Money or Love? - A Holy Week Meditation

John 12:1-11

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 
But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, 
"Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; 
he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me." When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, 
whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.

JUSTIN IDE/GETTY IMAGES

Fame can be a scary thing. I've been watching Love Story, the John Kennedy, Jr. and Carolyn Bessette story on Hulu. The kind of adulation and attention the Kennedy family received was over-the-top. Poor John, Jr., and Carolyn couldn't get a break. In the early months of their marriage, they didn't even have a chance to get used to their new relationship, to fall into some kind of routine. These and more are the hazards of celebrity.

I used to think I wanted to be famous. I loved performing. Don't get me wrong, I was terrified by the prospect, but the joy I found in embodying a character on stage was like nothing else I had experienced. Eventually, I made my way into the on-camera and voiceover industry, where I had a small amount of success. This was enjoyable as well, but different. There wasn't time to dig into a character. This work required more mindful attention, as time is money in this industry, and the stress is heightened. I remember being on set one day and overhearing a director denigrate a female star, saying she was one of "the most overpaid, underrated actresses in the industry." It was such an unkind statement that it took the joy out of being there.

The final straw for me came when I was asked at the last minute to do a political commercial. I was in over my head with this one. I wasn't aligned with the candidate the production team was promoting, and I am ashamed to say I had no clue about the opponent they were trying to take down. There was backlash, and it was aimed at me, the actor. I was shocked, but in retrospect I should not have been. Politics and media can be a ruthless combination. 

I had to ask myself. Was I in this for the love or for the money?

That's when I quit.

After the raising of Lazarus, Jesus was getting a little too famous for the powers that be (poor Lazarus, too). The writing was on the wall, and He knew it. Mary seemed to know it as well as she poured her expensive oils on Jesus' feet and wiped them with her hair. Some of the disciples, bless their hearts, were as clueless as I, including, it seems, Judas, who saw a way to profit from Jesus' celebrity and his own inner-circle status.

In the end, we all must reckon for ourselves. What do we love and value
most? What are we willing to risk it all for? What will that cost us?

On Being a Disciple of Jesus in this Moment

 

Watch this sermon here.

Do any of you have certain movies or shows you’re planning to watch during Holy Week? Personally, I love the musical Godspell. Much of the music comes from our Episcopal hymnal. In his director’s notes, Stephen Schwartz writes that the first act of the show is all about the formation of a community – that through play and the telling and absorbing of lessons, the disciples grow as a unit, and that the application of clown makeup is the moment the community is set apart from the rest of society. But each individual’s journey takes its course over time. Precisely when and why this commitment to discipleship takes place is the important choice each actor must make. 

"In order to witness to and be a disciple of Jesus, every Christian has to figure out for him or herself what Christianity is all about."

That's from theologian Kathryn Tanner.[1]

We can come to church. We can listen to sermons and attend Bible study. We can ponder Richard Hooker's three-legged stool till the cows come home. We can go to seminary, get ordained, wear the collar — and still, in the end, no one else can hand us our faith pre-assembled. Each of us has to reckon, personally and honestly, with what it means to follow Jesus.

To add to Tanner's insight:  I’d say we don't figure this out alone. We figure out who God is, who we are, and how we live in light of our faith here — in community, at this table, in the breaking of bread and the hearing of Scripture, surrounded by people who come from all kinds of different backgrounds who are also still figuring it out. Like Jesus’ first disciples, our faith is offered freely to us before we fully understand it. The liturgy has been shaping us all along, even on those days we weren't paying close attention. 

As we stand at the threshold of Holy Week — and as we at St. Mark's stand at the threshold of our own significant transition — I want to ask you, in all sincerity: What is this Christian life about for you? Right now, today?

Is it about belonging to a community that holds you when you can't hold yourself? Is it about service — rolling up your sleeves and doing the work of mercy? Is it about following Jesus into the darkest of places where justice commands our attention? 

If we’re looking to define or refine our commitment, now's the time, folks. The passion of Jesus Christ is a defining moment for Christians. Today we’re reading John, first called “the spiritual gospel” by Clement of Alexandria, an early church father. At St. Mark’s, we’ve tried to point out some of the potential stumbling blocks in John’s narrative, especially in light of rising antisemitism. But there’s always more work to be done. More depth to uncover. 

I'll confess: Palm Sunday for me feels like a bit of a roller coaster. Some of you know that we have a genuine roller coaster expert in this congregation — Logan Bird can tell you everything about how they're built, which ones are the best, and which ones will absolutely ruin your lunch. So, Logan, I'm borrowing your expertise for a moment.

Palm Sunday begins like that first slow climb. It’s exciting. Jesus rides into Jerusalem — not on a war horse, not in a fancy chariot, but on a donkey. The prophet Zechariah saw this coming centuries earlier: "Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey" (Zechariah 9:9). This is not the entrance of a conquering emperor. This is something else entirely. 

St. Paul gives us the word for it in today's epistle: kenosis. Self-emptying. "Though he was in the form of God," Paul writes to the Philippians, "Christ Jesus did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave." . That word — kenosis — is the theological key to everything we will witness this week. God's power looks nothing like what the world expects. God's power looks like a man on a donkey, riding toward his own death, for the sake of love.

The crowd doesn't fully understand this yet. (Do we, really?) They wave their palm branches — echoes of the Maccabean victory celebrations — and they shout Hosanna! We might hear that as a cheer, but it's actually a plea: Save us. Save us, Lord! The air is electric with Passover energy, with rumors about the man who raised Lazarus from the dead, with the nervous attention of both Jewish leaders and Roman authorities who share one overriding concern: crowd control.

This is the top of the first hill. From here, if we dare to lean forward, we can see what's coming next. The drop is going to be fast and steep.

Maybe you're the kind of person who rides with your arms up and your eyes wide open. I'll be the one gripping the bar, white-knuckled, stomach somewhere near my throat.

But here's where the metaphor breaks down — and I think it's important to name this. On a roller coaster, we’re passengers. We strap in, the ride happens to us, and we get off at the end. 

When we hear John’s Passion narrative at the end of this service, we are in it. We are the crowd. We are the disciples. We are Peter, who swears he doesn't know the man. We are the Roman and Jewish officials, the women at the foot of the cross. We are - all of them. And all the while, our eyes are locked on Jesus.

Roller coaster ride that it is, Holy Week is an invitation to participate, to stay until the end.

I'd like to invite you to stay on the journey. Come to the services this week. Not as a passive rider, but as a pilgrim. Walk with Jesus through the Last Supper on Maundy Thursday, where he kneels to wash his friends' feet. Stand at the foot of the cross on Good Friday. Sit in the silence of Holy Saturday, that strange, liminal day when God lies in a tomb and the world holds its breath. And then — then — come to the garden on Easter morning, where Mary Magdalene meets a man she mistakes for the gardener, and nothing after that is ever be the same.

Maybe you've already got this Christian life all figured out. But if you're like me — still learning, still being surprised, still being undone and remade by the grace of God — then come along. There's no purchase necessary. No height requirement. Fair warning: it may get uncomfortable. You may feel the full weight of the story pressing up against your own life.

But you may also find yourself drawn into the heart of a divine mystery so deep and so wide that it reframes everything — what power means, what love costs, what it means to be a disciple of the one who emptied himself for the sake of the world. 

The journey is about to begin. Not a ride – more of a pilgrimage.

Will you come and see what God has done?💛

Extra Credit: My theology prof on what it means to be a disciple

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[1] Kathryn Tanner, Jesus, Humanity and the Trinity: A Brief Systematic Theology, 1. Fortress Press ed., Repr (Minneapolis, Minn: Fortress Press, 2003), xiii.

Easy Answers

 

Just look at the amazing wrist! My ortho clearly wants me to ponder this as I wait for him to update me on the progress of my distal radius fracture. 

Some very well-meaning people insist that everything happens for a reason. That is just a little too simplistic an explanation for me. I mean, plane crashes, mass shootings, stillbirths….war! Life can be utterly horrible and tragic. I’ve no doubt God is in all the messiness of our lives. I just don’t believe the God of the universe preordains all of it. Many theologians, much smarter than I, have attempted to figure this out, and we still have questions. Why do bad things happen to good people?

The Psalms are a great place to explore this line of thinking. If you want to go down a rabbit hole of theological musing, read all 150 of them! Read different translations. I especially appreciate Eugene Peterson’s The Message translation. Check out Psalm 73, for example. 

My favorite line might be:  “Still, when I tried to figure it out, all I got was a splitting headache. . .”

Be extremely wary of easy answers. 

Here's a new meditation that might help us cope with the uncertainty of it all. https://insighttimer.com/conniebowmanactressyogi/guided-meditations/body-breath-and-spirit-meditation

Your Meditation Toolkit

Body scan meditation should be in everyone's self-care toolkit, especially these days! Body Scan is a popular practice in my yoga classes. Check out this and other free guided meditations on Insight Timer at the link below. Blessings!💛

https://insighttimer.com/conniebowmanactressyogi/guided-meditations/body-scan-for-relaxation-and-stress-reduction

How's Your Spirit?

It seems we're at war. 

During my hospital chaplaincy training, one of our instructors shared that when she entered a patient's room, she would often ask, "How's your spirit?" It was an open-ended enough question to get a conversation going.

So I ask you, "How's your spirit?"

There is a story of a three-year-old girl, the firstborn and only child in her family. Her mother became pregnant again, and the little girl was super excited about having a new brother or sister. The family welcomed a healthy, sweet baby boy, and after only a few hours at home with the new baby, the little girl asked her parents for some alone time with her new baby brother. Specifically, she asked that this be in his room with the door closed. Her insistence on privacy made her parents a little nervous, but then they remembered that they had installed a new baby monitor, so they could keep an eye on things. If anything seemed suspicious, they figured they could quickly get to the nursery.

So, the parents walked their young daughter to the infant’s room, shut the door, and then raced to the monitor. Holding their breath, they watched the little pajama-clad body moving toward the crib. With only the back of her tiny head in view, she poked her face through the bars. The parents leaned closer and listened as the child whispered to her new sibling:

“Tell me about God. I’m starting to forget.”^[1]

How easily it is to forget that pure awareness of who we are, and whose we are. Which is why I firmly believe religion is still relevant, and spirituality, for today and tomorrow’s Christian, is no longer only an option, but a necessity. Both can serve as reminders of our Christian identity. Together, religion and spirituality can help us mature our faith. 

I asked EpiscoBOT, an AI resource developed by and for the Episcopal Church, for working definitions of religion and spirituality:

• Religion is the organized, communal expression of faith: beliefs, doctrines, rituals, worship, and institutions (churches, sacraments, creeds) that shape a people’s life together.
• Spirituality is the personal, interior life of relating to God (or the sacred): prayer, conscience, experience of the Spirit, and the ways a person grows in love, meaning, and holiness.

Not bad, EpiscoBOT!

While the three-year-old little girl in our story and, certainly, the writer of the Gospel of John, also known as the Spiritual Gospel, have a grasp of the importance of a healthy spiritual life, I am not so sure about the protagonists in our two Gospel passages.

See what you think.

Nicodemus, a leader in the Jewish community, has heard about Jesus. For reasons unknown to us, he comes to Jesus by night to ask some questions. He’s curious, intellectual, and eager to learn.  He’s respectful, too, flattering even, but Jesus doesn’t take the bait. Instead, Jesus takes their private conversation from the religious to the spiritual, the mundane to the transcendent. No one can see (perhaps more to the point, sense) the Kingdom of God without being born again, anew, or from above. (We have some choices here.)^[2]

Bewildered and perhaps a bit bewitched by the charismatic rabbi, Nicodemus, taking a literal approach, wonders aloud how one might physically enter back into one’s mother’s womb to be born again. It’s comical. Jesus elaborates using wind as an example of the spirit’s mystifying movement. One can only imagine Nicodemus’ confused facial expression, in the flickering candlelight, as Jesus presses the issue, with more symbolic imagery and language that leave the poor Pharisee more in the dark than he was when he first arrived.

And just like that, John leaves Nicodemus to ponder this clandestine exchange for several more chapters. He’ll be back in chapter seven to testify on behalf of Jesus. And in 19, he brings a hundred pounds of myrrh to the tomb to anoint Jesus, on the presumption that his body will remain dead. 

The Spirit forms us as disciples over time, it seems. Sometimes.

A woman walks toward a well, empty bucket in hand. It’s noon. She’s alone. Again. Perhaps a single crow caws in the distance. I imagine even the field mice have scurried off to cooler places. There’s nowhere to hide in the blazing desert sunlight. Because noontime shadows tend to be forgiving, this is her private time to replenish.

Traditionally, wells were early-morning gathering places where gossip was exchanged, and laughter rang out, signs of kinship and vital community. In the ancient world, wells were where God did new things. Even all alone with her thoughts, perspiration dripping down her back, she senses the promise of new life bubble up when she comes to dip her bucket in the water. As she approaches, she braces herself spotting a male figure sitting on the edge of the well. She notices the tassels on his tunic. A Jew. They would not speak. Jews and Samaritans do not socialize. 

“Give me a drink,” he says.

“You talking to me? A Samaritan?” 

“Yes, and if you knew who you were talking to, you would have asked me for a drink,” Jesus says.

In the longest conversation Jesus has with anyone in scripture, male or female, back and forth they go, like a fiercely competitive singles tennis match.^[3]

Jesus serves. “Go call your husband.” 

“Sorry, don’t have one.” 

“You are right. You’ve had five.” 

Jesus gives voice to her uncomfortable truth. How could he know?

Stunned, she drops everything and runs into the village to tell anyone she can find.

“Come and see someone who told me everything I have ever done!”

This woman has nothing to lose. She was ripe for transformation.^[4]

What might we glean from these two characters for our own spiritual life as disciples of Christ? 

Perhaps that laying down our stories can be the hardest, best thing that can happen to us. That the timetable for our spiritual awakening can be fluid, that gender is inconsequential. 

God so loves the world, the whole world, that God sends Jesus, the word, the truth, the light, the bread, the vine, the way to eternal life. Based on our two examples, a genuine encounter with Jesus will be life-changing. And our response to that encounter will be unique. Like Nicodemus, some of us will participate in the background. Like the Samaritan woman (St. Photini, whose feast day is February 26), some of us will bear public witness. If we’re serious about following Jesus, what happens in the dark will eventually come to light. And, finally, we would do well (pun intended) to expect the unexpected.

At its very best, organized religion supports our discipleship in community. At its best, spirituality also supports our discipleship, especially when accompanied by a spiritually mature, inclusive, expansive theological imagination and regular prayer and practice. 

Without religion, spirituality can become unmoored, subjective, or exclusive. Without spirituality, religion can become empty ritual or mere tradition. The Christian life calls for both: faithful practice in private and in community, and an interior life of repentance and prayer, leading to compassion in action.

 

In this dangerous and unpredictable time, we can no longer afford to be religious but not spiritual. Our spirituality can form us to be the disciples we are called to be – blessed to be blessings, partners with God, serving in ways that seek to love and heal the world so that we may never forget the sweetness of God’s lavish love for each and every one of us. May it be so.

Amen💛

Watch this sermon here.

 

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.
Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.

Rainer Maria Rilke
Translated and read by Joanna Macy
Book of Hours, I 59

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^[1] Marcus J. Borg, The Heart of Christianity: Rediscovering a Life of Faith (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2015), 113–14.

^[2] Amy-Jill Levine, The Gospel of John: A Beginner’s Guide to the Way, the Truth, and the Life, 1st ed (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2024), Ch. 2.

^[3] Lindsay Hardin Freeman, Bible Women: All Their Words and Why They Matter (Cincinnati: Forward Movement, 2014), 518.

^[4] Rachel Held Evans, Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again (Nashville: Thomas Nelson Incorporated, 2018), 142–46.

Treasured Transmissions and Temporary Tattoos

I’ve never considered myself quite cool enough to have a tattoo, but currently, over my left triceps, the word “bad,” a bit blurry and a little smudged, still lingers a week after surgery… as a reminder of just how quickly our lives can change. Not at all unlike the ashes we will soon receive on our foreheads.

 

During those first few painful nights as I recovered from a busted wrist after being rudely taken down by a slick patch of black ice, I lay wide awake in the middle of the night with so many thoughts in my head. “I am so stupid. Why me? Why now?” Cliché, I know.

 

At that point, I wasn't really addressing God. I was taking full responsibility for both the accident and the healing. And then, sometime around day two or maybe three, it hit me how dependent I really was as I tried to navigate the world with right arm only. That’s when the pity party got underway. And, not gonna lie, it wasn't pretty.
 
I’m not proud to admit this, nor do I expect any emotional response from you in making this confession. God knows, we’re all carrying something - some things, heavier than any of us can imagine. But perhaps there is something here that might resonate. Perhaps there’s a morsel of something to carry us into a holy Lent together in the hope of initiating lasting changes to our lives with Christ.

 

Call me crazy, but I think Ash Wednesday might just be my favorite day in our church calendar. Ash Wednesday – Ash Wednesday is when we’re called to get really real with ourselves and God. We’re called to acknowledge our most frustrating fallibility, our limitations, and our maddeningly inconvenient mortality, before God and one another. Ash Wednesday can be intense. And I humbly submit to you, with “good” arm outstretched, that it can also be a gift.
 
As we enter into our “holy Lent,” we are called to perennial practices like prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Perhaps you already have a Lenten intention or practice in mind as we gather this Ash Wednesday to ponder our finitude and our walk with Jesus on this perilous and potentially slippery slope that is this life. If you do, wonderful! Thanks be to God. 

 

If not, I got you.
 
Thanks be to God for EarPods and YouTube videos of Father Thomas Keating, who accompanied me through several of those first painful, sleepless nights when I just couldn’t seem to get comfortable. One of the founders of the contemporary contemplative prayer movement, I love Fr. Thomas for many reasons, not least of which is that he reminds me of my dad. His humor, his kindness, and his voice all conjure memories of my earthly father, and so it wasn’t difficult to imagine our heavenly father as, perhaps, somehow responsible for this treasured transmission. As I listened to his talks during those long, pain-soaked nights, Jesus’ words from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew came alive for me. “Go into your room and shut the door,” Jesus says to his followers.^[1] 

Poor, first-century hearers of these words would have been lucky to have a door, let alone a room, so we can be modestly certain Jesus was speaking symbolically. Go inside yourself. Shut down any distractions. Quiet the monkey mind, as best you can. Just be with me in the stillness. 

 

Feels like peace to me.
 
Unless it doesn’t. Often, it can feel more like chaos in that room, Keating warns. What comes up can be incredibly painful to encounter. Keating calls these arisings our emotional programs for happiness, our human desire for control, esteem, and power, the very temptations Jesus faced in the wilderness after his baptism. 
 
I’ve listened to Keating speak on this passage from the Gospel of Matthew many times before, but suddenly it became very personal. Let’s be honest, who doesn’t love to feel powerful and in control? Who doesn’t want to be admired and looked up to? These days, the problem seems so pervasive, almost intractable. And yet, Keating is optimistic that this “disease of the human condition, or the false self, which is apt to trample on the rights and needs of others, can be dismantled through contemplative practice.”^[2]

 

Jesus was so smart. He had a way of knowing just when to step away from the outside world, to be still, and reconnect with God. As author Caroline Oakes puts it, this regular practice prepared Jesus to “respond to demanding and confrontational situations, not with reflexive flight, fight overreactions, but with intentional statements and actions of deep listening, compassion and insight…grounded in the presence and grace of God.”^[3]

 

Thank God for Lent, which invites us to pause. Thank God, even, for seemingly inopportune opportunities to stop and reexamine our relationship with the Creator of the universe, to look squarely at that which distracts us and tempts us to conform to the stressors of this age. Thank God for the gift of contemplative practices, which Thomas Keating calls divine therapy, that can help wake us up and transform our minds and hearts. (See Romans 12:2) But wait, there’s more: According to Harvard researcher Sara Lazar, PhD, regular meditation can also help reduce stress and improve our brain health.

 

If you feel called to practice Contemplative Prayer this Lent, here’s a link with more information. Or check out Insight Timer for lots of free guided meditations, like this one. And this one designed as a daily Lenten practice.

 
I thank God for Ash Wednesday and for the temporary discomfort that reminds me of just how much I need God. And for temporary tattoos, reminders of our mortality and immortality. We can wash them off, hoping against hope to remember what they signify. But we probably won’t - not for long anyway.

Amen💛

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^[1] “- YouTube,” accessed February 14, 2026, https://www.youtube.com/watch?si=C26_5h3TmrEV5wgN&t=217&v=x_3pGUmFhVs&feature=youtu.be.

^[2] Thomas Keating, Invitation to Love: The Way of Christian Contemplation (New York: Continuum, 1995), 153.

^[3] Caroline Oakes, Practice the Pause: Jesus’ Contemplative Practice, New Brain Science, and What It Means to Be Fully Human, 1st ed (Minneapolis, Minnesota: Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 2023), 15.2023), 15.

Adulting

Lately, it seems, I've heard many young adults lament that adulting is hard. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I actually think I might agree with them. Adulting is hard. Especially in these times.

Anne Lamott, always a good source of wit and wisdom in tumultuous times, recently wrote:

Life is much wilder, sweeter, violent, heartbreaking, weirder, richer, more insane, awful, beautiful and profound than we were prepared for as children, or that I am comfortable with as a grownup. In my Sunday School classes, after tragedy, we always spend extra time making art cards for children in the towns where tragedies took place, or for the people in the regular church whose hearts are broken. Someone said that art is the greatest expression of the human spirit: my kids are glitter glue cantors. We’ve made garlands out of coffee filters to string in our fellowship hall, to remind people of peace and buoyancy. The paradox is that, in the face of our meager efforts, we discover that in the smallest moments of taking in and making beauty, and in actively being people of goodness, mercy, and outreach, we are saved.

~~Anne Lamott

I agree, Annie. For those of us living in our second acts, what wisdom might we offer young adults feeling a little shaky right now? In response to our current unstable world, I'd like to offer a class for any struggling young adults. All are welcome, as we Episcopalians are known to say. I would offer the following curriculum: Beauty 101, Kindness, Justice, and Mercy, and Self-Care for Troubled Times. There would, of course, be yoga. Tuition would be free with the caveat that students would promise to pass on the wisdom to the next generation. 

What might you teach?

I would also sit them down and share Jesus' famous words to the crowd who gathered to hear his wisdom in similarly tumultuous times.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 
“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. 
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. 
“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. 
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. 
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. 
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom
 of heaven. 
“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil 
against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."

~~Matthew 5:1-12

Barely an adult himself, by today's standards anyway, Jesus could likely relate to the stressors of a first-century life of fear, persecution, poverty, and political instability. I imagine his words must have been a balm. Jesus was so chill.

Can we all just agree that adulting is sometimes hard? That we don't have to go it alone is a very grown-up realization. (We did that! Good for us!) 

Also, we are blessed. We are blessed at every single stage of our lives. 

Thanks be to God!

Amen

Trying for the Kingdom

 He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches. ~~Mt. 13:31-32

The Kingdom of Heaven (aka the Kingdom of God) is a difficult concept to grasp. But oh, how we Christians try. And try. And try…

And you know what they say about trying: If at first you don't succeed...

Just what is this enigmatic kingdom the Gospel writers point us to? Is it even a what? Is it a place? If so, where is it? Can it be found on a map? 

Obviously, these are facetious, rhetorical questions. 

Jesus describes the Kingdom of Heaven in many different ways to help us better understand and perhaps draw closer to its true essence. Easy for him, Jesus lives there. Jesus embodies the kingdom, this enlightened way of being that is not of this world. He offers it graciously, making it accessible to us. He lays it out in his teachings, his actions, and indeed in his very body. Like the disciples, Jesus invites us to follow him. By his very public death, Jesus demonstrates how we have all but lost the plot. By his death on a cross between two criminals, Jesus stares injustice, shame, blame, pain, suffering, and grief right in the face. He does this for us and for all humanity.

“Forgive them,” Jesus prays. They just do not get it. 

All these years later, sadly, we still don’t seem to get it.

But we can do this. We can follow the way of Jesus into the kingdom here and now. I believe in us. 

What if we still ourselves enough to feel our bodies and our breath again? What if we took just a few moments each day to reconnect with the powerful force of love that brought us here to this very moment?

What if, like Jesus, we listened regularly for the voice of the Spirit? What would we hear? What if we took time daily to be still, as the psalmist writes, and know the generous, loving presence inviting us to become the love, the true essence, of who we were created to be.

Will you try with me? Start by closing your eyes. 

Imagine yourself in a beautiful environment, your favorite place or something even better! Go a little rogue here. Let your imagination run wild. 

Notice your surroundings. What do you see? Feel the temperature of the air. How does it feel against your skin? What do you hear? What do you smell? How does the air feel as it enters your nostrils in this magical place? Allow yourself to settle in. Feel the support of the surface beneath you. You are safe here. Feel the spaciousness all around you. You have room to grow here. 

See if you can find a still point here to just breathe deeply of this sacred environment.

As you exhale, soften the body wherever you can. As your next breath fills you with fresh, enlivening energy, will you accept the fullness of this gift? Pause to notice your initial response. 

As you exhale again, a bit more slowly this time around, notice how it feels to let go of the breath you held inside in the previous moment? Just notice. Try again. Thankfully, we get to keep trying.

Allow the breath to flow more naturally now. Try to stay still. Linger for just a little longer, if you are able.

Listen for the whisper of the Holy. 

Like God, this meditation is always here for you. Keep practicing, trying for the kingdom, my friends. The world needs your presence, perhaps now more than ever.

We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and the divine is shining through it all the time. — Thomas Merton💛