Saturday, March 30, 2024

Easter - a stone rolling exercise!

 


Rolling Away the Stone with Easter Energy!

When dawn stands still with wonder, when birds jubilate in the trees, when buds hurry into blossoms and grass starts wearing green – I always know that Easter wants to come again.

But deeper yet and richer still when Jesus, imprisoned in me, asks me to roll away the stone that locks him in, then Easter wants to come again.

So, let it come. It’s one dawn past rising time and Resurrection is the wildest news that’s ever touched this crazy mixed-up world. It says, yes! When everything else says, no! It says, up! When everything else says, down! It says, live! When everything else says, die!

Easter’s standing at your door again, so don’t you see that stone has got to go? That stone of fear, of selfishness and pride, of greed and blindness and all the other stones we use to keep Jesus in the tomb.

So here’s to rolling stones away, to give our Lord the chance He needs to rise and touch a troubled, lonely world.

Some call it Resurrection. It’s wild with wonder. It’s beautiful and real, intent on throwing life around – it touches and it heals!

Yes, Easter, you can come – an angel of life I’ll be.  I’ll roll the stone away and set you free.

(From Seasons of Your Heart by Macrina Wiederkehr, OSB
(1939–2020) )

Shouts of Good News-ing, Alleluia!

 

Easter Vigil ~ 

Mark 16: 1-8

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene,                                                                                  Mary, the mother of James, and Salome bought                                                                            spices so that they might go and anoint him.

Very early when the sun had risen,
on the first day of the week, they came to the tomb.
They were saying to one another, 
“Who will roll back the stone for us
from the entrance to the tomb?”
When they looked up,
they saw that the stone had been rolled back;
it was very large.
On entering the tomb they saw a young man
sitting on the right side, clothed in a white robe,
and they were utterly amazed.
He said to them, “Do not be amazed!
You seek Jesus of Nazareth, the crucified.
He has been raised; he is not here.
Behold the place where they laid him.
But go and tell his disciples and Peter, 
‘He is going before you to Galilee; 
there you will see him, as he told you.’”

 

Sin of Lying

 A minister told his congregation, "Next week I plan to preach about the
sin of lying. To help you understand my sermon, I want you all to read

Mark Chapter17.”
The following Sunday, as he prepared to deliver his sermon,     

 the minister asked for a show of hands. 

He wanted to know how many had read Mark Chapter 17.

Every hand went up. The minister smiled and said, "Mark has only16 Chapters. 

I will now proceed with my sermon on the sin of lying."


Well, it’s no lie – the Gospel reading tonight is from Mark –

Chapter 16 –the last Chapter of Mark’s Gospel. In fact, scholars

believe these are the final eight lines of his original manuscript.  

 

Mark does not offer any further post Resurrection appearance

storiesMark simply has this wonderful Gospel that we have

just heard proclaimed ~ and this is all part of Mark’s purpose

and plan, so as to tell us who Jesus is and how, as a spiritual

 presence, he paves the way ahead of us and is alive in our lives.

 

Now, if we were to reflect on the Resurrection accounts of all four

Gospels, we would discover that there is great discrepancy

among the writers in their efforts to tell the story of this

glorious mystery.  Despite these discrepancies, these accounts

were not only what they remembered, but also how this event

affected them and how they reacted to what had happened –

each one perceiving, discerning, and sharing a unique perspective

from a shared and miraculous experience. 

 They were trying to let us know that it was totally extraordinary,

beyond anything in their human experience. They wanted us to

realize how powerful this God is who raised Jesus from the dead. 

 Our Gospel tells us that on the first day of the week three women

came to the tomb with heavy hearts not to seek a risen Jesus,

but to anoint the dead, crucified body of Jesus, whom they had

loved and lost.

Possibly after a sleepless night, probably tossing and turning in

anguish at the dreadful memory of Jesus' agony and death, they

expected nothing more than a corpse, the remains of one who

had been so dear to them. 

And the men followers, fearful for their lives, did not even venture

outside the locked room where they were hiding. After all that Jesus

had said and done, after miracles and prophecies foretelling his

death and resurrection, they did not consider it a possibility.

They had no hope that he would rise from the dead, not even enough

faith to check out the tomb on the third day to see if he really

meant what he foretold.

But it was no lie. These women came to the tomb to grieve,

but they left with a message that would change the world.

The Resurrection was so contrary to their expectations

that after the angel proclaimed the good news to the

three women, he commissioned them to go to the other

disciples and tell them that Jesus had been raised just as he

said and is going ahead of them to Galilee. 

 They fled from the tomb for "terror and amazement had seized them."

They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Mark's Gospel ends in silence, and Jesus never appears. 

However, the women must have told somebody or Mark

would never have known the story. What if Mark wanted

to end with silence? Surely, he knew the story.

He had heard the story passed down from those

who knew Jesus to those in his community who now

            gathered in Jesus' name.

 

Mark wrote his narrative so the story would live beyond

that generation of eye-witnesses. Mark wrote in a time of trauma,

shortly after Roman armies had squashed a Jewish rebellion,

destroying the temple and much of Jerusalem.

Jews were killed by the thousands and those who followed

Jesus from Nazareth were increasingly persecuted.

Mark wrote this Gospel for those who had never seen Jesus

nor heard him speak. Mark's silence is for them, a silence

that honored their present trauma.

 

Of all the Easter Gospels, Mark's story invites us to stand

where those first trembling witnesses stood. Those three

women didn't see Jesus. Neither do we.

They didn't hear Jesus call their names. Neither have we.

They weren't invited to touch his wounded hands.

We haven't touched Jesus' hands either. Mary Magdalen,

Mary the mother of James and Salome are our silent sisters.  

In their silence they remind us that the life of faith is shaped

by trauma and ecstasy, trembling and amazement.

The silence at the end of Mark's gospel is always waiting to

be filled in by people of every generation, waiting now for you

and for me. The narrative is left for us, the readers, to complete.

And so Mark is telling us, his readers, that Jesus goes

ahead of us to prepare the way.

·       Jesus goes ahead of us in every situation, urging us

to come to our own inner rising, moving stones of fear,

selfishness, or pride that block our paths, and confronting

our own locked minds and anxious spirits.

·       Jesus goes ahead of us and commissions us to be salt, and bread,

and light, “for the least, the last, and the lost,” and this will

demand imagination, vision, commitment, and trust in the one

who calls.

It’s no lie - we all stand with the women at the empty tomb –

and in a "sometimes-Good Friday world," we are challenged in our

resurrection belief to declare that true resurrection faith does

not arise from seeing and believing in an empty tomb,

but from meeting God in the breaking of the Bread, in breaking

open the Word, and sharing in the Cup in our everyday lives

with eyes open to surprise, with hearts receptive to the unexpected,

with minds willing to surrender to mystery, and with spirits

longing for inner freedom, hope and truth.

 

In closing, I share how author and poet, Irene Zimmerman, OSF,

gives poetic voice to this story of the empty tomb:

“None of the men had offered to go, so the women had set out

in haste alone to straighten twisted feet and fingers,

comb black blood from matted hair, anoint the precious

body with spices.

‘But who will roll away the stone?’ They whispered again

as they neared the tomb. When they looked up, they saw

that the stone had already been rolled back.

From inside they heard – He has been raised, he is not here.

Fleeing from the tomb, intent on telling no one,

they tripped pell-mell over terror and amazement.

After the telling, they set out in haste together this time,

a community of equals, to roll away stones, straighten crooked paths,

comb the far countries and anoint the precious world with Good News.”



 

 

Friday, March 29, 2024

Another Sorrowful Mystery . . .

 

A poem by an unknown author, entitled "Two Mothers", tells of their anonymous heavenly encounter as follows: 
 
A long time ago, so I have been told,
 Two mothers once met on streets paved with gold.
“By the stars in your crown,” said Mary to the other
“I see that on earth, you too, were a mother.

"And by, the violet-tinted halo you wear
 You, too, have known sorrow and deepest despair.”


“Ah yes,” she replied, “I once had a son.
 A sweet little lad, full of laughter and fun.

“But tell of your child.”
 “Oh, I knew I was blessed
 From the moment I first held him close to my breast,
 And my heart almost burst with the joy of that day.”

“Ah, yes,” said the other, “I felt the same way.”

 
The former continued: “The first steps he took-
So eager and breathless; the sweet startled look
 Which came over his face – he trusted me so.”


“Ah, yes,” said the other, “How well do I know."
 
“But soon he had grown to a tall handsome boy,
 So stalwart and kind – and it gave me such joy
 To have him just walk down the street by my side.”


“Ah yes," said the other mother, “I felt the same pride.”

“How often I shielded and spared him from pain.
 And when he for others was so cruelly slain.
 When they crucified him – and they spat in his face
 How gladly would I have hung there in his place!”


A moment of silence – “Oh, then you are indeed
 The mother of Christ!”
; and she fell on one knee.
 But the Blessed one raised her up, drawing her near.
 And kissed from the cheek of the mother, a tear.


“Tell me the name of the son you love so,
 That I may share with you in your grief and your woe.”

She lifted her eyes, looking straight at the other.
“He was Judas Iscariot: I am his mother.”



Wednesday, March 27, 2024

Kisses of Betrayal

 

Image by J. O'Brien



This is the day that stories speak of Judas Iscariot as moving to the “dark side” to conspire with the religious leaders to betray Jesus and hand him over to be arrested. I often think of the writings of Megan McKenna and a particular story she tells within a story. It goes like this:

Megan was driving the back roads of Ireland’s countryside listening to the radio. There had been a short-story writing contest and the stories submitted were to be limited to thirty words.  As she was listening to the stories being presented over the radio – the following entry was read:

“Welcome home, son!
Hello, father.
It is so good to see you.  It’s been a long time.
Yes, father, a very long time.  It was hard.
Hard as nails.  Hard as wood.
I know.  What was the hardest?
The kiss, father, the kiss. (long pause)
Yes.  Come in and let me hold you.”


Megan continues with her story – “I nearly drove off the road.  Within seconds I was crying and had to pull over.  It hit me hard.  I was overwhelmed by the realization that sin is evil and terrible, and some sin is more evil and more terrible . . .” (From LENT by Megan McKenna)

Monday, March 25, 2024

March 28, 2024: Dr. Cynthia Bailey Manns Preaches for Holy Thursday

Servant Freed!



I stand in the darkened fissure of the stable,
lit only by the glowing face of
the boy-child.   
Parent eyes glistening with holy wonder,
while heavened stars point to
mangered Messiah.                                                                                 
I listen, I wonder, I breathe, for I am only servant.

I stand in the darkened temple portico
observing those of the Law encircling
the teacher-child.                                                                    
His face radiates with purpose and passion about God’s call!
I listen, I wonder, I breathe, for I am only servant.

I stand in the Cana garden among the six stoneware water jars.                      
His mother moving his mission,
“Do whatever he tells you.”
Waters of purification touched                                                 
with words of transformation
become intoxicating wedding wine.               
Speak these words over me . . .
fill me to the brim with courage
as I listen, as I wonder,
as I breathe, for I am only servant.

I stand along the steep grassy edges
of the partial rocky hillside,                                                               
His face emits energy with each spoken,
“Blessed are you!”                                   
I listen, I wonder, I breathe, for I am only servant.

I stand in the upper room, corner-concealed,
yet his eyes beckon me to move    
within his touch.
His carpentered hands accept each foot
as with the artistry
of fitting roughhewn wood.
With tender, soothing, healing - intimate knowing,
he bends to wash my feet.

Upon this embrace -
God-light, God-love streams
into my very soul-                     
I listen and hear
within me:                                                                                                                                               
Untie her.                                                                 
What do you want me to do for you?                                            
Pick up your mat.                                                                 
I do not condemn you.                                                             
You are worth more than many sparrows.                          
You are no longer servant – you are friend.
   

I wonder, I breathe . . .
 sjh

Sacred foot washing . . .do this in memory of me!

 


Once upon a time when I was attending a Holy Thursday service at a nearby parish,  there were chairs set up in the aisles along with pitchers of water, basins, and towels.  So it was that when it came to the ritual of foot washing, everyone participated. I found myself entering into the movements and happenings with such emotion, I could feel it deep in my soul space. 

During this time, I watched husbands and wives washing each other’s feet, their children washing the feet of their parents. I saw sons and daughters washing the feet of their elderly parents. Children washing the feet of their siblings.  It was oh so moving that I cried throughout the whole experience, and especially as my feet were washed. What a powerful act of intimacy - an act of sacred touching, healing, welcoming, and forgiving


God in an Apron
Supper was special that night
There was booth a heaviness and a holiness
hanging in the air
We couldn't explain the mood
It was sacred, yet sorrowful.
Gathered around the table
eating that solemn, holy meal
seemed to us the most important meal
we had ever sat down to eat.
We were dwelling in the heart of mystery
Though dark the night
Hope felt right
As if something evil
Was about to be conquered.

And then suddenly
The One we loved startled us all
He got up from the table
and put on an apron.
Can you imagine how we felt?
God in an apron!
Tenderness encircled us
as he bowed before us.
He knelt and said,
“I choose to wash your feet
because I love you.”
God in an apron, kneeling
I couldn't believe my eyes.
I was embarrassed
until his eyes met mine
I sensed my value then.
He touched my feet
He held them in his strong, brown hands
He washed them
I can still feel the water
I can still feel the touch of his hands.
I can still see the look in his eyes.

Then he handed me the towel and said,
“As I have done so you must do.”
Learn to bow
Learn to kneel.
Let your tenderness encircle
everyone you meet.
Wash their feet
Not because you have to,
Because you want to.

It seems I've stood two thousand years
Holding the towel in my hands,
“As I have done so you must do,”
Keeps echoing in my heart.
“There are so many feet to wash,” I keep saying.
“No,” I hear God’s voice resounding through the years
“There are only my feet
What you do for them, you do for me.”
(Macrina Wiederkehr Seasons of Your Heart)

Sunday, March 24, 2024

March 24, 2023: Sheila Leocádia Pires Preaches for Palm Sunday

Prayer while waiting . . .

 


You keep us waiting … you, the God of all time, want us to wait For the right time in which to discover Who we are, where we must go, Who will be with us, and what we must do. So, thank you … for the waiting time. 


You keep us looking … you, the God of all space, Want us to look in the right and wrong places for signs of hope, For people who are hopeless, For visions of a better world which will appear Among the disappointments of the world we know. So, thank you … for the looking time. 

You keep us loving … you, the God whose name is love, Want us to be like you – To love the loveless and the unlovely and the unlovable; To love without jealousy or design or threat; And, most difficult of all, to love ourselves. So thank you … for the loving time. 

And in all this, you keep us. Through hard questions with no easy answers; Through failing where we had hoped to succeed And making an impact when we felt we were useless; Through the patience and the dreams and the love of others, And through Jesus Christ and his Spirit, you keep us. So, thank you … for the keeping time, And for now, And forever, Amen.

John Bell, Iona Community



Saturday, March 23, 2024

What's in a name?

 


 
Litany of God's Names

by Joseph Sobb, S.J.

O God of silence and quietness, you call us to be still and know you -
O God of steadfast love, your Spirit is poured into our hearts –
O God of compassion, your Word is our light and hope –
O God of faithfulness, you fill our hearts with joy –
O God of life and truth, from you we receive every gift –

O God of healing and peace, you open us to divine grace –
O God of all creation, our beginning and our end –
O God of salvation, you reconcile all things in Jesus, -
O God of Jesus, conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit –
O God of Jesus, who invites us, “Come and see” –
O God of Jesus, who was tempted as we all are –
O God of Jesus, who is your pledge of saving love –
O God of Sarah and Abraham, from whom came  Jesus -
O God of Anna and Simeon, who recognized Jesus, your Son,
  as Messiah –

O God of Mary, who bore Jesus, -  
O God of Joseph, to whose fatherly care was entrusted Jesus, -
O God of all generations, of all times and seasons and peoples –
O God of our mothers and fathers, of all who have loved us –
O God of our past; O God of our future –
O God of our present, O God in our present -
 
(Original source unknown)

Friday, March 22, 2024

Holy Monday . . .

 



Anointing in Bethany (John 12:1-11)

Solemnly, Mary entered the room, holding high the alabaster jar. It gleamed in the lamplight as she circled the room, incensing the disciples, blessing Martha’s banquet. “A splendid table!” Mary called with her eyes as she whirled past her sister.

She came to a halt at last before Jesus, bowed profoundly and knelt at his feet. Deftly, she filled her right hand with nard, placed the jar on the floor, took one foot in her hands and moved fragrant fingers across his instep.

Over and over she made the journey from heel to toes, thanking him for every step he had made on Judea’s stony hills, for every stop at their home, for bringing back Lazarus.

She poured out more nard, took his other foot in her hands and started again with strong, rhythmic strokes. She felt her hands’ heat draw out his tiredness, take away the rebuffs he had known – the shut doors, the shut hearts.

Energy flowed like a river between them.  His saturated skin gleamed with oil. She had no towel!

In an instant she pulled off her veil, pulled the pins from her hair, shook it out till it fell in cascades, and once more cradled each foot, dried the ankles, the insteps, drew the strands between his toes.

Without warning, Judas Iscariot spat out his anger, the words hissing like lightning above her unveiled head: “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?”

 “Leave her alone!” Jesus silenced the usurper. “She brought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.”

The words poured like oil, anointing her from head to foot. 

From: Woman Un-Bent by Irene Zimmerman

Thursday, March 21, 2024

Streams of Hope!

 




Help Us to Hope 

O loving God,
we thank you for bringing us the rivers and streams of this world.
May the rivers we know be an image of the stream
that you want to flow within each one of us.

Teach us now, take away all fear,
dare to let us believe that we could really be a small part
of a reconstructed society, that we could build again.
Take away our cynicism.
Take away our lack of hope.
Take away our own anger and judgments.

We thank you for the faith and the desire that is in our hearts.
You have planted it there. Now help us to preserve it,
protect it and increase it.

We long for vision, God.
We need vision and we know we will perish without it.
Help us open each new day to a new meaning,
to a new hope, to a deeper desiring.
Show us your face, loving God, and we will be satisfied.
We ask for all this in Jesus’ name.

AMEN. (Richard Rohr, ofm)


Photos courtesy of Sister Doris Klein, CSA

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

Palms of Hosanna!

 

 

 
Blessings of Palms
By Jan Richardson

This blessing can be heard coming
from a long way off.
This blessing is making
its way up the road
toward you.
This blessing blooms in the throats
of women,
springs from the hearts
of men,
tumbles out of the mouths
of children.
This blessing is stitched into
the seams of the cloaks
that line the road,
etched in the branches
that trace the path,
echoes in the breathing
of the willing colt,
the click of the donkey’s hoof
against the stones.

Something is rising beneath this blessing.
Something will try to drown it out.

But this blessing cannot be turned back,
cannot be made to still its voice,
cannot cease to sing its praise
of the One who comes
along the way
it makes.


From: Circle of Grace, Wanton Gospeller Press, Orlando, FL, 2015

 http://www.janrichardson.com/index.htmlichardson.com 
©Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com

Ready, Set, Give Yourself Away! . . .



 
 
 
Entry
( Matthew 21:1-11) 

The stage is set
and everything washed clean
in a rain of sunshine.
Hands reach out
to calm a skittish colt,
bewildered by its burden.
The Son of David
rides a rainbowed road
that rocks with hosannas.

(Irene Zimmerman, OSF)

Waiting in Spring!

 


Blessing for Waiting

Who wait for the night to end.

bless them.

 

Who wait for the night to begin

bless them.

 

Who wait in the hospital room

who wait in the cell

who wait in prayer

bless them.

 

Who wait for news

who wait for the phone call

who wait for a word

who wait for a job - a house - a child

bless them.

 

Who wait for one who will come home..

who wait for one who

will not come home

bless them.

 

Who wait with fear

who wait with joy

who wait with peace

who wait with rage

who wait for the end

who wait for the beginning

who wait alone

who wait together

bless them.

 

Who wait without knowing

what they wait for or why

bless them.

 

Who wait when they

should not wait

who wait when they should

be in motion

who wait when they need to rise

who wait when they need to set out

bless them.

 

Who wait for the end of waiting

who wait for the fullness of time

who wait emptied and

open and ready

who wait for you,

O bless.

 

Jan Richardson

Circle of Grace

 http://www.janrichardson.com/index.htmlichardson.com