Evelyn Underhill

Commemoration of Bridget of Sweden, Abbess of Vadstena, 1373 Faith is not a refuge from reality. It is a read more

Commemoration of Bridget of Sweden, Abbess of Vadstena, 1373 Faith is not a refuge from reality. It is a demand that we face reality, with all its difficulties, opportunities, and implications. The true subject matter of religion is not our own little souls, but the Eternal God and His whole mysterious purpose, and our solemn responsibility to Him.

Feast of Cyril & Methodius, Missionaries to the Slavs, 869 & 885 Commemoration of Valentine, Martyr at Rome, c.269 read more

Feast of Cyril & Methodius, Missionaries to the Slavs, 869 & 885 Commemoration of Valentine, Martyr at Rome, c.269 The offertory is the first essential action of the Liturgy, because in it we make the costly and solemn oblation, under tokens, of our very selves and all our substance, that they may be transformed, quickened, and devoted to the interests of God.

Feast of James the Apostle The spiritual life is a stern choice. It is not a consoling retreat from the read more

Feast of James the Apostle The spiritual life is a stern choice. It is not a consoling retreat from the difficulties of existence, but an invitation to enter fully into that difficult existence, and there apply the Charity of God, and bear the cost.

Feast of Philip & James, Apostles I come in the little things, Saith the Lord: Not borne on read more

Feast of Philip & James, Apostles I come in the little things, Saith the Lord: Not borne on morning wings Of majesty, but I have set My Feet Amidst the delicate and bladed wheat That springs triumphant in the furrowed sod. There do I dwell, in weakness and in power; Not broken or divided, saith our God! In your strait garden plot I come to flowers About your porch My Vine, Meek, fruitful, doth entwine; Waits, at the threshold, Love's appointed hour. I come in the little things, Saith the Lord: Yea! on the glancing wings Of eager birds, the softly pattering feet Of furred and gentle beasts, I come to meet Your hear and wayward heart. In brown bright eyes That peep from out the brake, I stand confest. On every nest Where feathery Patience is content to brood And leaves her pleasure for the high emprize Of motherhood -- There doth My Godhead rest. I come in the little things, Saith the Lord: My starry wings I do forsake, Love's highway of humility to take: Meekly I fit my stature to your need. In beggar's part About your gates I shall not cease to plead -- As man, to speak with man -- Till by such art I shall achieve My Immemorial Plan, Pass the low lintel of the human heart.

Commemoration of Nicholas Ferrar, Deacon, Founder of the Little Gidding Community, 1637 Many a congregation when it assembles in read more

Commemoration of Nicholas Ferrar, Deacon, Founder of the Little Gidding Community, 1637 Many a congregation when it assembles in church must look to the angels like a muddy, puddly shore at low tide; littered with every kind of rubbish and odds and ends --a distressing sort of spectacle. And then the tide of worship comes in, and it's all gone: the dead sea-urchins and jelly-fish, the paper and the empty cans and the nameless bits of rubbish. The cleansing sea flows over the whole lot. So we are released from a narrow, selfish outlook on the universe by a common act of worship. Our little human affairs are reduced to their proper proportion when seen over against the spaceless Majesty and Beauty of God.