The fifth Sunday of Lent and St Patrick's Day

I have never been fond of snakes no matter how tightly they are caged.  Thus I feel a kinship to St. Patrick.  Imagine a whole country without snakes until someone comes home from Florida with what no one needs.  It is legend that besides spreading the Gospel through Ireland, and allowing the Gospel to be sensitive to the Celtic culture, St. Patrick drove out the snakes.  Besides being Scot-Irish by genealogy and thus having a natural affinity to Patrick, the ridding of anywhere of snakes, would demand my loyalty.

Was that because of the first biblical snake and the woman blamed by the man and the curse? Or did it have to do with some news story read as a child about a child crawling under a house into a den of coral snakes?  I am forever unclear. But the mischief blamed on either of these snakes is enough to make me snake phobic.

The Morning Prayer Gospel for today is Mark 8:31-9:1 and speaks of the cure for the first above mentioned snake.  It is the cross. Jesus has just spoken of his coming end and his rising.  Peter could not conceive his dying by the verdict of religious authority. No one grasped his meaning of “in three days rise.”  Peter just earlier called the Rock, is now called Satan.  Then Jesus speaks.

He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?  Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? (V 34-37)

During the second half of Lent the daily hymn for the St. Helena Breviary is the one below.  It is a meditation on the cross more profound than I can write so let it work on the mystery of you and Christ.  During most days one sings verses 2-3, but certainly by Holy Week one sings it all.  Google search here for the tune: Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle - Hymn Books

Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle,
Sing the winning of the fray;
Now above the cross, the trophy,
Sound the high triumphal lay:
Tell how Jesus, our Redeemer,
through surrender won the day.

Thirty years among us dwelling,
His appointed time fulfilled;
Born for this, he met his passion,
which he saw and freely willed;
On the cross he was lifted,
Where his lifeblood then was spilled.

He endured the nails, the spitting,
Vinegar, and spear, and reed;
From his holy body broken
Blood and water forth proceed:
Earth, and stars, and sky, and ocean,
By that flood from stain are freed.

Faithful cross, above all other,
One and only noble tree!
None in foliage, none in blossom,
None in fruit your peer may be:
Sweetest wood, and nails together!
bearing sweetest majesty.

Bend your boughs, O tree of glory!
your relaxing sinews bend;
For awhile the ancient rigor
That your birth bestowed, suspend;
And the body of our Savior
On your bosom gently tend!

You alone were counted worthy

This world’s ransom to sustain,

With the sacred blood anointed                      

Of the Lamb for sinners slain

That a shipwrecked race forever

Might a port of refuge gain.

Now that you have enjoyed this meditation, here is my favorite for St. Patrick.  It will wind the novice but it is also so wondrously whole in its hope and theology. It is known fondly as St Patrick’s Breast Plate.  A Breast plate in Celtic culture was wore to protect from illness or to help one enter the life to come. It was also a recited prayer.

I bind unto myself today
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same
The Three in One and One in Three.

I bind this today to me forever
By power of faith, Christ’s incarnation;
His baptism in Jordan river,
His death on Cross for my salvation;
His bursting from the spicèd tomb,
His riding up the heavenly way,
His coming at the day of doom
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself the power
Of the great love of cherubim;
The sweet ‘Well done’ in judgment hour,
The service of the seraphim,
Confessors’ faith, Apostles’ word,
The Patriarchs’ prayers, the prophets’ scrolls,
All good deeds done unto the Lord
And purity of virgin souls.

I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the star lit heaven,
The glorious sun’s life giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea
Around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, His shield to ward;
The word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.

Against the demon snares of sin,
The vice that gives temptation force,
The natural lusts that war within,
The hostile men that mar my course;
Or few or many, far or nigh,
In every place and in all hours,
Against their fierce hostility
I bind to me these holy powers.

Against all Satan’s spells and wiles,
Against false words of heresy,
Against the knowledge that defiles,
Against the heart’s idolatry,
Against the wizard’s evil craft,
Against the death wound and the burning,
The choking wave, the poisoned shaft,
Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.
By Whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

Saturday in the Fourth week of Lent: Balm lowered

Lessons:

Psalm 107:33-43; Psalm 108; Jeremiah 23:9-15; Romans 9:1-18; John 6:60-71

I grew up in my first years as a Presbyterian who hated Sunday School.  Oh I like the crafts but I hated when we had to read the Bible.  Oh I liked the stories; it was the reading I hated.  I did not know what it meant then to be a dyslexic but I knew the experience of going round the circle and knowing I would read with so much pain and falter and snicker.  It taught me to pray, “Let the lesson be over before it gets to me.” or “Let me only have one line I can know before it gets to me.”

I liked church better because I never had to read aloud and the hymns I could memorize or be pulled along by the choir.  And since my father sang less, less was expected.

I liked church best until Communion Sunday and there I sat shorter than the adults and over my head would pass the bread cubes and the grape juice.  I knew I wanted some.  I wanted to belong in the way I never did in Sunday School.  That is why when I was ten, I think, I went to work on the minister. Could I go to the classes now and not when I was twelve?  How deeply I wanted to be worthy.  And he was kind and let me be taught and memorize the Catechism. 

God was strangely kind and on the day I had to go before the Session: I was ill. So the President and Minister came to me and I was less afraid. Was this an answer to a prayer only my child heart knew? I passed and from then on I belonged, younger than my peers.  And I knew grace as a gift that says, “Here is my Body. Here is my Blood.”  I knew it as longing satisfied, as the plate is lowered and you are allowed what has so long passed over your head and now nourished your sensitive self.

As we have been reading John Chapter 6, I realize that I always hear it from this dyslexic child’s longing met.  To make sense of today’s lesson one needs to cobble verse 60 to verse 59.

When many of his disciples (followers) heard him say, (“the one who eats this bread will live forever,") they said, "This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?"

I know the answer, “I can!” It is like the joy of that hopeful proud child included.

Of course the disciples do not yet know about His death and resurrection.   Though the author of John does and I do.  I know what it is to die in Sunday School as the Word of God approaches and you must read it.  I know what it is to also know the hymns a little by heart and the choir who will pull you along.  I know what it is to have the plate lowered and you included and for a moment you are as close to heaven as you will ever be in this life.  Things that hurt for a moment are but shadows.

When some choose to leave and find Jesus' teaching all too hard, I am not with them; I am with Peter.

So Jesus asked the twelve, "Do you also wish to go away?"  Simon Peter answered him, "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.  We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God."  (V: 67-69)

Even today I don’t always “understand” the Eucharist, communion. I don’t always appreciate the behaviors that go on in church.  Rather I understand the beckon, the desire to be more whole, the balm of God’s inclusion, the child-like quality of “May I have some.”  All these years later I know I have been graced to see the child-faces on so many at so many ages which say, “May I have some, I have come to believe and (somehow) know You are the Holy One of God.”  Something divine has been lowered into my hands, my life. Here, the balm of inclusion.  It is enough.

 

Friday after the Fourth Sunday of Lent: Vulnerable Shepherds

Lessons:
Psalm 102; Jeremiah 23:1-8; Romans 8:28-39; John 6:52-59

 

There are times scripture hits so close to the bone one must ask, is this too personal to write.  This is one of them.  I doubt there is a self-reflective clergy person who can read today’s lections and not feel a twinge.  From Jeremiah we hear:
”Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! says the Lord. Therefore thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, concerning the shepherds who shepherd my people: It is you who have scattered my flock, and have driven them away, and you have not attended to them. So I will attend to you for your evil doings, says the Lord.  Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply.  I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing, says the Lord.”   (23:1-4)

As one weighs out the daily requirements of vocation, there is always the question of what now is faithful.  Many days the questions answer themselves easily, almost routinely.  Yet there are moments that do not, but even these a wise pastor has some system of support to rely upon for greater wisdom. 

And churches being made up of people who differ in gifts and perceptions and spiritual journeys will differ on important issues and mundane ones.  Even what may seem mundane can hold beyond it some concern or unresolved aspect of life that is deep and surprising. “Flocks” sometimes scatter over these seemingly mundane things like the removal of a tree, the shifting of sacred furniture, the change of a language form, or a power shift.  One gains wisdom as a pastor often in the course of navigating these shifts or else one may burn out.  Sometimes you hear the ripples of: “Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture!” Sometimes one wonders, is that God’s voice beneath the accuser’s voice, and many times one does not.

For me the twinge hits hardest when there is a necessary shift in the sacred person’s own life, when all the faithfulness in the world cannot prevent the movement that is afoot.  It can be a moral stand which challenges the cultural norm for which the Shepherd will pay and the flock may pay. Looking over our shoulder we see such moments peppering the civil rights movements of race, full gender inclusion,  inclusion/exclusion of differing sexual orientations.  Every war has had its actively non-violent voices opposing war.  People walk out of religious organizations over such shifts.

The twinge hits harder when what is deeply personal shifts for the sacred person, the shepherd; a child dies, a marriage ends.  For the first there is some room for grief and an expectation of healing in due course (‘due course’ can vary in interpretation as to how long this should take).

The second is both the same and different.  A sacred symbol has shattered beyond the hopes held by two (or more) people. Vows taken, sacred hopes entered into always house deep meaning.  Some people resonate from vows long held, others from vows long lost.  The rush in the community to sort out who to blame is of no help.  And should the Shepherd and spouse take up the challenge to find the grace to care and protect each other in the midst of this shatter, the vote is still out on how well the “flock” holds together.  Not every “Why?” can be answered nor should it be.

This was one of my deepest twinges of “Woe to the shepherd…” knowing I was by my essence "at fault."  We had been wise enough to each find support while we unraveled what could not be saved, no longer existed as it had.  We sought to live another vow of care for one another and our child primarily; and secondarily, a parish.  There were days when prayer was too intimate and yet connected to survival, when public liturgy depended on grace in away it never had. We lived in Lent’s full repentance knowing we would amend separately.  And yet there was this vow we had each taken floating in God’s mind/heart and even in ours. To this day the memory of it brings tears. Its redemption would look far different than we had hoped or planned.  We are graced with a friendship now.

It is essential to note this passage from Jeremiah goes on not in despair but hope.

Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply. (23:3)

God did not drive many of them very far.  I was wise enough to invite a wise Shepherd in to tend where I could not even as I stayed. He could ask the deep and healing questions of their needs and wholeness.  God worked among them to gather God’s people in the core life of care to which we are all called. I stayed long enough for the first layer of healing, a year.

For me the real grace of today’s readings are in the Epistle:

We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.  For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn within a large family.  And those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified.  What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us?  (Romans 8:28-31)

Various things will bind us in life and various things will threaten to or will scatter us in life.  One thing only will truly hold us and that is the love of God.  We see it in Christ.  We join Christ in learning from him how to love God best.  That is part of what it is to be conformed to the image of the Son.  The other part is in how we love, forgive, aid in the becoming of each other.  I rely on this so often.  Don’t we all, knowingly or not.

The Epistle goes on:

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?  (Romans 8:35)

Paul answers, “No.”  Nothing in all creation can separate us from this first and primary love if we choose to follow it, allow it in.

Yes there are chapters when prayer is too intimate and public liturgy is only navigated by grace and when hearts and even vows break.  There are times when life is hard and mending seems impossible.

But then there is God’s vow: Nothing in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

I depend on this vow.

It has even brought healing to one vow I could not fulfill and sent it back as friendship and as wisdom learned for the next time I would pledge myself.

For me, for so many, this is grace.

Thursday in the Fourth Week of Lent: Hope and Shipping Lanes

Lessons: Psalm 69; Jeremiah 22:13-23; Romans 8:12-27; John6:41-51

You would think I would have noticed more deeply before now that there is a shipping lane out beyond the cottage as I look out to sea.  I have sat here in early Morning Prayer for years.  It is just that this year I have sat here more often as we have been here more steadily. I realize it does not much matter to me where these ships are going or from where they come. It is more that they are a steady if infrequent rhythm of this place.  It is like life.  There are rhythms of coming and going and behind them, meanings we either notice or don’t. I could explore the internet to learn more but what value is the shipping schedule if my comfort is simply the rhythm?

There are scriptures which put before me a rhythm which I know and live by and yet know it more in the heart or feeling than in the mind and intellect.  They, like any hope, are a comfort and a reminder that time and life and people live deep.  They remind me we are made for such and often our doing and our being rests on deep places of habit.

One of such lesson is found in the Romans reading today. Verses 15-17, 22-27 are here.

For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, "Abba! Father!" it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ-if, in fact, we suffer (tend our daily life faithfully) with him so that we may also be glorified with him.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

For me life is a doing gift.  We rise from our slumber and set ourselves on a day of doing, be that going to the office, reflecting on literature, tending children, washing decks, making meals, tending relationships, improving our understanding, throwing in a load of laundry, reflecting on meaning, playing a round of golf…the list could go on.  Behind all these doings are meanings and they are not always obvious.  Usually the meanings have to do with what we give priority place in our life, our loves and first cares.

I rise from bed and am grateful for another day of life.  I sit by the sea or the fire or my attic chamber at Greenacre with the scriptures and open to meaning.  I do the laundry, cook a meal, and use my gifts in a creative and caring way because of two relationships, one with God and the other with my companions in life.  I live by hope that all my doings and deepest thoughts have meanings, seen and unseen.

Faith is the belief that the Spirit is rhythmically at work in our life, weaving purpose and only some of that is seen in the “schedules”.  Most of it is out of sight in what we call hope, deep purpose treasured both in our heart/mind and in the heart/mind of God.  The cry, “Abba, Father,” is an intentional or accidental opening to this meaning and hope.  For me, Paul here refers to our yearning to be aligned with God and good and faithfulness.  But the sheer gift is that when I am too tired or occupied to yearn, the Spirit yearns for me, that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.

I know those sighs.  They are like the ships in the shipping lane passing by on their way, carrying their load to some place I am not always interested enough to know.  I find such hope in the notion that in them the Spirit is interceding and my doings find meaning and connection deeper than I may have intended.

Hoping and doing are the held in joyful tension in the Christian life.  Beneath them is often Spirit weaving. 

 

It does me good to sit by the sea and see.

Wednesday after the Fourth Sunday in Lent: Pottery

Lessons: Psalm 101; Psalm 109; Jeremiah 18:1-11; Romans 8:1-11; John 6:27-40

 "Come, go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words."  So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel.  The vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as seemed good to him. (Jeremiah 18:2-4)

When I was in seminary my classmate, Martha Blacklock had a field placement in a vastly underused church in midtown Manhattan where she set up a potter’s wheel and invited people on weekdays to come and experiment with throwing pots. It seemed odd to me to make pottery in church and I could not see its evangelistic qualities.  Yet every time I come on this passage, I realize there is a potentially sacramental quality to the potter’s wheel.  Here is an invitation to experience both the gentle quality of being molded to usefulness and the need to be remade. The potter must begin with clay centered to the wheel.  If ever you have begun to feel the coming pot begin to wobble in your hands, you know it is time to slow the wheel, center the clay if you can, guide it more clearly to the shape it is to hold. Too much wobble and it is best to collapse and begin again.  Too much speed and clay can go flying.  Nothing is attained by impatience. The first pots are usually awkward and thick or thin in the wrong places.  Perhaps they are beautiful to the potter but they will never sell.  Yet there is something about those early awkward pots which the potter prizes, almost loves.

It reminds me of me. I know what is it to be awkwardly made, to yield my stubbornness, allow myself to be reworked by a will beyond my will and beyond my Dad’s will.  I know what it is to be thick and thin in the wrong places, we might say too sensitive or insensitive, morally aware or not.  I can need another’s help to be my better self.  Perhaps I need to strengthen or to soften, to hold a boundary or to yield to a better way of being.

Jeremiah will be clear with his audience.  It is time for them (us) to yield to the potter’s hand, to God and be better made. Amend your stubborn hold on life as you want it just now and yield to a larger vision held by God.   How hard this message was for them to hear and can be for me.

I often find St. Paul convoluted in his thought process. He seems so often like someone with an algebraic theory to prove. There is a complex logic he is working within and we are to follow it.  That is never more true than when he is writing on the subject of law and grace, his core understanding for our need of Christ Jesus. He comes to his central point in today’s passage form Romans (8:3-4).

For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do: by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and to deal with sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, so that the just requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.

His deeper point is that neither you nor I can do all things in perfect obedience to God’s created purpose, to live in full justice and charity toward our Creator and one another.  We so often fail or simply don’t conceive the need. The one who steps into the breach is of God’s own making, Jesus.  He alone lives this perfected life.  Humanity's sinful hate will require his life which he so freely yields.  But he is more.  Through him the Spirit, the creative hands of God begin our remolding, softening the clay of our existence, reworking our yielding lives, thinning our thickness of will, recreating our beauty.  We are each forever under construction.  Sometimes our pot collapses.  People doing 12 step work know this image of lost and bottom.  Others of us know something perhaps less severe but totally heart rending.   Then the remaking might occur in profound ways.  But for many it is regular, ongoing yielding and becoming.  We are continually shaped by Scripture and sacrament and the alertness of prayer, by repentance and clearer purpose.

The odd thing is I often don’t know I am being shaped, fashioned, remade. Sometimes I learn it because someone else sees it and reflects it back to me.  Sometimes I am in a situation and feel myself deal with it better than in the past. Sometimes I am in that situation and I handle it no better, but see my error and my need to grow.  I look out at a sunrise or sunset or rainbow or bird on the wire and I recall how loved all things are, me included.  I feel the hands of grace on my life.  I yield to the Potter knowingly.  It is a good day.

I wonder if I had gone to the Church of the Holy Communion and made pots with Martha, would I have seen all this sooner and yielded better.  I wonder.

Tuesday in the fourth week of Lent: Sabbath on Tuesday…hmm!

Lessons: Psalm 97, 99, 100; Jeremiah 17: 19- 27; Romans 7: 13- 25; John 6: 16- 27

Owning a house at the beach comes at some cost.   While it gives pleasure to you or others, the elements are harsh and one will either spend money or self to keep the house in shape.  Today my hands still ache from 5 hours spent yesterday pressure washing the decks.  I am only a quarter done!  But Mother Nature has given us rain and rest.  I am glad to yield.

Jeremiah is a prophet with a fairly heavy agenda, but that seems always the role of the prophetic.  He warns the people of Judah what will befall them if they do not sharpen their alertness. Some things are pretty self evident to this author and one of them is that people have a hard time following the commandments.  The momentary gain attained, often financial or pleasure, in breaking these commandments comes at a cost to the depth of life and our posture before God.

But if you do not listen to me, to keep the sabbath day holy, and to carry in no burden through the gates of Jerusalem on the sabbath day, then I will kindle a fire in its gates; it shall devour the palaces of Jerusalem and shall not be quenched. (7:27)

I grew up under Blue Laws where all businesses were closed on Sunday, the Christian Sabbath it was called. One always had to remember to buy milk on Saturday or gas if a trip was planned.  The Blue Laws slowly went away as one thing and then another was judged a necessity. The only place I know that maintains them is the town of Paramus, NJ, a town loaded with malls where New Yorkers often shop.   The Blue Laws are not maintained for religious reasons but sanity, the local desire to rest or freely get about without heavy traffic once a week. Yet there is tension from time to time to get rid of these barriers to commerce.

Truth is we have a need to rest and it can be more easily achieved when a culture cooperates with one another to allow it.  We need to restore even as my hands do today.  I need to let them be. Because we are a religiously plural society we have a hard time either agreeing to a day or to the purpose of this stopping.  Our faith teaches us, we stop that God’s values and ways may penetrate us, thus worship, resting in God and being in restorative company. I would add we do well to let the “other” rest as well for each is an image bearer of God who needs time to restore this image.

John’s gospel has an interesting line today.  Having fed the 4000, Jesus has crossed over the lake.  The crowds have followed looking, perhaps for another meal.  But I suspect for more because they rowed across the sea which seems to indicate a deeper hunger.  Yet Jesus says:

"Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.  Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. (John 6:26-27)

I feel slightly warned here.  Yes it is good my hands should rest and that I take this morning time to be quiet and restore.  But it is important to realize that the reason to rest is to be open to the guidance of God which comes from beyond me.  I do well to lay down my agenda, not just to lay it down, but to create an open space to invite the Holy Other in.

Once I post this, I think I shall just be more quiet and taste some of the eternal life food.   Perhaps then when I take up a task later, I will do so from a centered, caring and cared for place.

Monday after the Fourth Sunday in Lent: Whole Grain

Psalm 89:1-18; Jeremiah 16: 10- 21; Romans 7: 1- 12; John 6: 1- 15

Yesterday the bread had a crunch.  I am not accustomed to crunch bread here even though I always like the crunchy bits.  When my daughter was a child we had a habit in restaurants.  She liked the soft part of the bread and I, the hard.  So we would swap with each other. Thus she had twice the soft and I the hard.  Poor etiquette I know but fun just the same. And it was about so much more than bread.

But yesterday there was crunch in my teeth, a grain of whole wheat it felt. As I walked away I wanted more as the flavor lingered. Usually I do not, because a different flavor lingers, one of the soul and the cleanliness of hope.  But what did I want more of? Was it the wheaty flavor, or was it the notion that nothing remains that might be tossed to the birds?  There is something about the birds (or squirrels) eating the holy I have long told myself is wrong. Or was it the crunch and the grain in my teeth lingering that I desired?  Or was it the depth, the hope to heal the secret chambers, the few in my intimate prayer who are never there with me any longer…except by prayer? How does one know?  All I knew was I wanted more.

More until we began to sing the Hymn of St Francis:

Make me a channel of your peace:

Where there is hatred, let me bring your love,

Where there is injury, your pardon, Lord,

And where there's doubt true faith in you. 

Make me a channel of your peace:

Where there's despair in life, let me bring hope,

Where there is darkness, only light,

And where there's sadness, ever joy.

O Master, grant that I may never seek

So much to be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand,

To be loved, as to love with all my soul!

Make me a channel of your peace:

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

In giving of ourselves that we receive,

And in dying that we are born to eternal life. 

And the more I desired had definition, orientation, depth for the coming day.

It being the Fourth Sunday in Lent we had prayed:

Gracious Father, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ came down from heaven to be the true bread which gives life to the world: Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us, and we in him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Evermore give us this bread that he may live in us.  This now has taste.  It tastes of going beyond myself.  There are grains of hope, peace, light, joy, consolation, love, understanding, pardon, faith…multigrained is this taste.

And so now I wonder on Monday as I read the feeding of the four thousand in John 6:1-15 when it ends with:

When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, "This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world."  When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.

Did they go away wanting more? Was it the crunch in their teeth or the longing for hope? Had he penetrated their secret chambers and healed some inner desire or wound? Had he opened them to gracious living long ago known and at least for some lost in the push of life?  Did they want this flavor forever?

And the generous heart of the boy who gave his bread and fish, what did he desire? Or was it enough to be swept up unaware into the generosity of God? Did he grow old remembering what it was to release the bread and fish his mother had packed for him and to awaken to miracle, knowing letting go, simply yielding to generosity can change everything about you?

Evermore give us this bread.  The grains still linger.