of reflection during the day, to cultivate silence of the heart, so that you may be able to wonder at the grace of God that is all around us, like the air we breathe. In large measure it is the use we make of silence and reflection that makes us the sort of persons we are becoming. To dig continually a well of silence in our lives is to have an assurance that the living water of God's grace will keep springing up, especially when we need it to help the needy who thirst for God's grace and kindness, and seek it from our hands and lips and hearts. Above all, my dear Sisters, try to reserve some moments of silence after Holy Communion, so that you can wonder at the great thing God has done and is doing to you. The experience of receiving the body and blood of Our Lord daily may have lost something of its wonder for us, precisely because we are not silent enough--and for long enough--after that great encounter has taken place. Moments of silence after Holy Communion enable us to deepen our capacity to wonder at what must be among the greatest of graces that a human being can enjoy, namely, to be fed by the living Body and Blood of the Risen Christ. In a very striking sentence St. Vincent said: "Remember this, my daughters, the principal devotion of a Daughter of Charity is to make a good Holy Communion." (Conf. Eng. ed., 22 Jan. 1646, p. 212). And I, for my part, might dare to add that it is difficult to make a good Holy Communion without silence. When St. Vincent spoke to the Daughters of Charity on the 1 January 1654 on "How to Behave when Living Away from the Mother House...), he made this observation: "Make yourselves beloved by all by the example of a good life. The good odor you have given has led to your being asked for in several places. And why so? It is because a little flower of your charity has been observed." (Conf. Eng. ed., 1 Jan. 1654, p. 593). May that flower of charity, which I, too, have noticed everywhere I have visited your communities during the past year, grow stronger. In a word, in this year of grace, may we all be "the aroma of Christ" (2 Cor 2:15) Who came not to be served but to serve, especially those who have most need of His love, of His truth, and of His grace--the poor. But first may you all in your own lives and throughout each day of this year of grace have fresh experience of His love, of His truth. For all is grace, "tout est grace". |