Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but a body you prepared for me; in holocausts and sin offerings you took no delight. Then I said, ‘As is written of me in the scroll, behold, I come to do your will, O God.
Hebrews 10:5-7; cf: Psalm 40:7-9
On this Feast of the Annunciation, we remember Mary’s choice to love the world according to the manner of God. It was not a choice she made for the first time during the angel’s visit. Mary had always lived her young life patterned on grace and fidelity. Therefore, she was ready when the angel offered her the choice that changed the world.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
As human beings, we may be inclined to think of “God’s Will” as a pre-ordained pattern for our lives – rather like a document that, if we could get hold of it, we could follow exactly to achieve salvation. We may even mistakenly think that it is God’s Will that we, or our sisters and brothers, suffer.
We might ask ourselves instead, “What is God’s Will, really?”. The life of Christ, reflected in the Gospel, tells us this: God’s Will is Love. So when Psalm 40 interprets Mary’s Fiat as ” … behold, I come to do Your Will…”, what we might understand is this:
Your Will, O God, is Love. I open my heart to be your Love in the world, in whatever pattern your grace may come to me, whether it be through the joys or the sorrows of the human condition.
Poetry: Fiat – Robert Morneau
On her bed of doubt, in wrinkled night garment, she sat, glancing with fear at a golden shaft of streaming light, pondering perhaps, "Was this but a sequel to a dream?" The light too brief for disbelief, yet its silence eased not her trembling. Somehow she murmured a "yes" and with that the light's love and life pierced her heart and lodged in her womb. The room remained the same - rug still need smoothing - jug and paten awaiting using. Now all was different in a maiden's soft but firm fiat.
Music: O Santissima – interpreted by Andrea Montepaone
O sanctissima, o piissima, dulcis Virgo Maria! Mater amata, intemerata, ora, ora pro nobis.
Tu solatium et refugium, Virgo Mater Maria. Quidquid optamus, per te speramus; ora, ora pro nobis.
Ecce debiles, perquam flebiles; salva nos, o Maria! Tolle languores, sana dolores; ora, ora pro nobis.
Virgo, respice, Mater, aspice; audi nos, o Maria! Tu medicinam portas divinam; ora, ora pro nobis.
O most holy, o most loving, sweet Virgin Mary! Beloved Mother, undefiled, pray, pray for us.
You are solace and refuge, Virgin Mother Mary. Whatever we wish, we hope it through you; pray, pray for us.
Look, we are weak and deeply deplorable; save us, o Mary! Take away our lassitude, heal our pains; pray, pray for us.
Virgin, look at us, Mother, care for us; hear us, o Mary! You bring divine medicine; pray, pray for us.
The community of believers was of one heart and mind, and no one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they had everything in common. With great power the apostles bore witness to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great favor was accorded them all.
Acts 4: 32-33
In this passage from Acts, community is noted as an essential aspect of life in Christ. We were not created to be alone. We are created to find God in the love of our sisters and brothers. That merciful and generous love, imitative of Jesus, makes us one with Him in the Trinity, that primordial Community of Generative Love.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
We pray to understand that our capacity for community deepens in relationship to our generous and merciful love for each person. As we widen our circle of mercy and caring mutuality, the face of God becomes clearer in our lives.
Poetry: When Someone Deeply Listens to You – John Fox
When someone deeply listens to you it is like holding out a dented cup you’ve had since childhood and watching it fill up with cold, fresh water.
When it balances on top of the brim, you are understood. When it overflows and touches your skin, you are loved.
When someone deeply listens to you the room where you stay starts a new life and the place where you wrote your first poem begins to glow in your mind’s eye. It is as if gold has been discovered.
When someone deeply listens to you your barefeet are on the earth and a beloved land that seemed distant is now at home within you.
Music: In Christ There Is No East or West – Choir and Congregation, St. Martin in the Fields, London
When they climbed out on shore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you just caught.” So Simon Peter went over and dragged the net ashore full of one hundred fifty-three large fish. Even though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come, have breakfast.” And none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they realized it was the Lord.
Have you ever eaten breakfast on a quiet morning beach?
When each of my nieces and nephew was about three years old, I would take her or him to the beach with me in the early morning. It was like an initiation. We would sit quietly at water’s edge as I taught them to hum or sing a morning hymn. After a little while, my dear sister-in-law, their mother, would arrive with a full pot of coffee and two cups. The praying child would be released to play while Mare and I took up the morning silence, stringing it with occasional words.
It was a time of wonderful love and ease among us, a time of unforgettable blessing. This is the gift Jesus gives his disciples in today’s reading. He offers us the same blessing too, if we can find a little space for him in our morning. Just a minute or two will do. Remember, Jesus can do a lot with just a word — just think about those 153 fish!
Poetry: Jesus Makes Breakfast: A Poem about John 21:1-14 – by Carol Penner, Mennonite pastor currently teaching theology at Conrad Grebel University College in Waterloo, Ontario.
I could smell that charcoal fire a long way off while we were still rowing far from shore. As we got closer I could smell the fish cooking, I imagined I could hear it sizzling. When you’re hungry, your mind works that way.
When the man by the fire called out asking us about our catch, we held up the empty nets. And his advice to throw the nets in once more is something we might have ignored, except for the smell of cooking fish… this guy must know something about catching fish!
The catch took our breath away; never in my life have we pulled so many in one heave. I was concentrating on the catch, but John wasn’t even paying attention, he was staring at the shore as if his life depended on it. Then he clutched my shoulder, crying, “It is the Lord!”
Suddenly, everything came into focus, the man, the catch, the voice, and nothing could stop me, I had to be with the Master.
There were no words at breakfast, beyond, “Pass the fish,” or “I’ll have a bit more bread.” We sat there, eating our fill, basking in the sunrise. We didn’t have to say anything. Jesus just smiled and served.
While they were still speaking about this, he stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.” But they were startled and terrified and thought that they were seeing a ghost. Then he said to them, “Why are you troubled? And why do questions arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you can see I have.” And as he said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While they were still incredulous for joy and were amazed, he asked them, “Have you anything here to eat?” They gave him a piece of baked fish; he took it and ate it in front of them.
Luke 24: 36-42
Jesus allows his friends, whose faith is quavering with their current tumult, to touch him in a very human way. He offers his wounded body to their tentative hands. No longer needing human sustenance, he still asks to share their food to assure them he is real.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
The Risen Jesus is revealed to us when we reach to touch his wounds in the world.
As I pray this morning, I remember a morning over forty years ago when I stood outside a patient’s room ready to make my very first pastoral visit as a rookie chaplain. I was scared to death, feeling so inadequate and so unsure of what I would say and do once in the patient’s presence.
When I went in to meet Tony, the first thing he did was to extend his hand. That touch made him real. Awaiting some profound request from him, I stood quietly. Then Tony reached into his bedside drawer, pulled out a roll of candy, and said, “Would you like a Life-Saver?”.
Little did he realize that his very human actions were truly “life-savers” for me. They shifted my attention from myself and my inadequacies to Tony’s very honest openness for me to connect with him. Once that happened, the two of us could find our way to the presence of God.
Jesus extends that kind of humanness to his disciples in today’s reading. He makes it clear to them , without words, that this is where they will find him now — in the common and vulnerable humanity around them. Jesus is telling us the same thing.
Poem: Jesus of the Scars – Edward Shillito (1872 – 1948)
If we have never sought, we seek Thee now; Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars; We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow, We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.
The heavens frighten us; they are too calm; In all the universe we have no place. Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm? Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars, we claim Thy grace.
If, when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near, Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine; We know today what wounds are, have no fear, Show us Thy Scars, we know the countersign.
The other gods were strong; but Thou wast weak; They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne; But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak, And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.
They said to him, “The things that happened to Jesus the Nazarene, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, how our chief priests and rulers both handed him over to a sentence of death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he would be the one to redeem Israel …
… And he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are! How slow of heart to believe all that the prophets spoke! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and so enter into his glory?”
Luke 24: 19-21; 25-26
The Emmaus disciples travel home confused, disappointed, walking on the thin edge of doubt, caught in the pluperfect form of hope that struggles to believe.
How special these two must have been to Jesus that he comes to them to soothe and redeem their bewilderedness!
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
Each of us walks the road of faith, sometimes confident, and sometimes as befuddled as these two on the way to Emmaus. Good friends – holy friends – help us open our eyes to the presence of God in our lives. We pray in gratitude for the companions who accompany us on our life journey. We consider our openness to God’s presence in our companionship, and ask for the grace to inspire one another’s faith.
Poetry: Emmaus Journey by Irene Zimmerman, OSF – from Incarnation: New and Selected Poems for Spiritual Reflection
All was chaos when he died. We fled our separate ways at first, then gathered again in the upper room to chatter blue-lipped prayers around the table where he’d talked of love and oneness.
On the third day Cleopas and I left for the home we’d abandoned in order to follow him.
We wanted no part of the babble the women had brought from the tomb. We vowed to get on with our grieving.
On the road we met a Stranger whose voice grew vaguely familiar as he spoke of signs and suffering.
By the time we reached our village, every tree and bush was blazing and we pressed him to stay the night.
Yet not till we sat at the table and watched the bread being broken did we see the Light.
Mary said to the angels, “They have taken my Lord, and I don’t know where they laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus there, but did not know it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” She thought it was the gardener and said to him, “Sir, if you carried him away, tell me where you laid him, and I will take him.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni,”….
John 20:13-16
It is not until He says her name that Mary recognizes Jesus. Earlier, when He simply calls her “Woman”, she is still confused about who He is. But the speaking of her name clears her vision and she names Him, lovingly, in return.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
Let us listen to God’s names for us. They will be beyond the Baptismal or nicknames by which everyone knows us. God’s names for us are infinite, changing as we grow in knowledge of ourselves. They are wordless invitations to ever-deeper intimacy as we discover ourselves in God’s heart.
And let us pray with our own names for God. These too may be beyond the common catalog of “Lord” and “Father”. Plumb your soul for your own deepest – perhaps even silent – names for God.
Poetry: Thom Satterlee – One Hundred and Eight Names for God (based on Hal M. Helms translation of The Confessions)
Some of them we’ve heard before– Lord, Almighty, Omnipotent One. And others turn God into a pedant, even if that wasn’t always a bad thing to be: Power That Weds My Mind with My Inmost Thought. But many, the best, are like a new birdcall: Beauty of All Things Beautiful, The One by Whom I Have Been Apprehended. They remind me of the unsteady joy in learning a foreign language: God, Light of My Eyes in Secret, Inmost Physician, Exaltation of My Humility. What impresses me most is his trying again and again to name what he loves, and how the attempt at once shows and grows his love.
So what shall we call him, This Most Effusive Saint? He is An Eloquent Lover of the Divine, One Holy Word Hoarder, God’s Appellation Artist. He is One Who Shows Us What a Name Can Mean, An Alphabet That Ends with the Letter for God.
When I found Thom Satterlee’s poem on the internet, there was a link to this wonderful article for anyone who loves to write. Some of you may enjoy it. I think it’s really beautiful.
Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went away quickly from the tomb, fearful yet overjoyed, and ran to announce the news to his disciples. And behold, Jesus met them on their way and greeted them. They approached, embraced his feet, and did him homage. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.”
Matthew 28: 8-10
Oh, the young, heartbroken yet hopeful, fearful yet joyful Marys! Their whole beings leapt at the realization of Easter.
And so they RAN to share the incredible news. They didn’t just walk. They didn’t just return. They didn’t just hurry. They RAN!
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy: Now it’s been a while since this nearly octogenarian body has run. But I ask myself on this post-Easter morning, can my spirit still run … RUN … with the Resurrection News to every heart that longs to hear it?
Poetry: Messenger – Mary Oliver
My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird— equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn? Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished. The phoebe, the delphinium. The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture. Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart and these body-clothes, a mouth with which to give shouts of joy to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam, telling them all, over and over, how it is that we live forever.
If then you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Think of what is above, not of what is on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ your life appears, then you too will appear with him in glory.
Colossians 3:1-4
This succinct passage from Colossians is so powerful it defies commentary. Let your heart absorb its amazing truth. Let your spirit be challenged to live its promise. Cherishing this Easter gift, let your whole being become an Alleluia.
Happy and Blessed Easter, dear friends.
St. Augustine of Hippo
Music:from Handel’s Messiah – I know that my Redeemer liveth – Pavla Flámová
I found it beautiful to notice that Ms. Flámová is reading the music in Braille.
I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day Upon the earth. And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God For now is Christ risen from the dead, the first fruits of them that Sleep
Holy Week and Eastertide are times of sacred journey for Christians. We walk with Christ into the true and deepest dimensions of our lives.
All life is about journey and passage. At some time in each of our lives, we are passing:
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 great Feasts of Holy Week and Easter, and the reflective weeks that follow, assure us that God accompanies us in all our journeys from darkness to light. The sacredness of these days invites us to quietly name whatever darkness surrounds us and our global family, and to reach through it to the hand of God. Like a parent leading a child in from the storm, the God of Easter longs to bring our hearts home to fullness and joy.
During these coming weeks, I will continue offering reflections centered on a single word, since many of you have expressed to me an appreciation for this approach. In the archives listed on the right of the blog, you can access more extensive reflections for each day of the liturgical cycle, accumulated over the past six years.
As we begin these sacred days, let’s pray for one another. And let us pray particularly for those whose current lives are closely patterned on the sufferings of Christ that, with Him, they may be strengthened with Easter hope and courage.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy, we hear the familiar tones of the central Exodus story.
Waiting forEaster Vigil
As we prayerfully read this passage, we may be carried back to the many Holy Saturday liturgies we have attended in our lives. In our memories, it is early spring, the evenings are still dark, and chapel is barely lit. We know the momentous story we are about to hear and re-enact. We believe it is brought to fruition in the sacramental liturgy we are about to offer. And, within all the memories, all the rituals, and all the words, one phrase stands out:
It is the Passover of the Lord.
“This is how you are to eat the lamb: with your loins girt, sandals on your feet and your staff in hand, you shall eat like those who are in flight. It is the Passover of the LORD.
Walter Brueggemann says that, in the act of “passover”, the community chooses to move on from its prohibitive existence to a new way of being. It chooses an alternative that requires “departure”:
That alternative is not easy or obvious or automatic. It requires a departure, an intentional departure from that system that the Bible terms “exodus.” In that ancient narrative the Israelites did not want to go, and once they had gone they wished to resubmit to Pharaoh. The departure is a piece of demanding, sustained work. The capacity to think and imagine and act and live beyond that system requires imagination that has dimensions of the psychological, the economic, and the liturgical. Indeed, the core liturgy of Israel (Passover) and the derivative liturgies of the church are practiced departures that now and then take on reality in the world.
Walter Brueggemann: Journey to the Common Good
In our reading from Matthew, and continually throughout the Gospel, Jesus invites his community to a profound “departure” – to a new understanding of the Law as love not requirement.
When the Pharisees criticize the hungry disciples for plucking and eating grain heads on the Sabbath, Jesus confronts them:
I say to you, something greater than the temple is here. If you knew what this meant, I desire mercy, not sacrifice, you would not have condemned these innocent men. For the Son of Man is Lord of the sabbath.”
Matthew 12:7-8
Something greater than the Temple?????? The Pharisees stare at Jesus in stunned amazement! Could such a thing be possible?
Our Gospel tells us that not only is it possible, it is reality. The “Temple” and the old Law had lost their heart to the belief that personal power and affluence trumped human need. Their “systems” for becoming holy had become vacuous.
Jesus teaches that gaining sanctity requires that we live in mercy toward ourselves and others. Rituals, Temples, Churches and codes of conduct are meaningless unless they direct us always to act in mercy. When these same institutions and practices contradict God’s Mercy, we must have the courage for “departure” and “passover”.
“Departure” though does not mean abandonment. It means ceasing the merciless practices condoned by institutionalization, and having the courageous perseverance to build new paths to meaning.
It is clear in the Jewish practice of Passover that the exodus memory became a paradigmatic narrative through which all social reality is described and re-experienced. That is, the narrative pertains to a one-time remembered social upheaval caused by God’s holiness; but the narrative looks beyond that one-time memory to see that the same transactions of oppression and emancipation continue everywhere to evoke holy power.
Walter Brueggemann, Journey to the Common Good
Every day of our lives, we are called to “passover” into greater spiritual awareness, merciful practice, and just living. We may hear the call in small personal interactions, or in the larger context of our fragmented world.
We are faced constantly with alternatives between (just to name a few):
selfishness or generosity
forgiveness or vengefulness
honesty or pretense
peacemaking or rabble-rousing
addiction or freedom
informed decision-making or arrogant ignorance
gossip or respect
action for the poor or indifferent comfort
political and economic elitism or social justice
respect fro Creation or utilitarian ignorance
The sacred bridge in each of these passovers is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Choosing it wholeheartedly, we will arrive on the right side of God.
Poetry: Journey – by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice-- though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do-- determined to save the only life you could save.
Music: Took Me Out of Egypt – David Baroni (lyrics below)
Lord I’m feel so empty seems like we’re so far apart Even tho’ some may applaud me You alone can see my heart You don’t look at my achievements or my ability All You really wants is all of me And though it frightens me to give my control There is only room for one King In the throne room of my soul
Lord You took me out of Egypt Now take Egypt out of me You delivered me from Pharaoh now set me free from me Let my heart become a promised land Where the desert used to be Lord You took me out of Egypt Now take Egypt out of me
Blessed are the pure in heart For they shall see the Lord But eyes that only look to earth Will lose the rich reward Of the fellowship eternal the blissful unity Of the ones who live in Jesus And no longer serve King Me
Lord You took me out of Egypt…….
Lord I love the gifts You’ve given me But I love the Giver more And to worship You more perfectly That’s what those gifts are for
Lavish Mercy 