Gardening insights

Yesterday morning I was planting a few gladiolus corms and pulling weeds from the flowerbed. I've never been much of a gardener; we've lived in this house for nearly thirteen years, and only over the last few have we planted anything. Three years ago I planted a few tomatoes and some zucchini for the first time, along the side of the house. A year later I cut down several yew bushes in front of the house to make room for some flowers. I've put in a few vegetables and annual and perennial flowers each year since.

It occurred to me yesterday that gardens are like relationships: the more you invest in and tend them, the more precious they become. They take on more beauty, and become increasingly worth investing more effort into.

A little while later, while planting some trumpet vines in the back, a further thought struck me: the more we invest in something, the more worthy of pursuit we perceive it to be. Whether we pursue relationships, gardening, money, possessions, power, sexuality, physical achievement, or any number of other interests, the more we invest ourselves into them, the higher we value them because of our investment. It makes me remember how important it is to be careful about what I choose to invest myself into.

Balanced fear?

I had a very tense night last night, one that challenged my trust in God.

My wife had a significantly risky surgery on Tuesday. On the one hand, it was somewhat routine, but on the other, contained a small but real risk of death. She needed to have a section of her colon removed, and there was (is?) a significant chance that the remaining sections would not heal together properly. So after two plus days of post-surgical nausea and vomiting, when she developed a fever last night, I came face-to-face with the possibility of life without her. It wasn't a pleasant prospect.

It took me a long time to start appreciating and loving my wife as she has always deserved. After 25 years of marriage, we finally have the kind of relationship of which (I think) every couple dreams at the outset of their marriage. I can't possibly convey how little I deserve to be in this kind of relationship, the many and extreme ways I nearly destroyed it. That is part of why our marriage is such a sacrament to me, an embodiment of God's love, which none of us can ever deserve, either.

So when she began running a fever last night, after two days of nausea and vomiting, a complex issue became an important one to me:

Do I really trust God to provide for my (and my wife's) every need, in this life and beyond it?
Do I really value God's love more highly than everything else in my life, including every other relationship?
Do I really believe that life in Christ is worth living, even if I am called (as I still might eventually be) to live it without the earthly relationship that matters most to me?

For now, I am relieved that my fears for my wife's health were unfounded, that her recovery is in fact on track. I'm grateful for the opportunity to consider such questions. And I'm thankful, and must be careful not to be excessively so, that I can consider them in the security of an earthly relationship which I treasure and which has been preserved.

Thank you, God, for my wife, but even more, thank you for my life in you.

More Triduum unpacking

Holy Thursday:

How nice to see the families that came forward, children washing and drying the feet of their parents, their siblings. I hope we gain the insight we're supposed to from this ritual. It is the mundane and, if you will, highly unpleasant task that we are called to undertake in love. I'm not opposed to this ritual, by any means. I just want it to mean all it should for us.

But, like the sacraments, I believe there can be a grace at work in such acts that far exceeds our awareness of it.


Good Friday:

Fr. Dave's reflections on the Stations of the Cross during our celebration of the Passion of the Lord was a wonderful bridge to this form of prayer which is practiced in many parishes on Good Friday.

I hope people are engaged rather than put off by our chanting of St. John's passion narrative. I know it engages me, but as a participant, it had better! The odd thing is, I find I can relate to everyone whose words I express, in some way. And I know that my role in Jesus' crucifixion is at least as great as any of theirs.


Easter Vigil:
Wow! The joy of sponsoring him is beyond words. To have walked these past months with all of these newly baptized and confirmed members of the church is priceless! And Teri was thrilled to be able to distribute first Eucharist to so many of them.


Easter morning liturgies:
It was such a joy to be able to participate in music ministry. I missed that aspect of the vigil service, though I would not have traded in my role for anything! I didn't expect to be at both Easter morning services, but then Teri decided she was going to 10:30 mass after all, so there wasn't any point in my staying home.
The brass was fabulous. The handbell choir did a great job! But my favorite addition had to be Julian, who did a great job with the percussion in general, and the timpani in particular. Easter Alleluia was fabulous!
I hope we truly helped people gain a closer sense of the joy of the resurrection, and of the rejoicing we have in store for us for eternity.

Both in the vigil and morning liturgies, Fr. Dave talked about little George, who after running into the bedroom wall early in the morning on his first day of school, guessed it was because "I still have too much dark in my eyes." Fr. Dave, if the mark of a good homily is that it leaves us chewing on it for a while, then this was certainly was one.

In addition to the darkness of self-centeredness and hedonism, I think there is a darkness of pride. Maybe it was the first darkness in creation, and maybe every other darkness really has it its roots there. I sense that a lot of folks think that a little religion is okay, as long as you don't go too crazy with all of it. Don't, like, expect me to sit through a bunch of extra stuff at liturgy, especially week in and week out. And don't expect me to actually interact with someone undesireable, either because they are beneath my social peer group, they're too plain, they've done something disgusting, they smell, they're not very bright . . . basically, their faults are outside my comfort zone. BTW, I'm not picking on others, here. This message is hitting me where I live. And it ought to. I have Christ living next door to me, and I don't bother helping him shoulder his cross. And the reason I don't is because of my pride.

I'm not beating myself up over that, just recognizing that Jesus wants that part of me to die so that he can resurrect it into something wonderful.

Christ is risen, Alleuia! And he's going to make sure that I'm fully risen in him.

What difference does it make?

That's the real question for this weekend, isn't it?

What difference does it make in my life?
What difference does it make in the lives of those around me?

I know I'd have no hope without it.
I know every decent thing I do is because of it.

How about you? What difference does it make?

"Shout with joy to the Rock who saves us"

More from adoration. I'm amazed at how, no matter how much I've prayed, reflected and written on Ps 95, it keeps providing new inspiration, new insight. [I think this is part of why I believe in Scripture: I've enjoyed works of fiction that were well-written, that I've read passages of over and over again. Eventually, they reach a point at which each reading is a reminiscence, and there is no new real discovery. Scripture remains fresh. I know I've prayed this psalm over 100 times, including on previous Tridua, yet there is ever new applicability.]

We are to "shout with joy" to you, O Lord. Yet we need not shout for you to hear us, so why do you tell us to shout? Is it merely so that the assembly may be emotionally uplifted? Or might it be a shout that is to bear witness of your love and glory to the downtrodden, the empty, the seeking, the lost?

"He holds in his hands the depths of the earth, and the highest mountains as well."
The depths and the heights of my own life, as well. They can seem, to me, to be so great, though they are nothing compared to the depth of your love, Lord.

"Come then, let us bow down and worship, bending the knee before the Lord, our maker."
How much more should I humbly worship since our maker has borne the punishment I deserve! O, angels of God, minister to him who bears my burden. (Another eternity moment - the prayer of each believer who offers this is answered in the Garden this night.)

"We are the flock he shepherds." Through the betrayal, judgement, more beatings, taunting, spitting, crowning with thorns, scourging, condemnation, Via Dolorosa, crucifixion, and grave, to Resurrection, you shepherd us Lord! ["I am the good shepherd, who lays down his life for his sheep."]

"Today, listen to the voice of the Lord," and hear him cry out "I Am," "Anyone who is of the truth hears my voice," "I thirst," "Today you will be with me in paradise," "Here is your mother," "Father, forgive them," "Eloi! Eloi lama sabacthani," "Why have you abandoned me," "It is finished."

[Hear him speak one or more of these words into the circumstances of your life. - an experience I was having with each of them, then an approach Fr. Dave mentioned in his Passion homily]

"Stay here, and keep watch"

Thoughts before the Blessed Sacrament, 0200-0400, part 1:

Now I feel the weariness, Lord, the weakness, which your disciples felt and were overcome by. I believe, you felt it, too, Lord, but the trial ahead of you outweighed your longing to rest. You would rest - your body, at least - in the tomb.

What an odd happenstance in reading the "wrong" day's Psalms yesterday for the Office of Readings. Otherwise I wouldn't have read, in Ps 44: "Yet you have crushed us in a place of sorrows, and covered us with the shadow of death."

I'm reminded of Michael Card, from whom I learned long ago that the Garden of Gethsemani, on the Mount of Olives, was so named because of being the place where the olives were crushed - pressed - to extract their oil. How fitting that Jesus should be crushed there by the weight of our sins. What agony!

We have too often refused to be crushed, to be pressed into holy oil with which you might anoint those around us, Lord. We have chosen instead to take the less challenging way, not seeing how it ends up ultimately being more painful. The pressure you felt at Gethsemani was the weight of our sins, which you allowed to crush you into perfect conformance with the Father's will, so that we (I) would not have to bear it's fullness. I know that my soul could not survive the burden of my sin. Neither could your earthly body, Lord, for you died bearing it.

In the Garden

Prior to Holy Thursday night prayer:

We could not dare presume, Lord, that we could abide with you in the Garden this night, to keep you company in the dark hours before your arrest, trial, torture, and crucifixion. We know we've fallen asleep too often, Lord. We have heard you ask, in disappointment on our behalf, "Could you not wait with me for an hour?" In your love, Lord, you have roused us again, and offer us another precious opportunity to watch and pray with you. The cup before your lips, from which you plead to be spared, is the cup of my iniquity, Lord. I thank you for accepting it that I might be free of it, free to drink the cup of life in its place, the cup of salvation.

We wait, watch, and pray with you, Lord, for in perfect Love your Spirit keeps us here.

Mass of the Lord's Supper

Last night, for the first time, our parish opened up the ritual cleansing of feet to the congregation, as opposed to the dozen volunteers we've restricted it to in the past. It allowed us to experience the discomfort of the apostles and the service of Jesus, though certainly each was more limited than the participants physically present at the original Holy Thursday experienced. I was pleased - though not surprised - by how many parishioners came forward to participate.

At the risk of embarrassing someone I know (and I'm leaving the person anonymous), at one point after I'd returned to my seat and my wife had become emboldened to go forward after all, I asked someone if they were going to participate. "Nah," they replied, "My feet stink." I tried to reassure that this didn't matter, without seeming pushy, and then let it go. But I've been thinking about this since.

If this person is reading my blog, please don't think I'm judging you in any way - I'm just thinking out loud. Also, I'm borrowing heavily from sources I can't remember anymore:

At the time and place wherein Jesus washed the disciples feet, "shoes" primarily meant "sandals." The reason that a person who'd bathed would need their feet washed was that they'd probably been walking to get where they were going, and while sand and dirt might be the most common contaminants they'd pick up, they certainly weren't the worst. While the feet might not smell from being enclosed all day as we experience in our modern society, the various things (use your imagination) that people might inadvertantly trudge through would make them pretty disgusting. Washing the feet was considered such a menial and disgusting job that it was one of a very few tasks which a slave could not be commanded to do for his master.

So when Jesus girt himself with the towel, it is no wonder that Simon Peter objected, yet the Teacher and Master insisted in a way he knew Peter would not refuse.

When someone who feels their feet are unapproachable, for whatever reason, allows the Body of Christ to minister to them in this way despite their misgivings, they give us a great gift. As long as only people with clean-smelling feet come forward, we do not get the full sense of the depth of loving service which Jesus gave us as an example.

I'm thankful for the response of our parish to this invitation. And I hope that next year even those who are reluctant will allow us to serve them, and in turn be served by them, in this special way.

Triduum invitation, 2006

Ok, here's the spot. The next few posts will contain reflections on the weekend, perhaps similarly to what I entered in my journal (and last two posts).

Meanwhile, please feel free to comment with your own observations on the Paschal mystery, either in response to mine or by the Lord's inspiration to you. Thanks!

Holy Thursday/Good Friday, March 24/25, 2005

I don't know where I journaled in '04; maybe I'll find it. (In this and the last post, square brackets are editorial additions at the time of posting.) Here are my reflections from last year:

11 pm
A few “eternity” thoughts struck me tonight, along with a few “Body of Christ” thoughts:

- Jesus girds “his Body” with a towel, and washes the disciples’ feet. “If We Are the Body,” then of course Jesus girds us with the towel as we serve in his name [as he serves through us]. He girds himself, not he girt himself [i.e. in the past], for we are eternal!

- “If We Are the Body,” then it is we ourselves we offer to the Father on the altar, not only the historical Christ or the glorified Christ. “We pray that your angel may take this offering to your altar in heaven,” take us there, in our brokenness, and transform us, so that “as we receive from this altar your sacred Body and Blood” we are transformed more fully into the Body [thanks, Fr. Paul and Fr. Dave!]. The offering we must ultimately make is to not hold back any part of ourselves, and we aren’t there yet, but as Grace more and more transforms us, we are more and more able to offer Christ in us to the Father.

4:50 am

“Come, let us worship Christ, the Son of God, who redeemed (redeems) us with (by) his blood.” – response to Invitatory Psalm

O precious Blood, spilled for me. I put you to death, O Lord. It is I who betray you, who abandon (run from) you, who imprison you, who try you, who condemn (condemn!? How dare I? Nonetheless, it is so.) you, who beat you, who spit upon you, who whips you, who crowns you with thorns, who mocks you, who forces you to carry the cross, who treats you and your clothing as sport, who washes my hands of you, who seeks to be merely entertained by you (a la Herod), who cries out against you, who taunts you. All this though under rightful condemnation for my own wrongdoing, who runs from you, who sleeps rather than watch . . .

[Despite this undeniable truth of my sinfulness . . . ] Yet also, this day, if you’ll allow it, Lord, I will: become You, wrapped in a towel washing feet – or serving in the most humble way in our day; watch and pray; keep you company as closely as possible (a la Mary); follow you along your way; carry the cross with you; weep for your broken, abused Body [in the world today] and do all I can to comfort you; wipe your bloody, bruised face; offer you a moment’s relief from your thirst; watch you nailed, call out for your mercy, and offer it; thirst in your broken Body; accept the care of your beloved ones, and the responsibility for caring. I will, by your grace this day, be faithful, as you live in me and your Spirit transforms me. I will offer forgiveness and receive it. I will drink the cup set before me, knowing that the Father’s perfect will brings Resurrection forth from each moment of death.

“Come, let us worship Christ, the Son of God, who redeems us by his blood!”


“Come, let us sing to the Lord, and shout with joy to the Rock who saves us.”
Ps 95 takes on new meaning in the context of this day [extensive reflections on Ps95 have preceded and followed this in my journaling as I pray it so often; I will probably post these separately], and Good Friday is reflected in this psalm. This is a difficult day, Lord, for us far less than for you because we experience it in the eternity you have purchased for us, so we can rejoice that you are redeeming us by your hellish trial. Come, let us sing of your [unfathomable!] love! This is how you save us! However else we are delivered in [and through] this life’s circumstances, it is always primarily by your cross.

“Let us approach him with thanksgiving, and sing joyful songs to the Lord.”
We are alive only because of your death and subsequent resurrection, Lord. Too often we stay far off from you, even in the joyfulness. How much less [often do] we draw near. You call us (me!)to be near in your ghastly brokenness, to see your broken Body and respond to it, to recognize your Body in the brokenness of those around me, and to draw near to it/you with thanksgiving (what less could I feel for all you have done?). Let us/me sing joyfully over your sacrifice, and let me see that it is the same Body that hung on the cross which you serve through me in the 21st century, in the sick, the homeless, the addicted, the broken, the abused and the abusive, the terrorizer. Let me approach you in them, upon your cross, with thanksgiving and a joyful song.

“The Lord is God, the might God . . . the dry land, too, for it was formed by his hands.”
You who made the entire world, Lord, allowed the world to condemn, abuse, and kill you. What unfathomable humility! What a wonder, that all-powerful You made yourself subject to our whims. [This demonstrates the degree to which] You create us with free will. In thus creating us, you accept death at our hands [through which you free us from death]!
What love, Lord, that you created us anyway [in spite of this]! Then died for us.

“Come then, let us bow down and worship, . . . for he is our God, and we are the people he shepherds, the flock he guides.”
We put our Creator to death. Only you could allow it, Lord. And this is how you shepherd and guide us. “The Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep,” [you tell us]. “Come, let us worship” we will echo again in the liturgy of this day [as the wood of the cross is exposed].

“Today, listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not grow stubborn . . . They shall not enter into my rest.”
For us, Calvary is our Meribah and Massah. Every time we harden out hearts against you, Lord, it is at Calvary. We challenge and provoke you, and in response you die for us. But woe be unto us if we remain hard-hearted, having seen you on the cross for us. We refuse your rest when we do so.


“I confess that I am guilty, and my sin fills me with dismay.” – Ps 38
Your sacrifice is greater than my sins have been, O Lord. Gazing upon you as you are beaten and whipped, buffeted and scorned, spat upon and pierced for me, I know that I have done this to you, for “my sin fills me with dismay.” But “If We Are the Body,” our sin had this effect on you but has the same effect on us, only you bore it in full to deliver us from it.

Heb 9, 11-25
[I just grasped the link between the concept of a] “Testament” and the death of the testator! If we are to be your Testament, Lord, we must die with you to ourselves.

St. John Chrysostom
This reading just blows me away [each year]. It draws me into you, Lord.
What business does the Body of Christ have refusing to be imprisoned, beaten, spat upon, and put to death? It is our great privilege to suffer with Christ, to be rejected with him [for the sake of those rejecting him, as we ourselves have indeed done].

Holy Thursday/Good Friday, April 17/18, 2003

The first of two posts containing reflections before the Blessed Sacrament during the Holy Thursday night/Good Friday morning adoration vigil:

2:10 am
What a gift you give us, Lord, to allow us to come into your presence, before your throne of grace, reverently worshipping you and interceding for those whom we love!

Thank you, Lord, for your holy suffering for me, for those I love. Thank you for allowing me to pray for my cousins [with whom I’d been recently reunited following their father’s death], each by name, to lift up their concerns, especially for their father, and also for the resulting rededication in prayer for my own dad. May you, O perfect Father, draw both Gary and Carl home to you in wholeness for all eternity.

Thank you, as well, for a blessed Holy Thursday Mass of your Supper. Bless Jodi and Matt this weekend as they lead us in music ministry. Bless Cassie and Heather on their trip. Bless my daughters with a renewed love for you, O Lord. Help our grandchildren to grow in you, as well. Heal () and () of their brokenness. Draw them to you.

2:30 am
Thank you for the Divine Office, and for your gifts of the Spirit!
Ps 22: “But I am a worm, and no man. Scorned by men. Despised by the people.” Lord, if you bore my sin, as you surely did, how could you have not been scorned, despised. I am scorned and despised not as I should be, for love of You, but because of my own sin. Yet in you I am made whole, and find my dignity in the only refuge for which I have any hope. And what a Hope!

“All who see me deride me.” Lord, I know this Psalm refers to you, but I (please forgive my impudence, if it be) find myself in it, too. I thank you for answering my prayer: “O Lord, do not leave me alone . . . Rescue me . . . Save me.”

Ps 38: “My wounds are foul and festering, the result of my own folly . . . I confess that I am guilty, and my sin fills me with dismay.”! And thank you again for answering this prayer: “O Lord, do not forsake me. My God, do not stay far off. Make haste and come to my help O Lord, my God, my Savior!”

Heb 9: “. . . how much more will the blood cleanse our consciences from dead works to worship the living God!” The blood of the sacrifice was the blood of the “testator,” now Christ. “Without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.” The symbols of heaven called for these purifications, but reality for a perfect sacrifice. Parallel the delivery of today’s Jews from Egypt in union with their/our ancestors (“For this night we are delivered from our slavery”), being present today in the event of the distant past, with our participation today at Christ’s eternal sacrifice.

We are born to live in Him. For this reason, He was born to die for us.

St. John Chrysostom:
The saving power of the lamb’s blood was only because it prefigured Christ’s! Satan cannot enter into that which is protected by the blood of the Lamb! Our lips => the door of the Lord’s temple. Water and blood from the Lord’s side => Baptism and Eucharist. From his side Christ fashioned the Church, his Bride => Adam and Eve.
“By one and the same food we are both brought into being and nourished.”

Easter vigil

"Easter Vigil is only for the strong."

"It's typically a minimum of two full hours to get through the service, and if it's done right, it's liturgy at its very best and you don't want to miss it."

Which of these two invitations would be more likely to get you to the service?

Our pastor, unfortunately, used the former one, though I can't complain too much as it is one of the few times I've been disappointed in him in any way. I'm afraid to see how the parish is going to respond to it! I want the church to be full as our RCIA candidates and elect receive the sacraments of initiation.

The second quote above is from a blog I stumbled across, and represents my point of view better than I could have said it myself. At our parish, which uses every reading, the service is about 2-and-a-half hours, followed by a reception for the new Catholics. This is my first year being involved in our parish RCIA program (the last time was 1990 at Shemya); I'm usually too involved with music. But when I was asked by someone for whom I care deeply to be his sponsor, it was an opportunity I just couldn't turn down. What a blessing it has been to see the newcomers grow together, to watch them grapple with their respective concerns, and especially to see them grow closer to the Lord. I'm so excited for all of them, both in this wonderful time and for the walk with God they have ahead of them.

Quiet Presence

Today was the first time I can ever remember our men's group sitting for so long as we did, just quietly basking in the presence of the Lord. I had what seemed like an incredible glimpse into eternity, almost a vision of the whole of salvation history - past, present, and future - being present in the moment that we were gathered together in silence. And I could tell as we sat together that we were sharing a wonderful awareness of God's presence.

We also had a wonderful reunion with dear friends from long ago who were in town for the weekend. It was a joy to be able to see how their family has grown, to share these few brief hours together in their company.

The Lord's Prayer - Our Daddy

Last night I heard a wonderful reflection on The Lord's Prayer, offered by a fellow parishioner and dear friend. The beginning of it caused me to reflect a little on what this prayer means to me.

Unlike my friend, I don't have many fond memories of my earthly father. In fact, speaking of "my father" is a little tricky. Do I mean my biological father? Rarely. He decided soon after I was born that life with my mom was a little too much like what he'd been trying to escape from, which maybe hadn't been so awful after all. I'm glad he went back to his family; it's where he belonged. But four and a half decades later, I still wonder: did he ever think of me again?

Most often when I say "Dad," I'm referring to my adoptive father, who married my mom when I was around 3. One of my earliest memories is of being carried into his house on his shoulder, when we moved in. I fondly remember going to Orioles' games, and one Colts' game, with him, and watching both on television often. He taught me to appreciate sports as a spectator, and because of his longing to relive the glory days of his youthful athletic prowess - abilities which I didn't share with him - to dread them as a participant. I know he tried to accept me as his own, but in retrospect I think he never quite managed it. Eventually he drowned in the bottle by which he attempted to escape his misery. That leaves the worst anecdote untold, but I pray he has accepted the peace and love in death that eluded him in life.

Rarely do I refer to my stepfather in any other way than as "my stepfather." For one thing, he didn't marry my mom until I was grown, though he was very much a part of our lives by my mid-teens. He taught me many useful things, and nurtured my self-confidence in ways Dad just wasn't equipped to do. Aside from that, I choose to say little about him here, mostly because I've forgiven him my deepest hurt as I've received similar forgiveness myself. We don't speak often, but I always pray for the best for him.

Which brings us, at last, back to this wonderful prayer. Even though my own experiences of earthly fatherhood have not been generally positive - and I realize I'm not alone in that - I know I have a Dad who loves me perfectly. Our Father, our wonderful God, is a Papa who is always eager to draw us into his loving embrace. We need never fear him; though the circumstances of life may vacillate between excruciating pain and abundant joy, our Divine Daddy is with us, sharing our joy and comforting our sorrow. Whatever we have done to distance ourselves from him, he always offers us understanding and forgiveness. Through Jesus, his eternally begotten Son by very nature, he has chosen each of us and made us a beloved son or daughter, despite having already seen all the ways we will ever lash out against him, every manner in which we'll ever hurt his other precious children. He is ever reconciling us to himself and to one another through his Son, our Savior (which I think relates to my preceeding post, as well).

I am so glad - so blessed! - to have such a wonderful Abba!

Thoughts from St. Augustine

Most of my blog references to the writings of the saints, unless indicated otherwise in the blog somewhere such as a book I'm reading, are from the Divine Office. This was from Wednesday:

"God could give no greater gift to men than to make his Word, through whom he created all things, their head, and to join them to him as his members, so that the Word might be both Son of God and son of man, one God with the Father, and one man with all men. The result is that when we speak with God in prayer we do not separate the Son from him, and when the body of the Son prays it does not separate its head from itself: it is the one Savior of his body, our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who prays for us and in us and is himself the object of our prayers.
"He prays for us as our priest, he prays in us as our head, he is the object of our prayers as our God."

No wonder this saint is a Doctor of the Church! It seems preposterous to think I might add anything, and still I type. To misapply scripture: focus on the things above, not the things below!

This is why prayer is effective. It isn't some mumbo-jumbo, a magic trick, a bargaining process, a reward for being good, or an attempt to earn a favor. When we pray, fast, or give alms in one form or another, it is not just us doing it. Since it is Christ at work in his body, thus are we transformed, even though the primary objective we might have in mind is not our own transformation. In fact, all the better if it isn't. It is always what Christ desires for us, though, and what he effects within us. But since Jesus is one with all people, and we are one with our Head, then it is impossible to sincerely ask God to meet our needs alone, or to only meet the needs of others. In each case, God will be working in others through us and in us through others.

A wonderful evening

Lord, let there be no boasting in this post, save in You.

It was so nice last night to get my wife back home. She and our youngest grandchild had a very nice visit with her parents over the previous week. It's hard to explain how it feels to be apart from her. It isn't that she completes me; only God does that. Yet I think we both have a deep sense of belonging together, and when we're not, we miss one another, yet we know we're still united. I don't think either of us feel an unhealthy pining when we're apart. I had a pretty active week, and was never exactly sad, and yet I missed her, looked forward to being with her again, and now she's home. **Pleasant sigh**

In a normal week, her homecoming might have led me to skip our Tuesday night prayer group. But we didn't meet last week because of a conflicting parish event, and I will miss the next two meetings. Besides, Teri wanted to attend her faith sharing group, as well, so it worked out nicely for both of us. What a wonderful meeting, with a reminder to trust that God's gifts to us are always priceless treasures, even if they are sometimes veiled.

The other reason I might have wanted to skip last night's meeting was the women's basketball final. Nobody picked the Terps to be in that game, and even after beating the concensus best team in the country for the second time (UNC's only two defeats, mind you), no one picked them to win it. We have friends who are Duke alumni, and we put a small wager on the game: a contribution to one another's Easter dinner. Even though the young, inexperienced, underdog Terps won the game - and we won the bet - our friends are going to get a delicious cheesecake from the family recipe anyway. It was an exciting, inspiring overtime victory.

Afterward, and after some quality time during and after the game with the mrs., I could tell that my body still needed some time to relax, to unwind, so I reclined on the sofa to read a little of Saint Teresa. As I sat down, I was immediately aware that, as heart-pounding as the game was, the prayer meeting had been a more wonderful thing. My reunion with my wife, too, far outshone it. And this time I was now spending in the silence, in God's presence reflecting on the words written by this inspired saint - well, if they're not inspired they're not saints, but you know what I mean - was the sumptuous dessert of a splendid banquet of a day. I know that this was another wonderful glimpse of the banquet will never truly end.

Glory versus death; pride and fear

St. Leo the Great:

"The earth - our earthly nature - should tremble at the suffering of its Redeemer. The rocks - the hearts of unbelievers - should burst asunder. The dead, imprisoned in the tombs of their mortality, should come forth, the massive stones now ripped apart . . . .

"The body that lay lifeless in the tomb is ours. The body that rose again on the third day is ours. The body that ascended above all the heights of heaven to the right hand of the Father's glory is ours."

Then why do we insist on remaining entombed? Why do we cling to being dead rather than embracing the glory to which we are called? Why do we embrace the pleasures and comforts of this world as if they were the life that lasts?

The other day I had a thought that I think is related to these questions: our two greatest obstacles to becoming the glorious saints God desires for us to become are our pride and our fear, and they are more closely related than we often realize.

Even though I've been blessed with a relationship with the Lord for over 20 years now, I have nonetheless lived much of my life as a slave to sensuality - that is, to the gratification of the senses or the indulgence of the physical appetites as ends in themselves. Our society tells us that the treasure of life lies chiefly in the sights, sounds, tastes and scents, and touches that we experience. Every avenue of art and commerce are predicated on convincing us that our lives will be poorer if we fail to experience what they offer us.

God tells us the same thing.

So why do we insist on believing the world?

Pride, and fear.

We are proud of who we are. We are rational, healthy people who don't need a crutch to get through life. We have accomplished much, and we must have the recognition for it.

And we are afraid that if we believe God instead, we're going to miss out on life. Let's face it, there are a lot of pleasurable things that God asks us to receive differently from him than the world offers it. Moderation doesn't seem fun. We're afraid that life according to God's desire for us will be less than life done our own way.

I know it isn't that simple. But doesn't it seem like that's a pretty big piece of the problem?