Hagia Sophia COMMENT

hagiaprayercard

Hi, Wiiliam, 
It so happened that the COMPLINE of Thomas Merton in Hagia Sophia giving us our actual Compline.
And your underlining is enlightening. - and the pictures.
Thank you,
. . . . Donald
________________________________

--- On Fri, 20/1/12, William . . .

From: William
Subject: Re: [Blog] Hagia Sophia. Thomas Merton
To: "Fr Donald"
Date: Friday, 20 January, 2012, 19:36

Dear Father Donald,

 

hagiabroadside

What a joy and a delight to be sharing this wonderful book with you at one and the same time!

 

I cannot remember when any book held my fascination as this one has done.

 

With great excitement I found on the internet the image of Sophia (as on page 300), and one that has subtle variation [attachments].

And these are the lines of the poem highlighted below that capture it for me..."It is she, it is Mary, Sophia...."

 

Wonderful! 

. . . in Our Lord,

William

 

IV. Sunset. The Hour of Compline. Salve Regina.

Now the Blessed Virgin Mary is the one created being
who enacts and shows forth in her life all that is hidden in Sophia.
Because of this she can be said to be a personal manifestation
of Sophia, Who in God is Ousia rather than Person.

Natura in Mary becomes pure Mother. In her, Natura
is as she was from the origin from her divine birth. In Mary Natura
is all wise and is manifested as an all-prudent, all-loving, all-pure person:
not a Creator, and not a Redeemer, but perfect Creature, perfectly
Redeemed, the fruit of all God's great power, the perfect expression
of wisdom in mercy.

It is she, it is Mary, Sophia, who in sadness and joy, with the full awareness
of what she is doing, sets upon the Second Person, the Logos, a crown
which is His Human Nature. Thus her consent opens the door of created
nature, of time, of history, to the Word of God.

God enters into His creation. Through her wise answer, through her obedient
understanding, through the sweet yielding consent of Sophia, God enters
without publicity into the city of rapacious men.

She crowns Him not with what is glorious, but with
what is greater than glory: the one thing greater than
glory is weakness, nothingness, poverty.

She sends the infinitely Rich and Powerful One forth
as poor and helpless, in His mission of inexpressible
mercy, to die for us on the Cross.

The shadows fall. The stars appear. The birds begin to sleep.
Night embraces the silent half of the earth. A vagrant, a destitute
wanderer with dusty feet, finds his way down a new road. A
homeless God, lost in the night, without papers, without
identifications, without even a number, a frail expendable exile
lies down in desolation under the sweet stars of the world and
entrusts Himself to sleep.