If we are
struggling to seek God single-heartedly, to learn to weep the anger out of
ourselves is a matter of self-respect. —Maggie Ross
God amid the
rollercoaster called Holy Week, there are so many emotions that stir and swirl
within us. We sense the joy and hope of
Palm Sunday and the anticipation of Easter morning. We know the woundedness of denial, betrayal,
and desertion of tomorrow and Friday that connect those words to our
story. We know the pain of death and the
empty chair at the table. We know the
ambiguous loss when relationships end abruptly, and the hurt of words spoken
quickly feel like a thousand paper cuts.
This week takes an entire lifetime to unpack and even then, we will
never fully understand. So, today rather
than more words, help us be still and silent.
Lead us outside where the trees teach and tell us of weathering a
thousand years of storms, blinding sun preaches of warm love, and beauty of all
that is moves us to speechlessness. Lead
us outside where the snails teach us a different pace of life, beyond
production and our self-improvement projects.
Lead us outside where we might stand beneath stars like Abraham and
Sarah feeling our own smallness in the vastness of Your expanding and evolving
universe. Meet us, O God, on this day as
breathe and be in Your presence and prepare our hearts to hear again of the
Last Supper, praying in the Garden with Jesus, the pain of Friday that breaks
our hearts and souls wide open. May the
coming hours help us see that You are not distant from any moment in our lives,
but You are there in the lonesome valleys and a thousand Alleluias and every
ordinary or odd moment in-between. Amen.
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