Mary Magdalene ~ Woman of Faith and Courage!

I never suspected
            Resurrection
                        and to be so painful
                        to leave me weeping
With Joy
            to have met you, alive and smiling, outside an empty tomb
With Regret
            not because I’ve lost you
            but because I’ve lost you in how I had you –
                        in understandable, touchable, kissable, clingable flesh
                        not as fully Lord, but as graspably human.

I want to cling, despite your protest
            cling to your body
            cling to your, and my, clingable humanity
            cling to what we had, our past.

But I know that…if I cling
            you cannot ascend and
            I will be left clinging to your former self
            …unable to receive your present spirit.


 (Mary Magdala's Easter Prayer/Ron Rollheiser)

http://usccb.org/bible/readings/072215.cfm

A Summer Blessing . . .

Blessed are you, summer, season of long days and short nights,
you pour forth light from your golden orb,
energizing the earth and calling forth growth.

Blessed are you, summer, with your generous gift of heat.
Your warm breath animates creation,
encouraging all growing things to stretch toward the sun.

Blessed are you, summer, you call us into playfulness,
encouraging us to pause from work. You renew our spirits.

Blessed are you, gracious season of summer, you surprise us
with a variety of gifts from the earth.
We, too, gaze into the earth of ourselves, beholding gifts
waiting to be honored.

Blessed are you, nurturing season of summer, your fruits
and vegetables appear on our tables, changing them into altars.
Tasting of your life, we are made strong.

Blessed are you, summer, host of a star that shines with passion.
Sun-soaked, we reach for your energy that drives us upward and onward.

Blessed are you, sacrament of summer, nature’s green season,
sweet echo of spring.  You speak to us in living color
as you renew the earth with symbols of life for our bodies and souls.

Blessed are you, summer, season rooted in reality.
Even as the perspiration collects on our brow, we experience
your earthly joy.

Blessed are you, summer, with your firefly evenings
You minister to the child in us. You feed our hunger for beauty.

Author: Macrina Wiederkehr/The Circle of Life

Enjoy Summer now – only 158 days until Winter!!!

Bless this Day!

 

 

 

(Photo by Jean H.)

 

Blessing This Day

I only want to see the day ahead,
My attention will not go     
 backward into my history,
And my attention will not go forward
 into my future.

 

I am committed to staying only in
 the present time,
To remaining grounded in my world,
To feeling a bond with each person
 I meet,
To respecting my own integrity
 and my own honor,
To living within the energy of love
 and compassion this day,
And returning to that energy when
 I don’t feel it,
To making wise and blessed choices
 with my will, 
To maintaining perceptions of                  
wisdom and non-judgment,
To release the need to know why things happen the way they do,
And to not project expectations over how
I want this day to be ___
And how I want others to be.

And finally, my last prayer to trust the Divine.
With that I bless my day with gratitude and love.
Caroline Myss

 

A thought . . .

Picture an iceberg. The bulk of its power lies below the surface. The part of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic, for example, was not the 10 percent above the water; it was the 90 percent below the surface that did the damage. For human beings, it is also often true that the 90 percent below the surface - our unconscious beliefs, attitudes and habits sinks our fondest hopes and dreams. (Robert White)

I Scream ~ You Scream ~ We all scream for ice cream!

 

A Happy Birthday day!

Image from: Gilles Frozen Custard Drive-In ~ Fond du Lac, WI



 

 

Ice cream
(Author Unknown)

Last week I took my children to a restaurant.  My six-year-old son asked if he could say grace.  As we bowed our heads he said, “God is good. God is great.  Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert.  And with Liberty and justice for all! Amen!"

Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby I heard a woman remark, “That's what's wrong with this country.  Kids today don't even know how to pray.  Asking God for ice-cream! Why I never!"

Hearing this, my son burst into tears and asked me, “Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?"

As I held him and assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table.  He winked at my son and said,  "I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer."

 "Really?" my son asked.

 "Cross my heart," the man replied.

Then in a theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing) - "Too bad she never asks God for ice cream.  A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."

Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal.  My son stared at his for a moment and then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae and without a word, walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her, . . .
 "Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes; and my soul is good already."
 

Amazing . .

 

http://onlineministries.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/070915.html

 

http://usccb.org/bible/readings/070915.cfm

 

 

 

Fainting to the tune of Amazing Grace

 

Imagine this scene from a recent courtroom trial in South Africa: A frail black woman stands slowly to her feet. She is something over 70 years of age. Facing her from across the room are several white security police officers, one of whom, Mr. Van der Broek, has just been tried and found implicated in the murders of both the woman's son and her husband some years before.

It was indeed Mr. Van der Broek, it has now been established, who had come to the woman's home a number of years back, taken her son, shot him at point-blank range and then burned the young man's body on a fire while he and his officers partied nearby.

Several years later, Van der Broek and his cohorts had returned to take away her husband as well. For many months she heard nothing of his whereabouts. Then, almost two years after her husband's disappearance, Van der Broek came back to fetch the woman herself. How vividly she remembers that evening, going to a place beside a river where she was shown her husband, bound and beaten, but still strong in spirit, lying on a pile of wood. The last words she heard from his lips as the officers poured gasoline over his body and set him aflame were, "Father, forgive them."

And now the woman stands in the courtroom and listens to the confessions offered by Mr. Van der Broek. A member of South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission turns to her and asks, "So, what do you want? How should justice be done to this man who has so brutally destroyed your family?"

"I want three things," begins the old woman, calmly but confidently. "I want first to be taken to the place where my husband's body was burned so that I can gather up the dust and give his remains a decent burial."

She pauses, then continues. "My husband and son were my only family. I want, secondly, therefore, for Mr. Van der Broek to become my son. I would like for him to come twice a month to the ghetto and spend a day with me so that I can pour out on him whatever love I still have remaining within me."

"And, finally," she says, "I want a third thing. I would like Mr. Van der Broek to know that I offer him my forgiveness because Jesus Christ died to forgive. This was also the wish of my husband. And so, I would kindly ask someone to come to my side and lead me across the courtroom so that I can take Mr. Van der Broek in my arms, embrace him and let him know that he is truly forgiven."

As the court assistants come to lead the elderly woman across the room, Mr. Van der Broek, overwhelmed by what he has just heard, faints. And as he does, those in the courtroom, friends, family, neighbors — all victims of decades of oppression and injustice — begin to sing, softly, but assuredly, "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me."             
                                                                                                                              
By James Krabill, in Keep the Faith, Share the Peace,
the newsletter of the Mennonite Church Peace and
Justice Committee, Volume 5 number 3, June, 1999.

What Goes Around ~ Comes Around . . .

 

Story: The Rolling Coin

A wise old man once owned a precious golden coin. One day, as he sat gazing at this precious coin and rejoicing in its beauty, a thought occurred to him: ‘It isn't right that I should be the only person to have the pleasure of possessing this golden coin. What use is it if no one shares it?’ And he went out and gave the coin to a passing child.

The child couldn't believe her luck. She couldn't take her eyes off this shining coin. Then she had a sudden idea: ‘I’ll give this coin to Mum. She needs so many things. This coin will make her very happy.’ Of course, the child’s mother was delighted with the coin—such an unexpected solution to so many of her problems. She pondered in her mind as to how to spend it and what to buy first. As she was thinking about this there was a knock at the door, and there stood a street beggar. ‘Poor soul’ she thought. ‘He has nothing, and we are just about getting by.’ And she gave the gold coin to the beggar.

The beggar was speechless. This coin could be turned into food for a month. He made his way back to the subway where he slept, and there he noticed a new resident, just arrived. The poor guy was blind and disabled. No chance of getting anywhere near to the folks who might have spared him a coin or two. ‘I guess he needs it more than I do,’ he thought to himself. And he pressed the gold coin into the blind man’s thin, cold fingers.

That evening, a wise old man walked through the dark subway. He noticed the blind, disabled beggar and stopped to speak to him. The beggar couldn't remember the last time anyone had bothered to speak to him. After a while, the wise old man put his arm around the beggar’s shoulder. ‘I've nothing left to give you, except my friendship,’ he murmured.

A tear rolled across the cheek of the blind beggar. How could he ever repay this gift of human kindness that had changed a dark night into a new dawn? With his shaking, aching hands, he reached into his pocket, brought out the golden coin and gave it to his new found friend. ‘Thank you for loving me,’ he said. (Source Unknown)