Yes, we are clueless. The crowds with their cloaks and leafy branches. The disciples and their sense of when to be indignant and when to fall asleep. The naked young man running for his life. And Peter, so brave, until he knows the stakes. Even Jesus, very human Jesus, who believes himself forsaken, if only for a moment. Despite our prayers and rituals and lovely theologies, we understand neither the kingdom, nor the Brother who lights a path to its doorstep. We still expect truth and grace to conform to certain rules; not our Parent's rules mind you, but our own. We remain as blind as those who cried out for Barabbas or who pounded in the nails. Such is how we enter this holy week. But it is not how we have to exit it. The tomb is an invitation, not just a memory. Will you accept it?
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Sunday, March 22, 2015
Fifth Sunday of Lent
"A clean heart create for me, O God, and a steadfast spirit renew within me." Let this be our mantra as we enter into the last of these forty days. We cannot hope to be free of sin in this life. But we can plead for a heart that refuses to avert its eyes from our sins or to pretend that they are anything other than what they are, even as we commit them. And we can beg for a spirit that calmly bears both the just guilt of our own evil and the unjust suffering brought on by our neighbors' disobedience, even as we strive to wash them all away. Now, these might not be the gifts we long for at Easter, but they are the ones we need if we hope to enter into the mystery that is divine mercy.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Fourth Sunday of Lent
"Let my tongue be silenced, if I ever forget you!" But we do forget. Babylon enchants us, even those who see it for what it is. We adopt its ways, even as we try to transform it. We are lost. Which is why we so desperately need these forty days. They are a time for silence and tears, that the fog might be cleared from our hearts and minds. And when it has, we might remember that Zion is not a place, but rather a promise, an oath of love from Parent to child that can never be taken from us.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Third Sunday of Lent
Sometimes love means picking up a whip. No, this is not the sign we demanded, nor the wisdom we were looking for, but it is the truth we must proclaim. Our Parent's love is not fluffy or weak, nor does it suffer fools or tricksters. Its purpose is to refresh our souls, not to coddle them, for God desires us to taste a joy that never loses its sweetness. Which means we oftentimes need to hear a resounding chorus of "You shall not." Such grace might not be music to our ears, but it is, without a doubt, proof that something wonderful awaits us. So let us invite the divine whip into our hearts for the duration of these forty days, that we too might be consumed with zeal for our Parent's houses.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Second Sunday of Lent
How many of us cringe at the thought of Abraham offering up his only son to the Holy One? And yet, how many of us gladly sacrifice our brothers and sisters in service of far pettier deities? Lust. Greed. Fear. We would much rather listen to them than any angel of mercy telling us to stay our hands. So let us spend the remainder of these forty days in mourning for those siblings whose souls and bodies we have maimed and destroyed. Let us pick someone each day and weep for them. The friend whom we threw under the bus. The enemy whom we judged as deserving of our wrath. The stranger whom we wrote off as collateral damage. And through our tears we might hear a voice proclaim, "These are my precious children. Love them." And then, perhaps, we will finally be ready to listen to our Brother, and to join him in walking beside our Parent in the land of all that is.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
First Sunday of Lent
Yes, "this is the time of fulfillment." And yes, "the kingdom of God is at hand." There has not been a single day, since before the dawn of creation, that our Parent has failed to deliver on their promise to shower us with love and truth. And the greatest of all their gifts is our brothers and sisters, who form a realm more dazzling than all the stars in the sky. But so many of us find this news too good to be true. We feel surrounded by hate and lies, and constantly mistake siblings for enemies or strangers. Which is why we need forty days in the desert; forty days to be stripped of anger and fear; forty days for the scales to fall from our hearts and souls; forty days to see life through divine eyes. And at the end of these days, when we finally emerge from the wilderness, perhaps then, we will believe.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Ash Wednesday
"Be merciful, O Lord, for we have sinned." Yes, we have sinned. I have sinned. For these forty days, let us take a reprieve from marching and shouting and agitating about our neighbors' sins, no matter how horrendous they may be. And let us instead expend our outrage on our own sins, no matter how minuscule they seem. Let us dive deep into remorse and be overly generous with our amends. And then perhaps at the end of these forty days, we might actually feel that divine mercy that each of us so desperately craves. Yes, let us be merciful with one another, for we all have sinned.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time
We are unclean, every last one of us. Not because of anything we have done, but simply by virtue of who we are: creatures who ooze insecurity, anger, and paranoia. We have endured this affliction ever since that first moment when consciousness emerged in the tiny brains of distant ancestors on some African plain. We awoke to something overwhelming, and it produced a stain that we seem unable to wash away, no matter our centuries worth of ritual, prayer, and art. And yet, it is all an illusion, a trick in our overheated minds that constantly mistakes "reality" for what is real. We are blind, not unclean, and our Parent is eager to restore our sight. But they also know that we need to make the first move, we must crave healing, and therein lies the challenge. How many of us wallow in our supposed filth, because it feels easier to subsist in the dirt, rather than live in the light? How often do we gaze upon our world, soak in its pain and misery, and think to ourselves that joy and love are nothing more than fairy tales? Who among us is bold and brave enough to kneel before God and beg to see all that truly is? Will you turn to Them in your time of darkness, and be filled with the light of grace?
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
It is easy to be pessimistic about life. Misery and mayhem have never been in short supply. Neither have drudgery, nor chaos. Brokenness has always appeared to reign supreme in too many lives and too many places. So what are we to do? Numb ourselves with amusements? Give in to our fears and doubts? Or perhaps surrender to something else instead? Faith. Beauty. Wonder. The kiss of a cool breeze. The dance of a pair of butterflies. The splendor of the most ordinary flower. We do not need miracles to heal our hearts and souls. No, our Parent has provided us with so many lovely balms, but they tend to go overlooked because they feel too simple and pollyannaish. And maybe they are. And maybe that is the point, that the purpose of our existence is not to indulge our schemes and dreams, but to merely bear witness to something we can barely describe. So will you drown in the sorrows of the so-called "real" world? Or will you live in the hope of all that is wonderfully real?
Sunday, February 1, 2015
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."
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