Reflecting on Genesis 18:1-10, Luke 10:38-42

Christ in the house of Martha and Mary by Jan Vermeer

 There is so much to notice in this story, but my eye keeps going back to Abraham, sitting in the entrance of that hot tent in the heat of the day.  And here is what keeps catching my eye:  Looking up, Abraham saw three men standing nearby.

He was sitting, looking out at the endless, silent desert.  He must have been able to see miles ahead, and the approach of three strangers could have been observed for hours before they arrived outside his tent.  But, no, he looked up and saw them. No camels kicking up telltale dust three hours earlier.  No neighboring Bedouins calling out that strangers were coming.  He looked up, and there they were.

Is it possible that those three “men”―the angels posted with God to announce the birth of Isaac―had been standing at the entrance to Abraham’s tent from the beginning of time? What great cloud of witnesses surrounds us, waiting for us to look up and see?  What miracles hover near us, waiting for us to notice?

Which brings us back to the Gospel today.  Mary looked up and saw Jesus in her home, and she never took her eyes off of him. She showed the greatest hospitality by making room for him in her soul and spirit― by truly seeing who it was who was sent to her, and never leaving his side.  She teaches us the meaning of the mystic’s sense of prayer:

Prayer is gazing at God, who is gazing at you.

Sharing God’s Word at Home

Do you think you have ever encountered an angel?

 What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 10:25-37

The trouble with Luke’s magnificent story of love of neighbor is that you can’t take it too literally.  After all, serial killers like Ted Bundy have found their victims by pretending to be crippled and in need of help to their car.  Roadside warnings near detention centers send a chill up the spine: do not pick up hitchhikers.

Vincent van Gogh, The Good Samaritan --- May 1890

But one scorching summer day in the Utah desert 30 years ago, some travelers driving by spotted a very thin young man resting on the ground next to his bike.  Something wasn’t right.  He looked gaunt and weak.  They circled back and asked out the window Are you okay?  But he was too weak to answer.  And this dad and mom, with their two children in tow, leapt from their car, wiped his face with cool  water, placed him and his bike in the car, carefully gave him food and water, and drove him to the rectory of the first Catholic Church they found.

The Spanish-speaking housekeeper cried Oh Dios! and directed them to take him into the cool back bedroom.  She cared for him for several days until he recovered from his extreme heat stroke and dehydration.

Where are they now, that observant family that noticed that something didn’t seem quite right and took the time to circle back?  Where are the tender housekeeper and kind priest who gave him shelter and comfort?

Because, as my 22^nd wedding anniversary approaches, I want to be able to thank them for saving the life of the young man who, years later, would save mine.

Have you ever experienced life-saving help from a stranger?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Galatians 6:14-18

It’s a beautiful summer holiday weekend in Colorado, and we have friends visiting from Iowa. They’ve spent every possible moment up in the mountains, hiking, rafting, and gawking at the bicyclists riding up Mount Evans.

Amber waves of Nebraska grain

I brag that America the Beautiful was written here.  I look to the west and see the purple mountain majesties that have brought me to prayer every morning of my life.

It’s hard to live in a constant state of gratitude and awe.  My sister is the best you’ve ever seen.  We’ll be driving along the San Diego harbor―she lives in that spectacular city―and she’ll stop the car to make sure we are all thanking God for the water, and the ships, and the seagulls.  And it turns out we are.

This land is our land, from the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters. Oh, God, forgive us our trespasses against Your Gulf Stream waters.

Paul bore the marks of Jesus on his body. America bears scars on her body too.  Our rivers, our forests, our seas and our skies bear the wounds of our selfish decisions, our appalling deficit of dreams.  We know better now, and we’ll do better.

It’s nice that the holiday lands right on Sunday this year.  It gives us the collective opportunity to ask forgiveness for what we have done, and what we have failed to do.  And then, in our Sunday sanctuary of time, we will bless and thank our Creator for the endless gifts of America the Beautiful.

Sharing God’s Word at Home:

Where is your favorite place to pray in your home state?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting On Luke 9:51-62

I’ve got good news.  Those dusty archaeologists (bless them) who spend their lives digging in the scorching Mediterranean sun have given us a very plausible (and comforting) explanation of that MOST unsettling command in today’s Gospel: let the dead bury their dead. It’s simply this: the burial time for the dead in Jesus’ day was an entire year.  After burying the dead immediately (as we saw in the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ own death) the sons “sit shi’va” for seven days.  (So the disciple who asks to bury his father before following Jesus wouldn’t even have been around if the death had happened within that week—he would have been at home fulfilling this responsibility.)

Ancient tomb in the Mount of Olives

But then the corpse is left in the tomb for eleven months, after which the relatives re-bury the decomposed body by taking the bones and placing them in a burial box, an ossuary, and placing it back in the tomb, along with all the other family dead who are in various stages of burial.  The tomb continues to fill with the other dead from the family, buried for the first time and then again a year later.

So…what a great relief to consider that Jesus was thinking of all those dead, buried with the other dead, whose death demands kept the sons in endless burial cycles. Let the dead bury their dead.  Be at peace.  My heavenly Father knows where all the bodies are buried.  In just a short time you will see for yourselves what God has planned for My tomb, and yours, and theirs too.  Be at peace.

So be at peace.

Sharing God’s Word at Home:

What are the burial customs in your family?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 9:18-24

Kathleen, you wouldn’t care so much what people think of you if you knew how seldom they do. That was my Irish father talking, telling his self-absorbed adolescent daughter one of the hardest facts of life: people aren’t really paying any attention to you. Oh.  Good to know.

But it turns out that Jesus cares what other people think of him too, and asks out loud, who do the crowds say I am? Is he John the Baptist, somehow come back from the dead? Or maybe Elijah, who went to the heavens in a chariot of fire and hasn’t been seen since?  Their answers reveal the kind of Mediterranean chatter and interest in the outsider that now seems to belong only in the past.

But Jesus (the Christ) wants us to think about him, to pay attention to him, to have an opinion about him, to gossip with our friends about him.  He knows that the more attention we pay to someone the more space in our lives that person will take.

Let’s revive the lost art of spiritual chatter.  Let’s gossip with the whole Church about this Jesus, and who we say he is.  Let’s breathe on the smoldering wicks of the Scriptures and see if we can start some fires.  One billion Christians heard this Gospel today.  What’s the buzz?

Let’s get talking, Church.  Because, as five-year-old Elliott said to God, I think of you sometimes even when I’m not praying.

Sharing God’s Word at Home:

Who do you say he is?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 7:36-8:3

Only a person who has messed up as many times as I have can really remember the great love that washes over the person who is forgiven. Here’s a story that kind of makes me shudder every time I think of it:

One bitter January afternoon I was rushing to leave for a weekend retreat seventy miles away.  Of course I was late, and of course I locked all my retreat materials in the trunk of the car and threw the car keys in for good measure.

ARGH!!  It was getting later and darker and colder.  I drove our second car to the nearby Safeway where my husband worked.  Quick!!  Give me your keys!!  I don’t have time to explain! And as I was rushing out I sort of heard him say, Don’t lock me out!!

And it wasn’t until hours later, as I was settling into my cozy bed at the retreat house, that I realized that I had done exactly that.  I had left Ben’s keys in the house and used mine to lock the doors.  And of course neither of us had a cell phone.

So out of bed I flew, into the dark night and dark roads of the Colorado mountains.  I pictured Ben shivering in the garage or sleeping on the neighbor’s couch.  And here’s the moment of forgiveness:  I walked up to our front porch and opened the (unlocked) door.  A cozy warm fire was burning in the fireplace.  A sleepy voice called to me from the bedroom.  I knew you’d be back.

Thank God for hide-a-keys. And all the opportunities a lifetime provides us to grow in the kind of love and gratitude that only comes from being let off the hook.

Sharing God’s Word at Home:

What stories can you remember about being forgiven much?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year?  The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire!  Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).