Ash Wednesday

"O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise." It sounds like a simple request, but in truth it is my great and constant struggle. Plentiful are the words rattling around inside my brain. So few escape my lips, however. What is it that keeps my mouth closed: fear or righteousness?

"O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise." We live in a target rich environment for a prophet. I feel such a tremendous urgency to speak out on behalf of my brothers and sisters. But does this pressure arise from my having words they need to hear, or am I more worried about missing out on my fifteen minutes of fame? Whose kingdom do my words seek to serve and praise?

"O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise." Why do you delight in saying no to me? Start a new religion? No. Reform an old religion? No. Sell some books? No. Do one little miracle, just one to get some attention? NO! What is the point of opening my lips? No one cares to listen. Am I meant to babble into the void, leaving a trail of words for someone not yet born to follow?

"O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise." Am I crazy to delight in a "yes" to that last question? I remain on Twitter mostly for the photos taken by the residents of the International Space Station. They remind me of the difference between the great and the trivial; and that my Parent plays a very, very long game. I am a fool taking his at-bat. Let Them worry about the score.

"O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise." This shall be my mantra for these next forty days. I do not expect them to be anything other than the great and constant struggle of the many preceding ones. But I do pray that they bring a renewed love for my wonderful cross.

"O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise."

Joel 2:12-18; Psalms 51:3-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20-6:2; Matthew 6:1-18

On a side note, today is also Valentine's Day. And so I dedicate this post to my wife. It is my meager attempt at expressing some of the internal dialogue that I have such a hard time sharing, to our great frustration. Thank you for your patience with my very strange calling. I love you!

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

"The one who humbles himself will be exalted." Once more, we return to trust, a trust that challenges me viciously, particularly now as I contemplate the coming death of my friend Fr. Greg. My fear is not of death itself, but about the possibility of being forgotten; not me personally, but rather this work, this calling. Perhaps because he is a Capuchin, my mind keeps comparing Greg's situation to the death of St. Francis. I do not expect that Greg's brothers will strip him naked and lay him out on the floor of his hospital room. But I do know that my friend's final days have been just as sublime of a prayer as were Francis', and our Brother Jesus' for that matter. Their deaths exalted their vocations. Will I share such a fate? Or will my fears come true: a pointless death for a forgettable prophet.

But if I and my message are forgettable, is it because that reality is exactly what God desires? Every scheme to make this work go viral has failed. Was that because I did not try hard enough or because that outcome is contrary to our Parent's plan? Personally, I lean towards the latter, because they are really good at telling me no. Should I take this revelation and start a new church/religion? NO. Should I go out and find me some disciples? NO. Should I package and sell it like every other wannabe guru? NO. Should I do any of the things that sensible people do when they are trying to spread a message? I think you get the answer by now. The memo they keep sending says, "Take your place at the wrong end of the table and trust us to do our thing as we see fit." Alleluia! Alleluia!

Sirach 3:17-29; Psalms 68:4-11; Hebrews 12:18-24; Luke 14:1-14

Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

We are constantly deluged by voices claiming to speak for God. So how do we know which ones are real and true? What signs should we look for as evidence of divine favor? Do we hope to be dazzled with supernatural powers? Or are we content to settle for the merely superhuman? What about those poor schlubs who possess neither popularity, nor institutional credentials, nor the proper lifestyle, nor a resume full of righteous deeds? Do we dismiss their words out of hand, or give them an opportunity to penetrate our hearts? How many prophets pass our tests, but spew more bile than love? And how much grace do we walk away from, because we could not prove its value in advance?

Which brings us to the elephant in the room: why should you believe that my voice is genuine, that the revelation I share is Truth, that I speak for our Parent? I have no proof, only words. But they are not really my words. They are a song I see in the eyes of the middle schoolers in my detention room, full of rudeness and disrespect, but also promise and hope. A song that screams from the mountains that climb above my hometown, a blinding sign that the kingdom is far grander than our little dog and pony show of an existence. A song I did not compose, but one whose lyrics I cannot help but write, for they are ripe fruit bursting from every nook and cranny of creation. How can anyone not hear this song or taste this fruit when it is so overwhelmingly omnipresent? They are yours for the taking, but you do not take them, do you? And so God asks a poor schlub like me to try to open your eyes. And so I offer you words, just words, and ask you to "harden not your hearts."

Deuteronomy 18:15-20; Psalms 95:1-9; 1 Corinthians 7:32-35; Mark 1:21-28