Leap Year Prayer

I have just returned from a very moving ecumenical service to commemorate the tragic burning of the reformer Patrick Hamilton at the stake in St. Andrews as a heretic on February 29, 1528. We concluded the service, whipped by the winter wind and drizzle, Protestant and Catholics together, praying the Lord’s Prayer and praying for unity.

Spot where Patrick Hamilton was burned at the stake.

Today coincidentally is also the Leap year feast of John Cassian, the fifth century monk who wrote so beautifully about the Lord’s Prayer. As I reflect on the many sad and painful things symbolized by the treatment of Patrick Hamilton and many others in the long history of the church and world, I offer Cassian’s words on the meaning of what today seems to be the most telling petition of this great prayer, “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us”, as a small way to light our way to forgiveness and unity:

XXII.1. “‘And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’ Oh, the unspeakable mercy of God! It has not merely given us a form of prayer and taught us how to act in a manner acceptable to him, uprooting both anger and sadness through the requirements of the formula that he gave, by which he ordered that we should always pray it. It has also conferred on those who pray an opportunity by disclosing to them the way that they may bring upon themselves the merciful and kind judgment of God, and it has conferred a certain power by which we can moderate the sentence of our Judge, persuading him to pardon our sins by the example of our own forgiveness, when we tell him: ‘Forgive us as we forgive.’

2. “And so, securely confident in this prayer, a person who has been forgiving to his own debtors and not to his Lord’s will ask pardon for his offenses. For some of us — which is bad — are accustomed to show ourselves mild and very merciful with respect to things that are committed to God’s disadvantage, although they may be great crimes, but to be very harsh and inexorable exactors with respect to the debts of even the slightest offenses committed against ourselves.

3. Whoever, then, does not from his heart forgive the brother who has offended him will, by this entreaty, be asking not for pardon but for condemnation for himself, and by his own say-so he will be requesting a harsher judgment for himself when he says: Forgive me as I also have forgiven. And when he has been dealt with according to his own petition, what else will the consequence be that that, following his own example, he will be punished with an implacable anger and an irremissible condemnation? Therefore, if we wish to be judged mercifully, we must ourselves be merciful toward those who have offended us. For we shall be forgiven to the degree that we have forgiven those who have injured us by any wrongdoing whatsoever.

4. “Some people fear this, and when this prayer is recited together in church by the whole congregation they pass over this line in silence, lest by their own words they obligate rather than excuse themselves. They do not understand that it is in vain that they contrive to quibble in this way with the Judge of all, who wished to show beforehand how he would judge his suppliants. For since he does not wish to be harsh and inexorable toward them, he indicated the form that his judgment would take. Thus, just as we want to be judged by him, so also we should judge our brothers if they have offended us in anything, ‘because there is judgement without mercy for the one who has not acted mercifully.”

 

The Days of Small Things

Sometimes a person whom you have never heard of before has had a profound influence on aspects of your life. In my case, such a person was N.F.S. Grundtvig, a Danish poet, scholar, philosopher and bishop who lived from 1783 to 1872. Growing up in America with a keen appreciation of my Norwegian and Scandinavian heritage, I always dimly knew that the aesthetic and spiritual synthesis of the far North, combining as it did medieval mythology and art with Christian teaching, was something very deep in my heart. Some years ago, my wife Sabine and I began to collect Danish art, and more and more became aware of the important influence of Gruntdvig on many Scandinavian artists and architects in the nineteenth and early twentieth century. Among his many other accomplishments, Grundtvig stressed that the artistic and cultural achievements of medieval Scandinavia, and indeed the folk culture of his own time, deserved to be celebrated and valued as much as those of Ancient Greece and Rome. This insight has had a remarkable influence on Scandinavian cultural consciousness, both at home and in diaspora.

N.F.S. Grundtvig

Grundtvig was also the greatest Danish hymn writer of his century, and many of his hymns resonate with a deep love of nature, and the joy that should underlie the Christian life. He also came to see that it was in our daily work, the arts and crafts we all engage in, that we give quiet glory to God, in the intimate and familiar settings of home and congregations. One of his hymns, Do not despise the days of small things, based on Zechariah 4:6-10, celebrates this essential aspect of the spiritual life, namely that it is in the stuff of every day life that we must strive for holiness, and that our simple and persistent efforts in this regard, clothed in empathy, compassion, humility and love for those around us, are how we really build “a shadow of God’s mansions great.”

“Do not despise the days of small things!”
was said when Israel again
a temple to the God of all things
was building in Jerusalem,
a shadow of the former one,
the temple of king Solomon.

“Do not despise the days of small things!”
is said to us, too, as we build
a house of God, the Lord of all things.
That word has us with comfort filled.
We build a house of humble state,
a shadow of God’s mansions great.

Do not despise that means are humble,
here helps no mighty, pow’rful hand.
Yet even mountain tops shall tumble:
God’s Spirit works as He has planned.
Let quiet, loving work proceed,
in time the works of hearts succeed.

As humble hearts in chests residing
so is our cottage church below.
But God the Spirit is providing
the glorious light by which we grow,
and as a cornerstone secure
God’s Word forever will endure.

Do not despise the days of small things!
It will succeed as Scripture says:
Our gracious Lord, the God of all things,
the feeble hands of men will bless.
Who the foundation humbly laid
shall see the house for which they prayed.

Cyril of Jerusalem

In the decades following an important church council, the question of how to spread the council’s teachings often becomes predominant. This was true after the Council of Trent in the sixteenth century, and most recently, the Second Vatican Council, when important catechisms were produced some years later. Likewise, in the tumultuous fourth century, which saw intense doctrinal ferment and a dramatic growth in converts to Christianity, a central Christian text is the catechetical work of Bishop Cyril of Jerusalem (c. 315-386). Selections from his Catechetical Lectures, which were given to catechumens in the Jerusalem church in preparation for their baptism, still can be found in the current Office of Readings in the Roman Rite. Among these are the fourth and fifth lectures on the mysteries, which directly concern the meaning of the Eucharist. These two lectures, usually attributed to Cyril, were very influential in the development of thought on this sacrament in the Christian East. The fourth century had seen a “liturgical revolution” of sorts, because the acceptance and patronage of the church by the Roman government had led to a much more public and ceremonial celebration of the sacraments, gradually developing into the beautiful Eastern Christian liturgies known to us today. This increased emphasis on the awesomeness and mystery of the eucharistic sacrifice is reflected in the writings of Cyril, but his explanations of the significance of our liturgical actions are as timely today as ever.

The fourth lecture addresses the Christian belief that reception of the eucharist is indeed a direct and real partaking of the body and blood of Christ. The words of Christ himself, as related in the gospels and by St. Paul, explicitly command this faith and action. Cyril recognizes that then, as now, many people have trouble believing this, particularly since this belief seems to contradict the evidence of the senses, or can be misinterpreted in a carnal or even cannibalistic way. Yet, Cyril asks, can this not be accomplished by the God who turned water into wine at Cana, or rose from the dead? He unequivocally asserts the centrality of the eucharist to our understanding of ourselves as the Mystical Body of Christ:

“With perfect confidence, then, we partake as of the Body and Blood of Christ. For in the figure of bread His Body is given to you, and in the figure of wine His Blood, that by partaking of the Body and Blood of Christ you may become of one body and blood with Him. For when His Body and Blood become the tissue of our members, we become Christ-bearers and as the blessed Peter said, ‘partakers of the divine nature’.”¹

Like many of the Fathers, Cyril develops a rich exegesis based upon the premise that the eucharist is prefigured in many Old Testament passages. His central point is that reception of Communion makes us all into “the sanctuary of God,” a beautiful term rich in biblical imagery and connotations. This should be a cause for rejoicing, and eating this mystical bread and wine strengthens and refreshes heart and soul.

In the fifth lecture the eucharist is an awesome mystery, to be approached in a spirit of humility before God and fellowship with our neighbor. This is reflected in the need for penance and reconciliation. The kiss of peace is thus “a sign of a true union of hearts, banishing every grudge. The kiss, then, is a reconciliation and therefore holy.” Penance and reconciliation with our neighbor is a prelude to focusing on God, represented by the exhortation of the celebrant to “lift up our hearts.”

Cyril points out that Christians should always strive to recall they are in the divine presence, and although this is not possible due to human weakness, the eucharistic prayer requires our full concentration. The place of the human being as part of the wider creation is recalled in the “Sanctus,” in which we participate directly in the sacrifice of praise being offered constantly to God by the angels. The Holy Spirit is invoked, because whatever the Spirit touches is sanctified and changed. Following the consecration, intercessory prayers are made “for all who need help.” For Cyril this involves invoking the prayers of the saints, and praying for the dead. The fellowship in this sweeping liturgical vision thus unites the whole mystical body, seen and unseen, with Christ.

The communal recitation of the Lord’s Prayer before receiving communion summarizes all of these themes. If we have truly forgiven one another, and are reconciled to God, we can ask for the coming of the kingdom and call God “Father” without fear. As Cyril puts it, we being cleansed by the Holy Spirit are made holy, and are invited to receive the offerings which have been made holy by that same Spirit. After having approached and received with reverence, the Christian should wait in silence for the closing prayers, “and give thanks to the God who has deigned to admit you to such high mysteries.”

1. All quotations taken from The Works of Saint Cyril of Jerusalem. The Catholic University of America Press, Washington D.C. Vol. 2. pp. 181-203.

 

 

Grace-Filled Gratitude

There are many things to be grateful for, and there are many things I thought I would never see. The recent meeting of Pope Francis and Patriarch Kirill of Moscow is certainly one of those things. No one knows what the future holds, and there is much to ponder in their joint declaration, with many bumps and surprises, both welcome and unexpected, on the road ahead. But for a brief moment today, following the moving pilgrimage of Pope Francis to the beloved and truly significant shrine of Our Lady of Gaudalupe, Patroness of the Americas, I just want to rest in the words of the final paragraph of their joint declaration, rest in her venerable icons from Mexico and Russia, rest in the faith of the ancient undivided church, the hope and comfort of her prayers for unity and ceaseless intercession for the well being of the Church and indeed the whole planet:

With grace-filled gratitude for the gift of mutual understanding manifested during our meeting, let us with hope turn to the Most Holy Mother of God, invoking her with the words of this ancient prayer: “We seek refuge under the protection of your mercy, Holy Mother of God”. May the Blessed Virgin Mary, through her intercession, inspire fraternity in all those who venerate her, so that they may be reunited, in God’s own time, in the peace and harmony of the one people of God, for the glory of the Most Holy and indivisible Trinity!

Sharing the Road

I feel most fortunate every day that I get to share my life with my best friend, my wife Sabine. This has been true for almost thirty years now, and I feel more the depths of love and gratitude every day, and through all the myriad things we will continue to experience, I know and delight in the knowledge that we are doing them together. In celebration of St. Valentine’s Day, I share a wonderful wedding hymn by the great 19th century Danish hymn writer, scholar and bishop, N.F. S. Grundtvig. I think it captures the joy and delight of love, and the relationship of our deepest human love and aspirations to the Divine Love which created and animates and guides the universe.

It is delightful to share a road
Det er så yndigt at følges ad
A hymn by N. F. S. Grundtvig, 1855.
It is delightful to share a road
when two have chosen to stay together:
the joy is double when light the load,
and storms are but half as hard to weather.
Yes, it is merry
for two to carry,
for two to carry
their plumage, very,
sustained by love,
sustained by love.

It is enjoyable everywhere
when two their wills have in one united;
and what will carry the larger share
is love that deep in the heart is sited.
It is a pleasure
to be a treasure,
to be a treasure
in heartfelt measure
of unity,
of unity.

It is so wonderful to obey
the Lord who governs all mighty nations.
He won’t forget us when we are grey;
His mercy covers all generations.
It’s joy forever
that they will never,
that they will never
desert us, never,
the Words of God!
the Words of God!

To part brings sorrow to loving hearts
when two have chosen to stay together.
But praise the Lord as He hope imparts:
in Paradise they shall see each other.
It’s joy agreeing
and keep on being,
and keep on being
like two who’re seeing
that life is love,
that life is love.

Each married couple who lovingly
in Jesus’ name celebrate their wedding,
through happy times and adversity
will find that day and night they are getting
the message clearly
that they have really,
that they have really
their hearth-flame dearly
surpassed with love,
surpassed with love.
© Translation Copyright 2001 by Folmer E. Johansen and Mogens Lemvig Hansen.

King of the Friday

The sixth century Benedictine Rule is very concerned with time. The monastic day is divided up into hours for liturgical prayer, manual labor, spiritual reading and recreation. Too often today we see time as the adversary. It is something we are running out of or racing against. St. Benedict challenges us with a different point of view. He saw the passage of time each day as an opportunity to give glory to God, to stop and reflect in praise and thanksgiving. Awareness of time is a tool for spirituality, not something to lament or panic about.

I think as Christians we have to reclaim time from our frantic, fast-paced world. The concept of the weekend seems to be a good place to start. From this perspective Sunday is not just a time to go to Mass, but is also a time to celebrate throughout the day in different ways the reality of the Resurrection.

To do this effectively, perhaps we cannot wait until Sunday morning to get started. Traditionally the church has always taught that the preparation for Sunday involves an awareness that begins on Friday, a day meant to be a time when we seriously reflect on the passion of Jesus. This is no more meant to be confined to the season of Lent, than the celebration of the Resurrection is confined to Eastertide, but Lent is certainly a good time to think about our practices and attitudes.

We can do this in a number of ways. Devotions such as the Stations of the Cross, the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary, or one of the beautiful litanies associated with the passion immediately come to mind. Abstinence from meat, a prayerful reading of a passion account from Scripture, are also possibilities. According to the Benedictine spiritual writer St. Gertrude of Helfta (1256-c. 1302), even taking the time to gaze quietly with a loving heart upon a crucifix is a powerful way to remind ourselves of the true meaning of Friday:

“Again, as Gertrude was holding a crucifix in her hand with devout attention, she was given to understand that if anyone were to look with a similar devout attention at an image of Christ crucified, the Lord would look at them with such benign mercy that their soul, like a burnished mirror, would reflect, by an effect of divine love, such a delectable image, that it would gladden the whole court of heaven. And as often as anyone does this on earth with affection and due devotion, it will be to his eternal glory in the future.”¹

St. Getrude the Great

Reflecting on the passion of Christ should also lead us to think about all those in our society who suffer, and about what we are doing personally to help. Our fellow human beings and their needs are icons of Christ, just as a crucifix or pietá are. When we look upon their pain, we see the wounds of Christ. Reaching out to help them, we stand with Veronica and the other women of Jerusalem who comforted Christ on the Way of the Cross. Like Christ, we must not only be willing to comfort, but also to allow others to comfort and minister to us. Perhaps Friday is a good time to pause and ask ourselves how we are living up to our responsibilities.

St. Veronica, by Hans Memling

It has long been a part of Catholic wisdom that to appreciate and share in the glory of the Resurrection, we must also recognize and participate in the sorrows of the passion. Let part of our rest and thanksgiving from a hard week’s work involve a special remembrance of the passion, as expressed in this ancient Irish poem:

“O King of the Friday

Whose limbs were stretched on the cross,

O Lord who did suffer

The bruises, the wounds, the loss,

We stretch ourselves

Beneath the shield of thy might,

Some fruit from the tree of thy passion

Fall on us this night!”²

 

1. Gertrude of Helfta. The Herald of Divine Love. Translated by Margaret Winkworth. Paulist Press. New York. 1993. p. 210.
2. Anonymous  traditional poem found in Daily Prayer from the Divine Office. The Talbot Press. Dublin. 1982. p. 571.

 

The Mystery of Love

Recently my wife Sabine and I had the pleasure of being part of a student retreat to Pluscarden abbey in the Scottish highlands. It was a lovely weekend, full of beautiful liturgy, walks, and fellowship, a wonderful time of renewal. After a nice long walk in the wooded hills, Sabine and I spent some time in the abbey gift shop, which contained lots of wonderful books, cards and religious items. There was one shelf where they were selling old used books, and of course that attracted my attention! Sometimes when looking for spiritual reading, it is nice to see where the Spirit leads you, and in this case I picked up a volume by Basil Hume, an English Benedictine monk and then Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster in the last part of the twentieth century. I had once heard him speak back in 1985, and have always enjoyed his gentleness and transparent holiness.

Basil Hume

 

This book, entitled The Mystery of Love, is a series of informal, almost conversational reflections on the spiritual life, published posthumously under the editorial care of a close friend. In the preface is recounted a conversation Cardinal Hume had with his friend shortly before his death about the profound importance of the “Our Father”, or Lord’s Prayer:

“It’s only now that I begin to glimpse how everything we need is contained right there in the Lord’s own prayer.” He then prayed the opening three sentences of the Our Father, adding each time a tiny commentary of his own: 

Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be Thy name: to sing the praises of God, it is for that for which we were made, and it is that which will be for all eternity, our greatest joy.

Thy Kingdom come: the Gospel values of Jesus—justice, love and peace—embraced throughout the world and in all their fullness.

Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven: that is the the only thing which really matters. What God wants for us is what is best for us.”

 

Simple and beautiful. When I read these profound words, I knew I had found my reading for Lent. I hope God draws you to pick some good and inspiring reading for Lent, wherever you are, as He did for me in the quiet of a monastic bookshop in the Scottish highlands.

 

 

 

 

Sexagesima Sunday (IVth Epiphany) 2016

My Sermon given at All Saints, St Andrews, January 31, 2016

Readings:  Jeremiah 4:1-10; Psalm 71:1-6; I Corinthians 13:1-13; Luke 4:21-30

I am very happy and honoured to be here with you today on this Sexagesima Sunday, the ancient Roman way of saying the Sunday within 60 days of Easter, the season of approach to Lent. What intense readings the Church has presented to us today! And the incomparable praise of St Paul on the eternity and mysterious nature of Divine Love. And we should never forget that many aspects of God’s love for us, and indeed the love we have for each other, are quite mysterious, in a fundamental way, full of depth and nuance, and in many ways the God whom we love and adore is the God of the Unexpected. As St Paul says, we are imperfect in both knowledge and ability to foretell the future, including the actions of God, and we often have dim and childlike, and also, unfortunately, childish, expectations of what we expect God to do for us and in he world at large. We see dimly, and are often attached to the dimness of our vision, and not willing to go beyond our expectations of who God is and what God does for us, and indeed how God does it.

Thus the ancient Hebrews often expected God to give them military victories over their enemies, and sometimes He appears to; but other times He most certainly does not. In these difficult times, when their belief in God as a refuge in military affairs was sorely disappointed, in the words of the Psalmist that we heard today, they could nevertheless be called to a deeper trust in the God who comes close to us in adversity and in suffering, and in His ability to change the worst circumstances into moments of grace and spiritual growth, shows us what Love really means.

The audience in the synagogue in Galilee who listened to Jesus were perfectly normal Galilean Jews, devout and comfortable with their scriptures, used to hearing the prophecies, and able to marvel at the beautiful reading Jesus clearly gave them. And there was nothing wrong with that! I must admit I see myself in them and their sensibilities! But then as you heard something very unexpected happened, and when the remote and dimly understood prophecy was given a sudden immediacy and clarity, and they themselves were faced with criticism, the response was angry, confused and quite frankly, childish. Unexpected words can also be unsettling, especially when they come from God, and come during a religious service where we were expecting comfort and predictability. And their response is unfortunately a foreshadowing of what was to come.

And it is not only in the Scriptures that God does the unexpected; for He has continued to do so.

In our world still torn by religious division, perhaps it is ironic and instructive to remember that the greatest synthesis of Greek patristic thought was produced by a Christian scholar living under the rule of a Muslim caliph. John of Damascus in Syria (c.675-c.749) came from a prominent Christian family, but left a government post to become a monk and priest at the monastery of St. Sabas near Jerusalem. John produced a number of important works which would exert a great influence over the centuries throughout the church. His writings were marked by a clear and concise presentation, and on occasion demonstrate a real beauty of expression. At the time when John wrote, the Byzantine church was bitterly divided by the iconoclast controversy. This dispute involved a debate over whether icons, or religious images, should receive veneration and be focal points of devotion. Isn’t it amazing, and quite unexpected, that at a time when the Christian emperors were destroying icons and Christian art, a Muslim ruler protected an Orthodox theologian!   John wrote several treatises defending the veneration of icons, and in doing so stressed the profound goodness of creation and all matter. The physical world, as in the case of icons, could serve to bring the human being closer to God. And when we ourselves come to this lovely church, we expect and rightly so to be consoled by the wonderful images of saints and Our Lord and Our lady that we find here. But there is more! This same emphasis on the work of the Holy Spirit in sanctifying creation plays a central role in John’s sacramental theology where he talks about the very reason we are here today, the Mystery of the Eucharist.

St. John of Damascus

The most important of John’s doctrinal works was his classic On the Orthodox Faith, and part of this treatise presents a lucid and beautiful discussion of the eucharist. The starting point for John is the affirmation of the goodness of the universe, both in its material and spiritual aspects. The purpose of all created things is to share in the Being and Goodness of God. When human beings rejected this destiny through sin, God undertook the Incarnation to once again enable us to participate in divinity, and that is what we have been celebrating in the seasons of Christmas and Epiphany and Sundays after Epiphany, the Sundays when Jesus began to reveal himself through words and signs, like the story we heard today, and on the last few Sundays. If we choose to accept this gift, we can by grace follow in Christ’s footsteps and share in his glory. And this brings us to what we do right now, right here, this very moment. To mirror this new spiritual life in Christ, we need a new spiritual food, which is the eucharist. The Last Supper was the great moment of transition, when the old Passover meal became the new covenant of the body and blood of Christ.

In a magnificent passage, John parallels the action of God during the eucharist with both the creation of the natural world and the overshadowing of Mary by the Holy Spirit at the moment of the Incarnation. As the rainfall waters and transforms the earth, echoing so many liturgical antiphons, so in the eucharistic prayer, divine power transforms and sanctifies the bread and wine, “and works these things which are beyond description and understanding.” As in baptism, God uses the most ordinary and familiar things to make us holy:

“And just as in the case of baptism, because it is the custom of men to wash themselves with water and anoint themselves with oil, He joined the grace of the Spirit to oil and water and made it a laver of regeneration, so, because it is custom to eat bread and drink water and wine, He joined His divinity to these and made them His body and blood, so that by ordinary natural things we might be raised to those which surpass the order of nature.”

The dramatic presence of God in eucharist is not merely symbolic, which we might expect; but rather to the Christian who is willing to embrace the reality, something much more unexpected, namely a moment of ecstatic unity with God and one another: As John of Damascus puts it,

“With eyes, lips and faces turned toward it, let us receive the divine burning coal, so that the fire of the coal may be added to the desire within us to consume our sins and enlighten our hearts, and so that by this communion of the divine fire we may be set afire and deified.”

With this powerful image of fire and deification, John presents us with a challenge. Eucharist is not intended to merely instruct us and help us get through life. Rather, eucharist is meant to radically transform us, to change our whole being and every aspect of how we live. Deification implies a new being, an integral membership in the Mystical Body of Christ. Such a vision mandates something quite unexpected, namely a completely new way of looking at God and our neighbor as part of ourselves, rather than as something separate and external:

“It is called participation because through it we participate in the divinity of Jesus. It is also called communion, and truly is so, because of our having communion through it with Christ and partaking both of His flesh and His divinity, and because through it we have communion with and are united to one another. For, since we partake of one bread, we all become one body of Christ and one blood and members of one another and are accounted of the same body with Christ.”

What does it mean to become deified, what does this heady language mean? What does it mean to be part of the body of Christ? Well that is a tough one, and I do not have a simple answer. A few days ago was the feast of St. Thomas Aquinas, who among many other things, was the great poet of the Eucharist, and one of his greatest hymns was Adoro Te Devote, which we shall hear at Communion. In this wonderful hymn he points toward what it means to participate in the life of Jesus Christ, the God-Man. As one verse puts it, in the lovely translation of Gerard Manley Hopkins:

O thou our reminder of Christ crucified,

Living Bread, the life of us for whom he died,

Lend this life to me then: feed and feast my mind,

There be thou the sweetness man was meant to find.

 

This points to the link between the Eucharist and sharing in the life of God, and on this Sexagesima sunday points us toward the season that we are on the edge of, namely Lent. For if we pay attention to the words of the liturgy, if we pay attention to the readings from Scripture, and most of all, to the words and actions of Christ as he makes his way to Jerusalem to fulfill his destiny in the dramatic events of Holy Week, we will once again begin to grasp what faith is, begin to grasp what hope is, and most of all, no matter how dimly we may see, despite all of our fears and flaws, we will see before our very eyes what Love is, and Who Love is, and a sacrificial Love that has come to bring us home to him, and transform forever our relationship with him and with one another. And this Love, indeed, has no beginning, has no limits, and will very much, as St. Paul tells us, last forever.