Friday, Saturday, Sunday

Sunday, 03.03.13

I had a lovely time discussing today's gospel with my faith sharing group. We found comfort and even solace in the idea that God will not give up on us, even when logic shows that we deserve to be given up on. If I do not do a good enough job at work, if I fail someone I care about, if I continue to repeat my sins, if I refuse to listen to God because I do not want to hear what He has to say--none of this would be enough for Him to give up on me.

Sometimes I think the saddest part of human relationships is their fragility, their very nature which suggests there are finite limits to forgiveness, mercy, and love. As a society we juxtapose romantic comedies with shows about scandal and sin in families: what is the reality of a "good" family and how can we find that for ourselves? How can I try to live my life after God's mercy while maintaining boundaries for healthy relationships? How can we lose sight of ourselves long enough to see why people act the way they do rather than shutting down at their mistakes?

Foster Your grace and mercy in me, Lord. Though I often feel inadequate, rejuvenate me in the knowledge that I am always enough for You.


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Saturday, 03.02.13


The parable of the prodigal son never fails to make me uncomfortable. Not, of course, because it is an inadequate or terrible story, but because it is too true, too close, too intrusive. I used to envision myself as the faithful brother, who becomes jealous at his brother's return; it was difficult for me to relate to the brother who did not think ahead and make clear plans but rather ran about and acted selfishly. It took me a long, long time--until two years or so ago--to realize that I am the returning brother.

Does not that suggest my own foolish pride? Does that not confirm the very need for the story? I can look at the prodigal son and see a foolish boy, and yet, looking at my own actions, I lack the same clear vision. The Georgetown Lenten reflection included the following words of Pope Benedict in conjunction with the gospel: “Heaven is always more than we can merit, just as being loved is never something merited, but always a gift.” The story of the prodigal son pushes my thinking, every time I read it; even as I skim over the words, asking, "This story- again?", I simultaneously feel it take hold of me. God's redemption, in the face of solid proof, hit-you-over-the-head proof, that the son, we, do not deserve that redemption.

I hope to be the son who humbly asks for forgiveness after making many, many mistakes. Curb my self-righteousness, open my heart, and allow me to come home to You daily, Lord.


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Friday, 03.01.13

The sacrifices of Joseph and of the vineyard owner's son make me feel a bit remote and sad--do I doubt that humankind is capable of such depravity? No. That I am capable of such depravity? No. Sometimes I feel isolated in the sense that the human condition requires that we struggle to not think of merely ourselves. Me, me, me, me, me. That word pervades my thoughts, my focus, my way of thinking.

The Georgetown Lenten reflection mentions the need of Joseph to follow his path and overcome adversity so that he may stay focused on God's purpose for him. I ask that God renew my purpose, whatever it may be, and to tear my attention away from myself. Let me put You and others first, before my own comforts and selfish thoughts. Harvest Your generosity of spirit in me.