To hear that others’ grief has been made a skosh more bearable from a brief encounter with some literary wrestlings from our own deep loss and ache, feels not only like another blanket we can pull up when the grave’s chill makes another unannounced return, but also like a bond of friendship that not even death can sever.
Hebrews 13:8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.
Yes, Jesus remains the same, day after day, forever and ever.
The crucial component of his sameness that we mustn’t miss, however, is that he is constantly and forever calling us to set aside who we are and how we live, in order that divine Grace may be given the opportunity to more completely unfold Mercy, Justice, Peace, and Love into every square inch and every relationship of the community of the cosmos.
Yes, the “Forever the Same” Jesus is inviting us to be continuously transformed into a Christlike neighborhood of his “New Every Day” followers.
There is but one vowel in the word church; one soft voice that binds five consonants into ecclesiastical existence.
It is “u.” Yes, “u” are an essential part of what holds it all together.
Make sure, especially in the oddity of these strange, divided times, that “u” are participating in ways that give meaning and hope to all who gather and serve in whatever ways they’re able.
I know it’s guardian angels that we all request, both for self and others, O God; but what I really think we’re desperate for are guiding angels.
Rather than hunker in our bunker, what we need — what the cosmos needs — are angels to show us the next step, and then to hold our hands as we take it.
Vibrated across vocal cords, in shapes, patterns, and styles understood by cultures, or at least by someone whose eardrums twitch, they attempt to connect minds, if not souls, by painting verbal images across the atmosphere.
There comes a day, however, when verbosity arrives one too many times, and at least one conversant recognizes the need to let the silence do the talking.
Torn out, old flooring was found dumped into a small cemetery.
What, pray tell, were the perpetrators thinking?
“The long-dead won’t mind.”?
“Their descendants probably don’t even come by here anymore.”?
But I saw, heard, and felt something different; something more: a message from the trees whose lives were taken to make the flooring:
“Forget the gold-paved streets that we’ve been convinced line the paths of eternity. It’s sister and brother tree who lay down their lives, so that a smooth surface can be provided us, and all who came before us; not merely to get from one place to another, but also to dance, as we sing the harmonies of hope.”
Ah, yes; maybe learning how to love requires not that we face our own death with trumped-up bravado.
Perhaps it demands, instead, that we begin to recognize both the insignificance of our own single grain of sand on the beach of eternity, and, much more, the infinitude of grace that needs, knows, and loves the very speck-ness of who we are, unconditionally.
At first breath, it sounds so gentle, like a delicate flower, subject to destruction by the brutality of sun, wind, and/or rain.
It’s not until we catch a whiff of its overpowering scent, and its diamond-like strength and beauty flash before our eyes, that we begin to realize that its gift is so deeply enmeshed in the marrow of godness that no one anywhere or anytime could ever hold a candle to its splendor.
Its gloria magisterium is unveiled when we begin to understand gratitude and generosity as the sole highways on which we can pay it forward.
Matthew 15:21-28 clearly indicates even the incarnate one needs a passel on occasion.
“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” Maya Angelou
The road to a fool’s paradise is paved with the egos of all whose view is always down their nose.
I keep thinking that we know better, but we aren’t doing better, so I guess not.
Ignorance is often thought to be a lack of knowledge and/or understanding; but sometimes it’s simply choosing to ignore what we don’t want to acknowledge: ignore-ance.