Posted on

Healed

After last night’s televised freak show, I am tempted to reflect on the demise of American democracy, but thankfully, I am distracted by the story in Sunday’s Gospel.

The author of Luke’s Gospel has Jesus’ healing ten lepers. It’s a story that always causes such consternation. Ten were healed but only one returned to say “thank you.”

It is good to give thanks.

But to concentrate on the one who returned is to miss the point. Maybe the other nine had good reasons.

Maybe one was a mother who had been kept away from her children for so long by this disease that turns you into an outcast. She was healed and she rushed right home and returned to her family.

Maybe one didn’t believe he had been cured because he didn’t do anything to deserve it. He couldn’t face unconditional love – healing without a price – so he couldn’t see he was healed and just went back to the colony.

Another was really, really excited about being free from the ravages of his illness and in his excitement, he just forgot.

Maybe another was alone, having already lost his family and now the only family he knew – the other lepers – were gone too. He was cured but now he was alone. He wasn’t grateful, he was ticked.

I could go on but you get the point.

Ten were healed and only one said “thank you.”

To concentrate on the one is to miss the point. Then again, I sometimes think we’ve institutionalized missing the point.

Ten were healed.

Ten were healed.

Ten cried out for mercy. Ten longed to be near Jesus so they just shouted as loud as they could. And Jesus, never one to leave someone wanting, responded simply, “Go, show yourselves to the priest” (the priest being the only one who could verify that they had in fact be healed).

They asked for Jesus’ mercy and received so much more.

Ten were healed. One said thank you.

It is good to say thank you.

But something tells me it is better to be healed.

 

 

 

artwork The Ten Lepers by John Steel
Posted on

Remember

I remember, like all of you, where I was on that Tuesday morning fifteen years ago. I remember watching the events unfold, the emails from around the globe as family checked on family, the phone calls from Brazil as messages were relayed to and from my uncle who lived there to family living in Tennessee because calling Brazil that morning was possible; calling family in New York was not.

But more than anything, I remember watching the news, the coverage, the stories, and the sadness. I have always been fascinated by the news, long before I studied journalism in college. In those days that followed I was pinned to the television. I could not watch enough. I remember how, in those early hours, the people called the place “Ground Hero” in memory of all those brave men and women who ran into the fire. They ran into the fire.

Soon the media would rename it Ground Zero, the epicenter, even though for some families, the epicenter was the Pentagon or a field in Pennsylvania. The moniker stuck, like it often does when people repeat it again and again.

I remember, in the midst of the chaos, the cameras turned to the families when the families started to gather because their loved ones had not come home from work. The pictures of the missing filled the screen as commercials were abandoned and some channels were too overcome with grief to broadcast at all. I remember the pictures. The men and women holding posters with photos of their parents, brothers, sisters, lovers, and friends adhered hastily to anything they could find. Just to be able to stand with a photo was enough. There were no words.

Then, because journalists are human and most humans are afraid of silence, the reporter thrust a microphone towards a woman and quietly said, “Tell us about your husband.”

“Every time he walked into the room,” she replied, “He took my breath away.”

Fifteen years later, it still gives me chills.

May our God, who is beyond all understanding, give you peace this week.

May we look upon those we love with the face of Jesus.

May we practice patience.

May we be people of peace.

And may we, in the silence of our hearts, pause for moment to look at the bright blue September sky.

To remember to give thanks.

For a faithful God who takes our breath away.

Again and again and again.

 

 

Posted on

A Prayer for the First Week of School

Master and Teacher,

Bless the students who will have trouble settling down this week, whose minds are still at the beach or at grandma’s swimming pool, or the amusement park or soccer camp.

Bless those who sit nervously in class: those who are new in school and those who never read anything over the summer and know a test is coming.

Bless those who will struggle, those who will succeed, and those who get lost in the crowd.

Bless the new friendships that will begin on day one and bless those cherished friendships that will be renewed.

Bless them all with compassion, that they may root for the underdog, celebrate those who accomplish much, and pray fervently for each other.

Bless them with an environment free from bullying, needless competition, and petty jealousy.

Help them, Lord, to fall in love with learning.

Bless the parents of these students, their first teachers in the ways of faith. Give them patience when the homework takes too long, give them courage to understand that their children are not perfect, and give them the courage to discipline with love. May they abdicate less and partner more.

We beg you, Lord, to bring these children safely home at the end of the day, the week, or the semester. Keep them free from violence – at home and at school – on the bus and on the streets – and guide them home to the waiting arms of those who loved them first.

Finally, Lord, we pray in the thanksgiving for the men and women who have already been hard at work straightening desks, taping names to cubbies, painting lockers, planning classes cleaning rooms, decorating bulletin boards, hanging posters, and studying test scores. Bless these servants with peace, patience, persistence, and your Spirit, that they may be Your presence to our young people, Your hands, and Your voice.

We make this prayer through Christ our Lord: teacher, servant, and source of all hope.

Amen.

 

 

Posted on

Blind Guides

I can relate to this morning’s Gospel reading. Jesus is chastising the Pharisees for their arrogance, their impudence, and their failure to hold themselves accountable to the same rules they force upon others. The Pharisees, in short, miss the point.

Sometimes, so do I.

I mistake the whining for immaturity when it is really rooted in hunger. I mistake the moodiness for irritation with siblings when it is really rooted in nervousness about a new school. I mistake the over-sensitivity for pettiness when it is a struggle to find balance between a child and being a big girl. I excuse the lack of confidence on the fact that she is the youngest, when really she just wants to find her place among the others.

I get irritated when the dishwasher is not filled the way it should be but do not take the time to teach them how to do it. I complain about the condition of the bedroom but do not take time to help straighten it. I expect maturity and empathy and responsibility but sometimes fail to lead by example.

Blind guides indeed. Blind parents. Blind father.

This week, I will teach instead of tell. I will model instead of demand. I will listen for the explanation instead of jumping to conclusions.

This week, I will be less pharisaic and more like the Master.

The real struggle is what happens next week, and the next, and the next…

 

 

Posted on

Three Steps

Looking ahead to this week’s Gospel readings had me searching through the archives of this blog when it appeared in another form. I love the reading about walking on water (Mt 14). It puts me in the mood for impossible things. So here is the earlier reflection with some updates:

I can imagine the storm, the darkness, and the fear. I can imagine what it must have been like to feel alone, wondering if anyone would help as the waves got bigger and I feel smaller. It’s like that feeling you get when you are in bed and you swear you hear a noise…and you freeze. It gives me chills just thinking about it.

Then Jesus comes along – wait, is that Jesus? Sometimes I don’t recognize Him. Is He in a boat? Or are we that close to shore? No, wait. He is walking on the water. Holy cow. It’s like He is stepping on stones as he comes closer and closer.

Then Peter, that rock, that steady but sometimes dim witted leader, says something to Jesus and Jesus responds. What are they talking about? Then Pete hops out of the boat and starts walking on the water too. This is incredible. I forget about the storm. I forget about my fear. I am watching the impossible; or rather two men doing the impossible.

Suddenly Peter begins sinking. What did he say? He must have called out, because Jesus reached after him and brought him to safety, but he had that look on his face, Jesus did…that look that says, “Why do you persist in your unbelief? Why are you so hard hearted?” I’ve seen that look before.

Later Jesus is asleep and we are giving Peter a hard time. He did, after all, lose faith and start to sink. If it weren’t for Jesus he probably would have drowned.

Peter takes it all in stride. He just listens for a bit and then starts to smile. It’s a smile that comes from knowing the Truth.

“Three steps,” he say. We are silent.

“Three steps,” he repeats.

“How many steps did you take on the water? I may have started sinking, but I took three more steps than the rest of you…”

He is right. We are well rebuked.

Jesus will be all around me this week and in many cases, I probably won’t recognize Him. I am often distracted by life.

“Three steps,” I say to myself.

How many steps will you take this week?

 

Photo: Sea of Galilee, taken on visit with CRS in 2000

 

Posted on

The Ditch

I’ve been thinking all weekend about Sunday’s Gospel reading. It is one of my favorite parables and I used to love when it would come up in class when I was teaching. But as I reflect on the events of the last year or so, the parable has taken on new meaning for me as I wonder how that scenario would play out in today’s world.

Someone would probably have video taped the attack on the man as he traveled down the dangerous road and then they would have posted it online. Every talk show would be checking in with experts to discuss why the priest and the Levite did not stop to help the man in the ditch and how much culpability they shared in the man’s plight. The Samaritan would be hailed as a hero and his story would be made into a movie.

But others would ask: “Why couldn’t the man just get up on his own?” “Why do the priest and Levite get a pass?” “Why does the Samaritan get honored for doing what he ought to do?”

They would ask those question because they have never been in a ditch.

The reality is the man couldn’t get up. I imagine it might have been because of the beating he experienced at the hands of the robbers. But most people know it isn’t always a physical reason that lands you in a ditch. Once in a great while you experience something so powerful and painful that you simply cannot help yourself. Call it depression. Call it addiction. Call it a crisis. Call it whatever you want. It’s an abyss, a darkness, and it can envelop you.

How we respond to those in the ditch says an awful lot about where we are in our own journey. It says a lot about who we are as children of God.

The truth is we are always on a journey. We are, by our nature, unfinished. By the grace of God, we are always longing for more. We must be patient. With ourselves. With each other. We must, in the words of Teilhard de Chardin, “trust in the slow work of God.”

But being unfinished is not an excuse to ignore the need around us. Longing for more does not give us permission to pass by on the other side of the road.

Who around you sits in darkness this week? Who around needs a hand? Who among you lies helpless in a ditch?

And what do you plan to do about it?

 

 

Artwork: “The Good Samaritan” by Paula Modersohn-Becker, 1907.
Posted on

Celebrating Freedom

Oh Lord, be with us as we celebrate…

Freedom from want, as we count our many blessings;

Freedom from oppression, as we pray in the open;

Freedom from hunger, as we gather at table;

Freedom from hatred, as we love one another;

Freedom from sorrow, as we recall the joy of resurrection;

Freedom from ignorance, as we encounter You in others;

Freedom from fear, as we look to tomorrow with hope.

 

May your day be filled with family, friends, and faithfulness.

Amen.

 

————

Update

For those who have been keeping up with Kathleen Edwards, former youth minister at Resurrection parish in Wilmington, please visit www.caringbridge.org/visit/kathleenedwards and continue to pray for Kathleen and her doctors.