We exist in the infinite embrace of God’s mercy. In mercy, we all were created. In mercy, we all live. In mercy, we all have the hope of eternal life.
The lavish mercy of God pours over us in every sunrise and sunset, in every noon and midnight. With every breath, we draw on mercy. With every thought, we capture its spirit and turn it to our hope. The gift of such divine power in us calls us to lavish mercy with our own lives, to be agents of mercy in all things.
This journal is offered as an act of thanksgiving and celebration for that lavish mercy. It is a gathering of reflections and prayers which sift through our ordinary experience to seek the breath-giving grace of God awaiting us there.
My name is Renee Yann. I am a Sister of Mercy. I love to chase God through the bright blessing of words. I love to discover words in the dark blessing of silence. It is a joy to share with you the humble fruit of those mutual blessings.
Our entire theological tradition is expressed in terms of Mercy, which I define as the willingness to enter into the chaos of others. James F. Keenan, S.J.
These reflections during Eastertide 2026 are reblogs from 2023. Our readings for that year were the same as this year’s, and some of the thoughts might be worth rethinking. I hope my long-timers enjoy them a second time, and that my new-timers appreciate a trip back in time. I thank all of you for journeying with me on Lavish Mercy.
I’m trying something new today, and I hope it works. Eastertide is such a beautiful time for prayer and meditation that I want to offer some thoughts for your consideration.
I am taking us back to the Eastertide of 2023, when the liturgical readings are the same, and reblogging those entries for you in case you might be interested. Those posts are always available to you by using the search feature or the Archives list, but you may not wish to put in that effort. So I hope this is something you can use and enjoy.
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In God’s great mercy, we have been given new birth into a living hope through the Resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil, or fade.
1 Peter 1:3-4
They woke up one morning beside each other as they had for fifteen years. The scent of last night’s acrid argument lingered in the corners of the room. After a few moments, he turned to her and said, “We need to learn how to love each other again. Can we try?”
Over the course of long-term relationships, the parties change. Phil and Judy wanted to remain committed to their marriage, but they found themselves strangled by years of unpruned misunderstandings. All heart commitments meet similar challenges. All dreams fray a little on their way to fulfillment.
We have followed Jesus through Holy Week on such a road. Passover Sunday filled his spirit with the fresh scent of palms and possibilities. But as the week waned, the Father led Jesus in a daunting direction. He asked his Son to give the ultimate price for love.
Our lives too will teach us this: every ride on a palm-strewn road meets a fork toward Gethsemane. There is no true love without sacrifice. But the road does not end at the foot of the cross. Loving sacrifice lifts us to see this morning’s Easter sunrise. The life that had lain hidden in darkness now rises triumphant in our hearts. Today, we are offered the grace to live this mystery on our own journeys. Amazingly, Easter invites us to fall in love again with God and to begin our lives anew
Music: Love Is Come Again (Now the Green Blade Riseth)
We expect things, don’t we? Things as simple as rain. Things as complex as babies. We expect to wake up tomorrow, to have a safe drive home from work, to complete the to-do lists stuffed in our pockets. We expect life. We even expect death. We expect much of the in-between.
But it is the things we don’t expect that profoundly change our lives. These things shatter our routine and make a passageway for extraordinary grace. You have had such moments. During them, you were like the ancient Jews standing at the fracture of the Red Sea. Your soul was in a battle between fear and awe.
These moments came to you in various disguises: tragedy, surprise, celebration, disappointment, betrayal, or forgiveness. From the vantage point of time, you may be able to see how these moments freed you, redeemed you. Or, now within such a moment, you may still be struggling to discover its Divine Potential.
The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb by Hans Holbein (c. 1522)
We are not unlike the disciples experiencing the Passover of Jesus’s life. They, even He, may not have expected the Thursday of Transubstantiation – the giving of his body into the eternal bread and wine. They did not expect the cleavage of their sacred world by an unholy crucifixion. They did not expect a dislodged stone to yield a golden resurrection.
All that they did not expect we now call “Easter” – a rebirth in the steadfast assurance that God’s life ever triumphs. May we all be broken and blessed by this astounding and unexpected grace!
Spend some time today considering your hopes. Look for the things yet hidden behind the stone of expectation. Are they worthy of the awesome soul God gave you, and the immense invitation within the Paschal Mystery? Are we looking into an empty tomb, expecting new life? Or, on this hollow and hallow Saturday, are we quietly listening for whatever unexpected grace Easter will offer us?
Music: Exsultet – setting by Ryan Clouse
(And yes, I was annoyed by what I thought was a misspelling of “Exultet”. However, I did some research and this is an acceptable, though archaic, version of the word. There is an unfortunate ad near rhe end. Hit “skip” in lower right to view end of video. It’s worth it.
At some time in each of our lives, we yearn to pass:
from emptiness to abundance
from loneliness to love
from exhaustion to renewal
from anxiety to peace
from burden to freedom
from confusion to understanding
from bitterness to forgiveness
from pain to healing
from mourning to remembrance
The sacred mystery of Good Friday assures us that God accompanies us in our torturous journeys. But we must name whatever darkness surrounds us, and reach through it to the hand of God outstretched from the Cross. Like a parent leading a child in from the storm, the God of Resurrection longs to bring our hearts home with Him to Easter joy.
The whole neighborhood remembered the day Pete Nichols finally came home from the war. He was five years late, lost in a mystery of silence even to his own family.
Like most 1950s neighborhoods, we had poured into the streets that Saturday morning to sweep pavements, scrub marble steps, and wash the one or two cars along the curb. Pete jumped off the number 5 trolley, carrying a tattered duffel bag. He stood looking up the sunlit street as if considering a purchase. Slowly, his identity dawned on the scattered neighbors like a cloudy sunrise. Finally, carried by an astonished buzz, it reached his mother whose back had been turned from his approach.
She didn’t erupt, as might have been expected. She turned and walked to him as if he had just returned from a short errand. Like lava across wilderness, they moved in the timeless motion toward redemption. They were two people standing on the empty blotter of the intervening years. With every step, the ink of her forgiveness poured into the void. Pete was a man coming home to the truth that he was loved.
Two such men sat at Jesus’s table on Holy Thursday night. One was also named Peter, the other Judas. It would take just a night, not years, for them to wander from their true home. In just one night, each would deny or betray Love. Each would face the void of having turned from God. One would be swallowed by it and one would repent.
The journey to self-forgiveness is long and treacherous, no matter the time it takes. Nothing frightens us more than our own fragile humanity, which can err and injure and pretend. But courage can help us face the cold precise truth of our vulnerability. It can still our souls to feel the enduring presence of love and forgiveness. It can turn our hearts to God’s knowing gaze that heals rather than shames.
The neighbors never learned where Pete had been in those lost years. We never heard his mother rehearse the magnanimity of her endurance. What we did learn from them was the courage to come home and the strength to forgive. What we learned from them was Easter.
Music: I’m Coming Home – Skylar Grey
Consider this adapted version of Scripture:
Then Jesus said, “There was once a widow who had just two children – grown twins. One said to his mother, ‘Mother, I demand what’s coming to me.’
“So the mother divided the property between them. It wasn’t long before the boy packed his bags and left for a distant country. There, undisciplined and reckless, he wasted everything he had. After he had gone through all his money, a severe famine swept that country, and he began to feel the hunger. He took a job with a local citizen who sent him into the fields to feed the pigs. He was so hungry he would have eaten the husks in the pig slop, but no one gave him anything.
“That brought him to his senses. He said, ‘All those hired workers of my mother have more than enough to eat, and here I am starving to death! I’m going back home. I’ll say to her, ‘Mother, I’ve sinned against God and against you; I don’t deserve to be called your son. Take me on as one of your hired hands.’ So he got up and went home to his mother.
“While he was still a long way off, his mother saw him. Her heart pounding, she ran to him, embraced him, and kissed him. The son began his speech: ‘Mother, I’ve sinned against God and against you; I don’t deserve to be called your son any longer.’ But the mother wasn’t listening. She was remembering the day he was born. She felt like he was being born again!
She called to the servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then bring the fattened calf and prepare it. We’re going to celebrate with a feast! My son is here—he was as good as dead and is alive again! He was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate with great joy.
“Meanwhile, her daughter was in the dairy. When she came near the house, she heard music and dancing. She called one of the servants and asked what was happening. The servant told her, ‘Your brother has come home, and your mother has prepared a feast because he has returned safe and sound.’
“The young woman became angry and refused to go in. Her mother came out and pleaded with her, but she would not listen. She said, ‘All these years I’ve worked for you and never disobeyed you, yet you never gave me even a small celebration with my friends. But when this rascal of yours comes back—after wasting your money—now you throw a feast for him!’
“Taking her daughter’s face in her hands, the mother said, ‘My precious daughter, you are my image and my heart, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because your brother was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”
For Your Reflection:
What feelings or reactions do I have after reading this reflection?
Do my feelings or reactions remind me of any passage or event in scripture, especially in the life of Christ?
What actions might I take today because of my response to these readings?
Purity of heart is to be without guile, hidden agendas. It is to be honestly intentioned in our actions and words.
During Holy Week, a fundamental question comes before us. How should the precious oil be used – tenderly poured out or reasonably saved? It is a question that challenges us to balance justice with mercy, reality with hope, law with passion, to be pure of heart. How are we being asked to open our alabaster jar?
After Peg’s father died, she rummaged through parts of his house preparing it for sale. When Peg was a child, the bottom drawer of the china closet was always her dad’s exclusive domain. She prepared to open it now like a priest approaching the sacred altar. Inside, Peg found the normal treasures stored against a rainy day: rubber bands, expired coupons, Band-aids, and a Swiss Army knife.
In an old wallet, she discovered a forgotten twenty-dollar bill and a creased, browning paper. Unfolded, the note revealed a 1960’s Christmas shopping list. Beside Peg’s name was scribbled “skates, pajamas and Slinky.” Beside her mother’s name, there was a single phrase: “Chanel N°5.”
Peg’s middle class family avoided extravagance. With four children, they could not afford it. Her father’s one excursion into luxury was to anoint her mother with this prized perfume. The annual act released a balm of silent devotion between them redeeming any of the year’s frayed misunderstandings.
During Holy Week, we see Mary anoint Jesus’s feet with costly aromatic nard. We watch Jesus kneel to pour a sacred blessing over his disciples’ feet. We experience God’s lavish mercy wash over us in blood and water, in sacrament and sacrifice. These acts draw us into God’s infinite, unquenchable love.
Our names have been folded eternally into God’s heart. An extravagant mercy has been given for us. This week, walking with Jesus from the supper table, through the garden and on to Calvary, may we embrace the deep anointing of God’s Passion for us. May it redeem us and open us to full Easter joy!
Music: Agnus Dei – Monks of the Abbey of Notre Dame
I will keep my covenant with you … to be your God and the God of your descendants after you. Genesis 17:7
Understanding is a Gift of the Holy Spirit which allows us to grasp, at least in a limited way, the essence of the truths of our faith. Through understanding, we gain a trust in God that moves beyond circumstances, enabling us to find meaning and peace in our lives.
The fifth week of Lent is filled with high drama. Impossible things happen at the hand of God: Lazarus comes back from the dead; both innocent Suzanna and the adulterous woman are saved; three men pass unharmed through Nebuchadnezzar’s fire; and Jesus proclaims he is the Son of God. It is a week when the truth of God’s power confronts the security of human conventions. From what symbolic graves is God asking me to rise?
(This story is a repeat for those of you who are familiar with the blog. But I choose to include it again because I love it so much. These two individuals were very precious to me and taught me so much. I hope I have been able to share some of that learning with you, my readers.)
The golden morning had broken bright and warm through the hospital windows. With its breaking, the attending physician and chaplain had received a page. Dorothy had taken an unexpected turn. She was struggling both to live and to die. As they attended and comforted her, Dorothy managed to whisper,” … wait for Henry.” Henry, her husband of fifty-eight years, had arrived promptly at 7:00 a.m. daily for all the weeks of Dorothy’s hospitalization. Glancing at her watch, the chaplain saw that it was just 6:50 AM.
When, after ten prolonged minutes, Henry appeared at the door, he carried a small bouquet of yellow roses from their beloved garden. Quickly comprehending the changed situation, he laid the roses aside and hurried to hold Dorothy for the last few minutes of her life. In the loving, covenanted presence Dorothy had waited for, she finally embraced a peaceful death.
It had not been easy for Dorothy to die nor, from then on, had it been easy for Henry to live. Still, through many bereavement visits, the chaplain watched their long, honest love arise to heal Henry. Through prayer and the benediction of memories, Henry understood that their love, like the roses still blooming in their garden, was both fragile and perpetual. In this week’s readings, God again calls us to such a love.
As God brought Lazarus, Suzanna and Shadrack out of darkness and death, so God promises to bring us. “I will keep my covenant with you,” God says. “Whoever keeps my word will never die.”
Accompanying Jesus, as he nears Jerusalem, let us trust and cherish these promises in our own darknesses and bereavements.
Music: Surrexit Dominus
Latin Lyrics & English Translation: Latin: Surrexit Dominus vere, Alleluia, alleluia. Victimae paschali laudes, Immolent Christiani.
Mors et vita duello, Conflixere mirando: Dux vitae mortuus, Regnat vivus.
Surrexit Christus spes mea, Praecedet vos in Galilaeam. Credamus cum Maria, Et gaudeamus cum Ecclesia.
English: The Lord is truly risen, Alleluia, alleluia. To the Paschal Victim, let Christians offer praise.
Death and life contended In wondrous conflict: The Prince of Life, once slain, Now lives and reigns.
Christ, my hope, has risen, He goes before you into Galilee. Let us believe with Mary, And rejoice with the Church.
Forgiveness is the conscious choice to release resentment and a desire for vengeance, while still acknowledging the wrong done, and is rooted in God’s mercy and grace.
Ah, Equinox – respite from the cold!
Today our Earth will put away her winter jewels, her cold snow pearls and glistening ice diamonds stored until distant December. With them, she lays aside her cool reserve, the stark elegance of silhouetted trees against a white landscape. She says, “I have finished my silent retreat.”
Instead, Lady Earth unveils her costume jewelry – that improbable mix of pinks, purples, greens, and yellows. Even if this morning, she wraps them in a silver cashmere fog, we know it hides a riotous, tumbling April.
Every year, we wonder if those bare trees and barren hillsides will ever green again. But they do! Spring is the act of “Great Forgiveness”. It is the time when Nature mirrors the Infinite Mercy of her Creator and says, “Fear not, Winter. I am deeper than your cold. My resilience has redeemed us both for another chance at life.”
We, too, as human beings, are capable of such resilience. I remember my mother’s infinite patience with a sometimes-annoying neighbor. Edna’s seemingly innocent conversation harbored veiled references to her economic superiority. Little wintry comments like, “It’s a shame you can’t get a Hoover. It would make your life so much easier”. Even as a child, (who had no idea what a Hover was) I was nettled beyond tolerance by the insensitivity of the statement.
But my mother, who was no pushover and who did not suffer fools gladly, was patient and faithful. She knew Edna, though careless in her opinions, didn’t mean to hurt or shame her.
Such thoughtless remarks could have hung like icicles in mid-air, but my Mom clipped them with her wonderful capacity for humorous honesty. “Eddie,” she said, “you can bring your Hoover over and do my rugs every Friday.” Edna laughed at herself, rescinding the tactless comment with an “I’m sorry, El. You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”
My mother taught me to live from the “Great Forgiveness” which can warm any cold. She left a great space for people before ever closing in with judgement.
At one point when I was still very young, my mother became quite ill and after a long hospitalization, returned home for an extended recuperation. During that time, Edna came every day to cook for our large working family. Weekly, she cleaned our house with the same decrepit vacuum she had earlier criticized.
Without a word, Edna challenged me to learn another lesson about the nature of fidelity and true friendship and the commitment to give it voice without words.
Years later, I read a quote that captured these lessons: “Always be kind. We never know the battles someone else is fighting.” These are lessons I remember with gratitude today in this equinox of another “Great Forgiveness”. Forgiveness is a largesse we can imitate if we simply remember the mercies we ourselves have received.
Lavish Mercy 