Fountains and Stars
a brief reflection from a first year seminarian.
Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then shall the lame man leap like a hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing for joy.
For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert;
the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water;
the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes.
Isaiah 35:5-7
In December of 2024, I had an interview with my Archbishop. This was the final box to tick off for my seminary application. It was not our first meeting; he and I had known each other for a few years as I had previously worked closely with him as one of his cathedral sacristans. He gave me a tour of his office showing off the secular view of the busy streets, skyscrapers, and cafes out of a floor-to-ceiling window. Next, the religious view of the cathedral precinct out of the adjacent floor-to-ceiling window. He asked a series of questions. I gave answers. He gave his blessing for me to enter the seminary. Lastly, he showed me the trinkets he had been recently given - medals, rosaries (they don’t stop giving him rosaries), and a statue of Our Lady of Vailankanni still in its shrink wrap.
That afternoon I called my parish priest, one of my references, to share with him the news of my acceptance. “Did he ask what wounds of yours have now become a fountain?” A question that was put to my parish priest by this same bishop back when he was a seminarian.
God is in the business of bringing life not in spite of death but from and through death. There is a consistent theme in the spiritual life: the way a man sins is the way a man will be purified; that our wounds become fountains. God gives us a purifying remedy that is specific to our sins. He who has sinned by pride must be humbled; he who has sinned by greed must be made poor; he who has sinned by lust must learn chastity. vice becomes virtue. God will, in time, transform our aid wounds into a garden wellspring flowing with living water. From womb to tomb, life is restored.
In compline (night prayer) tonight, reminded of this question, I see the fountains - or rather the partial fountains - in my life.
However, for the most part, I still see the barren deserts, the stones, and the wounds that are yet to be tendered to—a confronting reality. Often when thinking of my fallen condition I may be led to thoughts of despair. Anxiety grips me with dread that I am stuck in this fallen condition. “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? … How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?” (Psalm 13:1-2). O my Jesus, wash me from my iniquity, cleanse me from my sin. Purify my heart and from it let flow rivers of living water. Please do it soon.
God’s promises are clear but His timing is not. This liminal space of the human condition is exhausting. “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God” (Psalm 43:5).
“Oh, living flame of love that tenderly woundest my soul in its deepest centre,
since thou art no longer oppressive, perfect me now if it be thy will…”
St John of the Cross.
The fifteenth chapter of the first book of sacred scripture, Genesis, details God’s covenant with Abram (soon to be called Abraham). The story opens with Abram questioning God, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless? You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.”
“This man shall not be your heir” God brought Abram outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then God said to him, “So shall your descendants be.”
This is one of the more iconic moments in the Old Testament. However, there are a handful of assumptions we make when reading this passage: that Abram can count, it is a clear sky, that it is nighttime. Our confirmation bias is further reinforced with artistic depictions of this moment.
Seven verses later, the time of day is noted. The story continues “as the sun was going down” whereby then the covenant was made between God and Abram. It was daytime when God brought Abram outside to count the stars if he is able.
In the daytime, the stars are still present in the sky albeit blocked by the sun’s scattered light in the atmosphere. In this moment God is not saying he will have no descendants as there would be no stars for Abram to count. He knows the multitude of stars are truly still in the sky despite not being able to see them. Likewise, he knows God’s promise will be plentiful despite not being able to see its fulfilment.
Similarly, with us, God promises a newness of life in his crucified son, however, there may be for now no evidence, sign, or symbol of it. But truly, the promise stands firm and stands true. This newness of life is not disconnected to our woundedness as us a mere covering of it but it is truly a new heart. The grace God grants us is an individually specific remedy to our wounds; a grace that causes living water to flow from the fountain of our wounds. His promises are trustworthy and fruitful despite a lack of visible fruit—for now.
“A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will take out of your flesh the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” (Ezekiel 36:26)
“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord!” (Psalm 27:14)