Observing the boldness of Peter and John and perceiving them to be uneducated, ordinary men, the leaders, elders, and scribes were amazed, and they recognized them as the companions of Jesus.
Acts 4:11
When Jesus had risen, early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had driven seven demons. She went and told his companions who were mourning and weeping. When they heard that he was alive and had been seen by her, they did not believe.
Mark 16:9-11
Think of it! Jesus had companions – people he depended on and who depended on him. Like all companions, they had a common bond – their faith and mission.
It was this shared faith and mission that made them recognizable even when they were not standing side by side.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
How wonderful to be so invested in the faith and mission of the Gospel that we are recognizable as companions of Jesus!
Poetry: The Companion – John N. Morris
I shall begin To appear too often. You will not recall When first you saw me. I shall arrive At the light beside you. Catching a plane You will observe me. I will never speak. I will never ignore you. I shall open a door. You will pass before me. I will stand In a line behind you. Whatever you do I will be the same. Nobody else Will ever believe you. Soon you will find You are looking for me. The day will come, It is getting closer, When I shall stand At every corner. Then you will know That you deserve me And there will be No more excuses.
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.
He loved his own in the world and he loved them to the end. The devil had already induced Judas, son of Simon the Iscariot, to hand him over. So, during supper, fully aware that the Father had put everything into his power and that he had come from God and was returning to God, he rose from supper and took off his outer garments. He took a towel and tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and dry them with the towel around his waist.
John 13: 1-4
Be there. Feel the astonished silence in the room as Jesus kneels before each of his disciples to wash their feet. Enter their hearts as they begin to realize he is giving them one of the final gifts of his amazing love. Imagine Jesus’ own heart as he washes the feet of each dear friend, knowing the time has come to be parted from them.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
We let Jesus lean over us and pour the cleansing water of his love over us. We listen to the water, to his hands, to the silence – to hear the call to imitate his humble love in our lives.
Poetry: Morning of Fog – Jessica Powers (Sr. Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD)
Between this city of death with its gray face and the city of life where my thoughts stir wild and free a day stands. It is a road I trace too eagerly. For morning can give me nothing but a dull cold sense of having died. The towers lift like dreams. Down through the streets the beautiful gray fogs of sorrow drift. This is a city of phantoms. I am lost in a place where nothing that beats with life should roam. Only a spirit chilled into a ghost could call these streets its home. I shall go exiled to the fall of night, until I can return to the city I love where the streets are washed with light and the windows burn.
Music: Wash Me, Lord – Harvest
I thought I was so clever Thought I was so wise Surely You could never see Inside this darkness I thought that I had fooled You Now I see I was the fool Thinking that I could hide this darkness In my heart
So wash me, Lord In Your presence Wash me, make me clean There’s a stain in my heart That only You can see Wash me, make me clean
I brought You sacrifices My silver and my gold In my selfishness I tried to buy Your pleasure But Your holiness requires The offering You desire Is that I bring to You A brokеn, humble heart
So break mе, Lord In Your presence Break me, set me free There’s a stain in my heart That only You can see So wash me, Lord In Your presence Wash me, make me clean There’s a stain in my heart That only You can see Wash me, make me clean
Reclining at table with his disciples, Jesus was deeply troubled and testified, “Amen, amen, I say to you, one of you will betray me.” The disciples looked at one another, at a loss as to whom he meant. One of his disciples, the one whom Jesus loved, was reclining at Jesus’ side. So Simon Peter nodded to him to find out whom he meant. He leaned back against Jesus’ chest and said to him, “Master, who is it?” Jesus answered, “It is the one to whom I hand the morsel after I have dipped it.” So he dipped the morsel and took it and handed it to Judas, son of Simon the Iscariot.
John 13: 21-26
To be betrayed is so much worse than to be outright opposed! An opponent is someone who stands against you from the beginning. You know who they are. You know how to protect yourself from them.
But a betrayer is someone who turns on you after you have given your trust. With that trust, you have handed over all your tools for self-protection. You are left vulnerable to their inconstancy.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
We pray to be a true-hearted person, one who deserves and keeps the confidence of God and of our companions on the journey.
We pray to understand the weaknesses that may have motivated Judas, and to ask God to heal us of any trace of them in our own hearts.
Poetry: Judas Iscariot by Countee Cullen (1925)
This long but simple poem offers an interesting take on Judas. Countee Cullen was a central figure of the Harlem Renaissance, a movement centered in the cosmopolitan community of Harlem, in New York City, which had attracted talented migrants from across the country. During the 1920s, a fresh generation of African-American writers emerged, although a few were Harlem-born. Other leading figures included Alain Locke (The New Negro, 1925), James Weldon Johnson (Black Manhattan, 1930), Claude McKay (Home to Harlem, 1928), Langston Hughes (The Weary Blues, 1926), Zora Neale Hurston (Jonah’s Gourd Vine, 1934), Wallace Thurman (Harlem: A Melodrama of Negro Life, 1929), Jean Toomer (Cane, 1923) and Arna Bontemps (Black Thunder, 1935).(information from Wikipedia)
I think when Judas' mother heard His first faint cry the night That he was born, that worship stirred Her at the sound and sight.
She thought his was as fair a frame As flesh and blood had worn; I think she made this lovely name For him— "Star of my morn."
As any mother's son he grew From spring to crimson spring; I think his eyes were black, or blue, His hair curled like a ring.
His mother's heart-strings were a lute Whereon he all day played; She listened rapt, abandoned, mute, To every note he made.
I think he knew the growing Christ, And played with Mary's son, And where mere mortal craft sufficed, There Judas may have won.
Perhaps he little cared or knew, So folly-wise is youth, That He whose hand his hand clung to Was flesh-embodied Truth;
Until one day he heard young Christ, With far-off eyes agleam, Tell of a mystic, solemn tryst Between Him and a dream.
And Judas listened, wonder-eyed, Until the Christ was through, Then said, “And I, though good betide, Or ill, will go with you."
And so he followed, heard Christ preach, Saw how by miracle The blind man saw, the dumb got speech, The leper found him well.
And Judas in those holy hours, Loved Christ, and loved Him much, And in his heart he sensed dead flowers Bloom at the Master's touch.
And when Christ felt the death hour creep, With sullen, drunken lurch, He said to Peter, "Feed my sheep, And build my holy church.”
He gave to each the special task That should be his to do, But reaching one, I hear him ask, “What shall I give to you?”
Then Judas in his hot desire Said, "Give me what you will." Christ spoke to him with words of fire, “Then, Judas, you must kill,
One whom you love, One who loves you As only God's son can: This is the work for you to do To save the creature man."
"And men to come will curse your name, And hold you up to scorn; In all the world will be no shame Like yours; this is love's thorn.
It takes strong will of heart and soul, But man is under ban. Think, Judas, can you play this role In heaven's mystic plan?"
So Judas took the sorry part, Went out and spoke the word, And gave the kiss that broke his heart, But no one knew or heard.
And no one knew what poison ate Into his palm that day, Where, bright and damned, the monstrous weight Of thirty white coins lay.
It was not death that Judas found Upon a kindly tree; The man was dead long ere he bound His throat as final fee.
And who can say if on that day When gates of pearl swung wide, Christ did not go His honored way With Judas by His side?
I think somewhere a table round Owns Jesus as its head, And there the saintly twelve are found Who followed where He led.
And Judas sits down with the rest, And none shrinks from His hand, For there the worst is as the best, And there they understand.
And you may think of Judas, 'friend, As one who broke his word, Whose neck came to a bitter end For giving up his Lord.
But I would rather think of him As the little Jewish lad Who gave young Christ heart, soul, and limb, And all the love he had.
Music: Heaven On Their Minds – Judas’s song from Jesus Christ Superstar
Mary took a liter of costly perfumed oil made from genuine aromatic nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and dried them with her hair; the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil…
… Jesus said, “Leave her alone. Let her keep this for the day of my burial.
John 12: 3;7
Mary knows. Even though theories bounce back and forth about how Jesus will be received in Jerusalem, Mary knows.
She knows that someone she loves is on the brink of a desperate confrontation, and she cannot change it. What she can do is to cherish his presence by a silent act of love that strengthens both of them with a holy grace.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
We know. We know what Jesus did for us – still does for us. And there are no words adequate for our thanks. But our quiet prayer as we absorb the astounding mystery of Christ’s love – may it be an anointing of gratitude.
Poetry: Anointing at Bethany – Malcolm Guite
Come close with Mary, Martha, Lazarus so close the candles stir with their soft breath and kindle heart and soul to flame within us, lit by these mysteries of life and death. For beauty now begins the final movement in quietness and intimate encounter. The alabaster jar of precious ointment is broken open for the world’s true Lover.
The whole room richly fills to feast the senses with all the yearning such a fragrance brings. The heart is mourning but the spirit dances, here at the very center of all things, here at the meeting place of love and loss, we all foresee, and see beyond the cross.
Music: Pour My Love on You – written by Craig and Dean Phillips
So the chief priests and the Pharisees convened the Sanhedrin and said, “What are we going to do? This man is performing many signs. If we leave him alone, all will believe in him, and the Romans will come and take away both our land and our nation.” But one of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them, “You know nothing, nor do you consider that it is better for you that one man should die instead of the people, so that the whole nation may not perish.”
John 11: 47-50
From the moment described in this Gospel, down through the ages, the name “Caiaphas” shouts infamy. At a moment when he could have made all the difference in history, Caiaphas folded to political expediency, planting the seed for Jesus’s crucifixion.
Moral courage is a gift of the Holy Spirit. It strengthens us to tell the truth when doing so may cost us life, limb, or desired status in the world.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
With the gift of free will, God has given us tremendous power, just as God gave Caiaphas. Our words, or our silences, can make or break the flow of grace in the world. By the practice of prayerfully considering our allegiances and testimonies, we can fortify our spirits with a sacred honesty – the kind which Caiaphas lacked on that momentous day.
Why am I making this choice?
Why am I voicing this opinion?
Why am I standing on this side of justice or mercy?
Who benefits, or who suffers, because of my stance?
And, ultimately, will my testimony make the way for God’s grace?
Poetry: All Is Truth – Walt Whitman
O me, man of slack faith so long! Standing aloof—denying portions so long; Only aware to-day of compact, all-diffused truth; Discovering to-day there is no lie, or form of lie, and can be none, but grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon itself, Or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth does.
(This is curious, and may not be realized immediately—But it must be realized; I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest, And that the universe does.)
Where has fail'd a perfect return, indifferent of lies or the truth? Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire? or in the spirit of man? or in the meat and blood?
Meditating among liars, and retreating sternly into myself, I see that there are really no liars or lies after all, And that nothing fails its perfect return—And that what are called lies are perfect returns, And that each thing exactly represents itself, and what has preceded it, And that the truth includes all, and is compact, just as much as space is compact, And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth—but that all is truth without exception; And henceforth I will go celebrate anything I see or am, And sing and laugh, and deny nothing.
Jesus said to those Jews who believed in him, “If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
John 8:31
In our first reading, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego are examples of absolute trust in God. Their story is intended to assure the Jews in Babylonian captivity that God would deliver them.
In our Gospel, Jesus assures his followers that they too will be delivered from life’s tests if they trust fully in His Word.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
Let’s pray to deepen in our trust that God is with us always. Let’s sink the anchor of our faith, hope, and love into Christ’s promise. The more we can do this, the more we will be freed to love God, ourselves, and others with the fullness of Gospel love.
Poetry: Avowal – Denise Levertov
As swimmers dare to lie face to the sky and water bears them, as hawks rest upon air and air sustains them, so would I learn to attain freefall, and float into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace, knowing no effort earns that all-surrounding grace.
Music: How Beautiful Is Your Love – The Commons/Josh Blakesley
oh how beautiful is your love for me. oh what joy is mine in this mystery. i will not fear the dark here in the presence of your heart. oh how beautiful is your love.
oh how wonderful is your offering. lamb laid down for me on compassion’s tree. how could i turn away from the mercy of your face? oh how wonderful is your love.
Jesus, Jesus, oh how beautiful is your love. Jesus, Jesus, oh how beautiful is your love.
so miraculous is your sacrifice. body broken here that i might have life. take everything i own, let me be yours alone. so miraculous is your love.
Jesus, Jesus, oh how beautiful is your love. Jesus, Jesus, oh how beautiful is your love.
The LORD spoke to Nathan and said: “Go, tell my servant David, ‘When your time comes and you rest with your ancestors, I will raise up your heir after you, sprung from your loins, and I will make his kingdom firm. It is he who shall build a house for my name. And I will make his royal throne firm forever. I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me. Your house and your kingdom shall endure forever before me; your throne shall stand firm forever.’”
2 Samuel 7: 2-5;12-14;16
Today’s genealogies establish Jesus as the Messianic Heir promised to the House of David. Joseph is the link in that promise.
We have so little factual knowledge of Joseph, yet so much prayerful devotion to him. Gospel tidbits from Matthew and Luke help us imagine a holy and tender man who loved Christ into his divinely missioned adulthood. We imagine Joseph’s simple and faithful life as the carpenter-provider for the Holy Family, and his peaceful death in the embrace of Mary and Jesus.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
Wherever we are in our own lives, Joseph’s life can bring us inspiration and strength. Asking his guidance, we pray today for:
those making major life decisions
engaged couples learning to love and support one another
parents as they work to raise their children well
refugee parents protecting their families
workers struggling daily to provide for their families
the men in our lives who have nurtured, loved, and taught us
religious women and men in communities devoted to St. Joseph
those who are dying that they may have comfort and peace
Poetry: Prayer to St. Joseph – Cameron Belle
St. Joseph, patron saint of the unexpected, How freely you stepped into the unknown With your unwavering yes.
St. Joseph, dreamer of dreams, How attuned your heart was, waking or sleeping, To the promptings of angels.
St. Joseph, nurturing father, How openly you accepted your unconventional family, Lighting the way for us, too, to embrace all.
St. Joseph, there is still so much we don’t know about you, But maybe that is your gift to us, That we may see in the father of Jesus a mystery That sanctifies the hidden and untold in our own lives. May we, too, live our days in the holy shadow of your son.
There is a stream whose runlets gladden the city of God, the holy dwelling of the Most High. God is in its midst; it shall not be disturbed; God will help it at the break of dawn.
Psalm 46:5-6
Our Psalm today connects two readings centered around life-giving water.
Ezekiel’s watery vision offers a symbolic interpretation of the life-force flowing from God’s heart (symbolized by the Temple) to all Creation.
In our Gospel, a man waits for decades beside the waters of an inaccessible pool until Jesus cures him – until Jesus himself becomes the “Water of Life”.
Today, in God’s Lavish Mercy:
Imagine yourself being blessed by life-giving water – maybe a cool swim on a blistering day, or a warm bath on a frosty one.
Imagine walking in a gentle summer rain, no umbrella, no puddle prohibitions.
If you love the ocean, imagine diving under soft waves at flood tide, belly-riding them back, again and again, to a warm, quiet beach.
Now imagine that all that water is God’s Love for you, because it is. And let your heart pray with a joy similar to today’s psalmist!
Poetry: The Waterfall – Henry Vaughan (1621-1695)
With what deep murmurs through time’s silent stealth Doth thy transparent, cool, and wat’ry wealth Here flowing fall, And chide, and call, As if his liquid, loose retinue stay’d Ling’ring, and were of this steep place afraid; The common pass Where, clear as glass, All must descend Not to an end, But quicken’d by this deep and rocky grave, Rise to a longer course more bright and brave.
Dear stream! dear bank, where often I Have sate and pleas’d my pensive eye, Why, since each drop of thy quick store Runs thither whence it flow’d before, Should poor souls fear a shade or night, Who came, sure, from a sea of light? Or since those drops are all sent back So sure to thee, that none doth lack, Why should frail flesh doubt any more That what God takes, he’ll not restore?
O useful element and clear! My sacred wash and cleanser here, My first consigner unto those Fountains of life where the Lamb goes! What sublime truths and wholesome themes Lodge in thy mystical deep streams! Such as dull man can never find Unless that Spirit lead his mind Which first upon thy face did move, And hatch’d all with his quick’ning love. As this loud brook’s incessant fall In streaming rings restagnates all, Which reach by course the bank, and then Are no more seen, just so pass men. O my invisible estate, My glorious liberty, still late! Thou art the channel my soul seeks, Not this with cataracts and creeks.
Music: How Deep Is the Ocean As you listen to the smooth jazz of Diana Krall, let yourself be in love with God who raises you from beside whatever pool where you’ve been lingering.
Lavish Mercy 