Love’s Eye

Acts 2: 1-11; I Cor 12: 3-7, 12-13; John 20: 19-23

I was talking to some new pastors this week up at the seminary so of course part of the conversation was on prayer.  It is not only central to us priests but to all of us.  I was surprised when one of them had told me that he didn’t pray.  So, of course, I asked him why, and as surprised as I was to hear that he didn’t pray I wasn’t all surprised by the why because I had heard in many times before.  When I finally sit down to pray, to stop, to quiet down, it seems at that point my mind takes off, a million miles a minute along with all my fears and anxieties, unresolved conflict, and all the rest begin to surface.  That’s the reason why you have to pray in those moments.

I use the example often, now that we are into the summer and it is hurricane season, to imagine a satellite image of a hurricane.  Most have a well-defined eye.  Crazy enough, that’s where you want to be in the hurricane.  It’s the place where the sun shines.  There’s peace and tranquility.  That’s the place of center we take with us into the storm, into the million miles a minute, otherwise the wall collapses and the storm consumes our lives.  This feast we celebrate today at the end of the Easter Season defines our center, that place of peace and tranquility that is hopefully leading us and navigating us through the storms of our own lives, as individuals, community, country, and world.  We certainly know that that’s not always the case.

When the early community begins to form and that we heard of throughout this Easter season from Acts of the Apostles, they too found themselves often trying to find that center and allowing it to be their navigation tool through often tumultuous times.  It was not an easy go for them when community was beginning to form around this new identity in Christ.  Like any community, there is self-interest, there are people that are trying to satisfy their own needs, there are people that are trying to drag us into their own storms, into the chaos of their own lives that will often challenge that center, that navigation tool.

The same was true for Corinth in whom Paul writes today.  It’s a section of that letter that we are all familiar with when he speaks of different gifts but the same spirit being manifested in the life of the community.  He’ll go onto to speak about the different parts yet one body and culminate in the next chapter with his message of love that we are familiar with from weddings.  There was dissension in the ranks of the community because they thought one person’s gift was better than the other, thinking that speaking in tongues was somehow better than the rest.  It created riffs.  Like the world we often find ourselves in today, there was selfish motivation, which of course, at that point, loses its purpose of being a gift in the first place!  One gift is not somehow better than the other, but rather, Paul will go onto say that no matter the gift and no matter the person, at the center of the community, the great navigation tool, will be that of love.  That becomes the eye of the storm and it becomes the navigation tool that the disciples will have to take into the storms that await them on that Easter day.

There seems to be no great Pentecost experience with them when we encounter them in today’s Gospel.  There they are, caught in the midst of a wild storm as the witnessed the death of Jesus, the one who had been their center up to this point.  For John, though, he’s going to want to take us back to the beginning and not to just the beginning of the gospel but back to the beginning of Genesis, when God breathes life into creation.  Here we are now, locked in the upper room, filled with fear and doubt, wondering and questioning, feeling like they’re being consumed by the storm and all that they had known falling down around them, and Jesus appears.  But not to just pick back up where they had left off on Good Friday but to give them a new center that goes deep within them and yet so far beyond them.  Jesus breathes on them, not just into their mouths, but into their very being the gift of the Spirit.  That will become their place of authority, their place of deep love, their own navigation tool as we see them go forward throughout Acts of the Apostles.

As we draw this Easter season to a close today, we pray for that same Spirit to be breathed into us, making us aware of where our center is in life.  Do we find ourselves much more comfortable in the storminess, chaos, fear and anxiety, that at times consumes our lives or are we being led to a place of peace that expands truth and makes space within us for all peoples?  Maybe we’re at a place where we need to quiet down, slow down, even if our minds want to go a million miles an hour.  That’s exactly where that navigation tool is leading us, to expand that place of peace and tranquility within us.  The last thing the world needs is more chaos, fear, and anxiety.  It leads us to reacting to everything that comes our way, sucking us into the storminess of lives and feeling overwhelmed by it all.  Like the disciples, on this day God desires to breathe that life, that Spirit into each of us so rather than being defined by the storminess we become the agents of change by brining that navigation tool, that eye, that deep source of love to an often hurting world to bring about the redemption that is freely given to each of us.

 

Road Less Traveled

Genesis 12: 1-4a; II Tim 1: 8b-10; Matthew 17: 1-9

Life is difficult. It’s the first line in the book, The Road Less Traveled. The author, Dr. Peck goes onto say just after that sentence that it takes a great deal of acceptance of that statement to finally let it go and move on, accepting reality for what it is and now what we think it should be. It’s why so many choose not to take the road less traveled because it means change and letting go and remaining open to something new in our lives. We’d often rather just wallow in our challenges and difficulties, somehow victims of a God that doesn’t seem to give me what I want when I ask.

The spiritual journey is no different. It’s difficult and like life, probably why so many choose not to take the road less traveled. It’s much easier to make my relationship with God about what I do on Sunday rather than a daily affair of prayer and silence. The problem, though, is it starts to close us off from even needing God. We begin to settle for something less than we really are and plant our stakes deep in the ground, often even cutting us off from God. As much as we sell ourselves short in life, we can do the same in our spiritual lives, knowing they are so intertwined, often settling for death over life.

I think it’s why the story of Abraham and Sarah is such a model for us in our lives because they did often choose the road less traveled. Listen, pretty much everything up to this point in the bible ends in disaster. It ends with war and violence. It ends in destruction. But when Abraham and Sarah enter the story, there seems to be the dawn of a new day in salvation history. You know, the two of them have every reason to be like so many that had come before them and there lives just ending poorly. They’re 75 years old and it seems as if God never gives them what they want. They could live their lives as victims of circumstances and give up. They can just dig the stakes of their tent in deeply and settle for less. However, that’s not what they do. Here they are, well into their lives, and now being called to embark on yet another journey from a God that hasn’t come through for them the way they wanted. They don’t him and haw about it but rather set out for an unknown land. Despite their age, there’s still a sense of adventure and there’s still something that calls them forth in their lives.
Here’s the thing, unlike for most of us, there’s no going back. If we leave home we can often return to that location. For Abraham and Sarah, it was giving everything up. They were being called to pull of the stakes and take, once again, the road less traveled. They once again will head out into the unknown simply because of a message from the Lord to Abraham. It’s as if they recognize that it’s not about this world and see themselves as passing through. There’s no reason to dig in to deeply because when the Lord calls them to do what would seem impossible and even crazy to us, they go forward. They don’t allow the pain of the past or failed expectations to stop them from heading out to the unknown and once again living with this sense of adventure and child-like trust in God.

Now we couple that with today’s gospel and the disciples who witness the transfiguration. As quickly as Abraham and Sarah are willing to pull up the stakes and head out on the road less traveled, accepting the difficulties of life and yet trusting God and the unknown, Peter quickly wants to settle down. He quickly wants to build and altar, drive in the stakes of the tent, and call it quits. It’s not that they didn’t know life was difficult. They were fishermen which was not and is not an easy life. They understood that. But with Jesus, maybe they thought differently and react to what they see and decide to end the journey there.

Jesus, like Abraham and Sarah, though, still knows that the road will become much more narrow and very much less traveled as they make their way towards Jerusalem. The ultimate test will be the cross and whether they have what it takes to push through and be pushed through such pain and agony. It’s the moment when the spiritual and life intersect and we’re left with the decision whether we want to settle down, drive in the stakes, and erect the picket fence, or allow ourselves to experience yet another adventure by God calling us forth. It really is the reality of our lives anyway, always in transition, always being called forth, always being led to the great unknown, deeper mystery, that leads to the fulfillment of life that we truly desire. It’s easy to not change. But it also makes me miserable, fearful, and well, quite honestly, so self-consumed that I can’t see anything beyond my hurt and pain. We’d rather hunker down in Good Friday than experience the newness of Easter.

As we continue this journey through Lent, our prayer is that we have the perseverance that Abraham and Sarah exhibited in their lives and their own acceptance of the difficulties of life and yet not allowing themselves to become attached to it all. They remained open to change and to whatever it was that God was calling forth in that very moment. When we don’t limit ourselves to experiencing God simply on Sunday, but rather as a way of life, making the time for prayer and silence, we become more attuned to the voice of God as they did. Maybe that’s what scares us the most. When we do hear that voice, it may ask us to do something crazy or impossible, thwarting our own plans for life. But like them, when we choose the road less traveled and persevere, the promise of Easter remains a promise. It doesn’t mean it won’t be difficult. That’s a reality. But it will be an adventure, a change, free of burying our own stakes in the ground, and an openness to wherever God may lead.

Disruptive Blind Spots

Sirach 35: 12-14, 16-18; 2Tim 4: 6-8, 16-18; Luke 18: 9-14

Anyone who drives is well aware of what we call “the blind spot”. We know the havoc it could cause for us as drivers if we are not paying attention to it. It’s our most vulnerable place as drivers and can cause great harm if we forget about it. The same is true, as we know, for Joe Flacco and other quarterbacks. They have their blindside. When his isn’t protected, as we’ve seen a lot recently, he finds himself on his back end more than anything. It’s his vulnerable point and has to be protected and not forgotten.

The same is true for our spiritual life and our lives in general. Like when we drive, it is our most vulnerable place and if evil and sin is going to work its way into our lives that’s precisely where it’s going to happen. Yet, we like to ignore it and are often so unaware of it that it has a tendency to control our lives, sometimes unaware that our lives can even be better than it is. They are our blindspots, our blindside, that can find a way to separate us from ourselves, from others, and from God.

In the stories we hear each week, our blind spot is often represented through the Pharisee. Even when Jesus uses other stories, they’re often about the pharisees and what they can’t see about themselves. However, as we march our way through Luke’s gospel, he seems to be more forward with them, specifically calling the one entering into prayer a Pharisee who finds himself disconnected from the tax collector and from God for that matter. Everything that he wants to point out about others are often his own faults and points of vulnerability and yet becomes blinded by them, presenting himself in a rather conceited way before God. What he does is what we often all try to do, thinking we can trick God into believing that we’re someone other than we really are, as if God is somehow not going to love us or forgive us if God really knows who we are. So what do we do? We created an affront and not always even consciously, but our blind spot is hard at work separating us and leading us to believe we can be someone other than who we are.

Paul knows it all too well. He is the master of the ego and knows all too well what life is like when the blind spot is directing life, often separating us from our own humanity. Yet, today we hear his continuation of his letter to Timothy. He’s imprisoned and nearing the end of his life, using such poetic language to speak about the constant need for turning his life over the Lord, seeking redemption and greater freedom. Everyone has abandoned him at this point because of the challenge he created in their lives. He wasn’t only good at recognizing his own blind spot but calling others out for theirs. They don’t want to hear that. And yet, to move towards holiness and wholeness in our lives, we have to come to the Lord and this Table as we are, entirely. We aren’t going to trick God into believing something about us nor are we going to trick ourselves. This sense that we have to come to the Lord perfect stands as a great obstacle to the good in our lives and an obstacle to holiness and wholeness and leading an authentic life.

Sirach also points out this need to be vulnerable before the Lord as the writer speaks of a God who shows no favorites. It is a God who is partial to the weak and hears the cry of the oppressed, a God not deaf to the orphans, or for that matter as with today’s gospel, a tax collector who acknowledges his own sinfulness and recognizes this deeper need for God’s mercy and forgiveness. It’s someone that realizes they no longer need to hide from God, no longer need to disguise or ignore their blind spot, but rather come to God as they are, in need of mercy and forgiveness. The reversals happen once again where the tax collector upstages the pharisee and God meets humanity at its most vulnerable point, redemption and salvation happens in a moment of oneness and connectedness.

As we come to this Table today, we pray we may be aware as to how we gather. Are we still trying to play games with God, presenting ourselves as “perfect” never allowing ourselves to be changed and transformed by this Eucharist. There is great freedom when we can come to accept that we don’t need to come here perfect but rather only as ourselves, sinners in need of mercy and forgiveness. Why do we want to put that pressure on ourselves to be something we aren’t? It keeps us from growing in relationship with ourselves, with others, and with God. It also becomes an obstacle from living an authentic life. We pray, like when we drive, that we are always aware of that blind spot in our own lives and to know the havoc it could play in our lives. We’re more than that not because of what it wants to tell us, but rather because of who we are, sinners, yet loved and always being called forth to mercy and forgiveness.

May It Be Done To Me

Exodus 20: 1-17; ICor 1: 22-25; John 2: 13-25

“We proclaim Christ crucified.” These are the words we hear from this very short passage from Saint Paul today in his letter to the Corinthians, and in a set of readings that are quite difficult to preach on, I am reminded of how Paul consistently, in these same words, is always moving communities to their own connection to the larger story and how we are all a part of Christ crucified. He uses those two words so frequently in his letters that it’s obvious that he believes it, has experienced it, lives it, and knows it in the depths of his being, and sees it as the connection that we all share as people and in the sharing of the suffering of the world, in and through Christ crucified.

It’s unfortunate because we have a tendency as believers, as Christians, to so often limit the great Mystery to something that has been done for us. Christ died for us, for our sins, for our salvation and so on, but that understanding also feeds into our own culture of entitlement that someone frees me of the responsibility of my own life and my connection to the larger people of Christ crucified and not always needing to grow up, mature, seek conversion in my life and in deepening my faith. But Paul comes at it in a different way. He understands the Mystery in its totality as not just something that is done for us, as gift as that is, but it is an ongoing invitation from God to be done to us. Remember the prayer of Mary from the beginning of the story to the prayer of Jesus in the Garden near the end of us ministry is the same prayer for us today, “May it be done to me…” To remain connected to that larger story, we must accept it as the daily reality as Paul did in his own life and not grow stagnant, even if that’s where we like to be at times.

As people, we do try to limit the Mystery at times in our lives and box God in to our image. Quite honestly, we can spend our entire lives simply trying to fulfill the Ten Commandments, the Ten Words that we hear in today’s First Reading from Exodus. Of course, we know them. We learn them from the time we are little kids and are ingrained within us. However, they can become an idol in and of themselves. But as we age and mature, we learn it’s not the fulfillment and fullness of God or this Great Mystery. What happens when we begin to see that we can’t live up to that constant expectation, when we begin to fail at the Ten Words, when we can’t force others to live up to them, as Jesus often confronted the Pharisees on and we will hear throughout John’s Gospel in the upcoming weeks. We can grow bitter and angry, holding grudges and resentment, or Christ crucified. At that very moment, when we can’t do it and our prayer becomes their prayer, may it be done to me, we find ourselves pushing against the Cross and experiencing Christ crucified; not merely a historical event, but a lived reality in our lives even to this day. We proclaim Christ crucified; that’s our connection to the larger story of life and our point of intersection and relationship with the sufferings of the world.

Now if you read Paul’s letter to Corinth you will find that he’s just getting started in this letter. As the letter progresses he too will begin to name the many idols that existed in that community and how they were used to divide people into their own camps rather than seeking unity within the themselves and with one another. Over and over again Paul will proclaim Christ crucified to the community, a stumbling block to Jews, just as much as it can be for us. We don’t want to go to that place; we’d much prefer to cling to something that was rather than embrace the life that God desires for us and how God’s love will be manifested in the world. Can we even begin to utter those words of Mary and Jesus, “May it be done to me…”. It must have been a prayer held deeply within Paul and will eventually lead to his own death, eternally connecting him to Christ crucified in his people.

The Gospel is a tough one. It’s another story that we are quite familiar with, the cleansing of the Temple. John places it at the beginning of his Gospel to set the tone for what is about to come, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear or reflect upon. But using that same reality of idols in our lives, does not the Temple, or the Church in our case, at times become that same idol for us? It so often was for the people in the time of Jesus, certainly for the Pharisees that saw it as the be all and end all, often forgetting the greater gift, the larger story, even of their own Exodus, and even beyond the time of Jesus, missing the point of who and whose they are and what and who they are called to be in life. Both the Pharisees and the money changers and sellers were taking advantage of people so often manipulating them to believe that they were gods themselves and what they had the people needed.

The season provides us the opportunity to look upon and seek conversion from the many idols we hold onto in our own lives, the things we feel we can’t live without, even if it’s our thoughts, the way we do things, or whatever it may be, to be cleansed in order to get to the place where with all will the prayer of Mary and the prayer of Jesus may be ours, to be done to us. Yes, we can be thankful and grateful for what has been done for us, but it isn’t just about something in the past. God invites us into a moment of grace right now, and as Paul would so often say, the place you find the grace is the place you least expect it, in Christ crucified, at the Cross. We pray for the grace to make our prayer today, “May it be done to me…”.

The Longing of Silence

Isaiah 63: 16-17, 19; 64: 2-7; Mark 13: 33-37

In 1964 Simon and Garfunkel released their hit Sound of Silence. Of course, many of you know it was a tumultuous time in the world and country, let alone the Church at that time. The Vietnam War was escalating and dragging on, bloodshed in the streets, the civil rights era was growing as segregation comes to a head, and even post-Vatican II in the life of the Church, felt like everything was in upheaval. In the midst of this all, this song, Sound of Silence is released, prophetic words at that time and possibly today as well when it feels as if we are right there again, tumultuous times in the country, community, and world, facing upheaval. What makes their words prophetic was their recognition of how comfortable we had become with darkness, even referring to it as friend. It’s as if we become accustomed to fear and violence, often leaving us feeling helpless and saying, “that’s just the way it is.”

In our own words of faith, they speak of the longing for the voice of reason and the voice of God to speak and rise up to something new. It is that which is squashed and told we are to fear, leaving us lonely and longing on a deeper level, wanting more, and yet, feeling like we must settle for what was. At times, feeling as if the silence is deafening and uncomfortable that we’d prefer to stay put rather than sit with what is uncomfortable, the longing within. Even the naysayers pick up on it all and convince us that the world is about to end, fear mongering, and it is in this present form, but as people of faith, we must also look at it as a birthing of something new and a letting go of what was, making space for our longing to give birth to new life, to a new way of living. Whether we like it or not, it is almost always coupled with violence, but isn’t the birth of a child somewhat painful and violent? Yet, life breaks forth beyond the pain and darkness.

Much of what we hear during this season, especially from the prophet Isaiah is an acknowledgment of that longing of people Israel and us as well. We hear that today, that over time, the hearts of people Israel have grown hardened by avoiding the silence and the longing within, thinking it can be answered and fulfilled outside themselves. It takes place following the exile as Isaiah crafts this prayer for a return of God’s favor to the people, an intervention by God into their lives. You would think a people that experienced the violence, bloodshed, famine, and overwhelming death would be quick to change their ways, and yet, what Isaiah witnesses is a people that slowly return to their old ways, a return to what brings comfort, trying to fill the longing of their hearts as individuals and a people in ways that just won’t work. As time passes, the voice of God begins to silence and the people are left wandering in their own lostness, wondering, where is their God who had led them out of exile, the God who had moved them beyond exodus, over and over again, the faithful God and potter who Isaiah speaks of in this prayer.

The disciples will quickly learn as well about that deep longing within as the ministry of Jesus ends at this part of Mark’s Gospel which we pick up in this new year, and from this moment on, the voice of Jesus, like it did for people Israel, will grow silent. As his voice grows silent, the disciples and Jesus experience violence and bloodshed. Once again the political and religious leaders will use fear, as is so often done today, to control and to squash that voice and eventually, kill it on the cross. Jesus and the disciples know all to well about that longing and the deafening silence that often ensues in these tumultuous times, times of uncertainty that leave us running for something else and something more, thinking it will be filled in other ways rather than sitting with our own uncomfortableness, our own interior silence and longing.

We know all to well during this season that there are many things that grab our attention and fill us with excuses as to why we don’t have time for prayer and silence. We have shopping to do, somehow trying to find that perfect gift, we have baking, card writing, and all the rest, and before you know it, it’s Christmas Eve and Advent has passed us by. My experience, that longing then begins to show itself the day after Christmas, when we couldn’t meet expectations, when it wasn’t the right gift, and so on, and we start to feel it within. As we enter into this season of Advent, these prophetic voices invite us into silence. They invite is into our own uncomfortableness. When we sit with it long enough, even if it’s a few minutes a day, God can begin to transform the longing into life, rather than us buying into the fear over and over. We all have it within us and we all need silence otherwise we act out that longing in so many different ways. The sound of silence can be deafening and avoided quite easily in our lives, but in giving birth, which itself is quite painful, God wants to meet us there to give birth to that longing into a newness of life.

Built into a Spiritual Powerhouse

Acts 6: 1-7; 1Peter 2: 4-9; John 14: 1-12

We have an ongoing joke, as well as call each other out on it, to the infamous phrase, “We’ve always done it that way.”  Now we may never utter those words, but we speak it with our actions a lot of the time.  Yet, if we are to allow ourselves to become the “spiritual powerhouse” that Peter speaks of in today’s Second Reading, we must learn to let things go.  That can even be said of the way we pray.  If we continue to only pray the way we did as kids, we’re probably doing something wrong or frustrated with our prayer life and God, but “we’ve always done it that way” has a way to take hold of our hearts like none other.  In order to become that spiritual powerhouse as individuals and as a community, we must accept change as a part of who we are.  Just think about your own relationships.  Those who are married or long term relationships know that change is necessary; it’s what make the relationship grow. The same it true with our relationship with God and our desire to become a “spiritual powerhouse.”

It’s what’s going on in the first reading as they new leaders are chosen.  There’s a disagreement that sets up between the Hellenists and the Hebrews.  There are people who’s needs are not being met, but the Hebrews were quite content in maintenance and status quo, keep doing what we’re doing; whereas the Hellenists were seen as progressive in their own way and demanding change because life was changing and the community was changing and new needs were arising.  They could no longer keep doing the same thing over and over.  It’s unfortunate that we only hear Acts during the Easter Season because they can teach us a great deal of how a community changes and grows and needs to let go, especially of the past, in order to move forward and to become as Peter says, that “spiritual powerhouse.”  We must first recognize the “stumbling stone” within our own lives.  What do we continue to hold onto that keeps us in that mindset of “we’ve always done it that way”?  Until the desire to become the spiritual powerhouse that God wants for us to become outweighs the desire to hold onto something, to the known, we will fight God and letting go and trusting and in reality, faith.

Jesus tells the disciples that when you grow in trust and faith and let things go, you can do great things.  As a matter of fact, he says, out of the mouth of Jesus, you can even do greater things because it’s no longer you but the Father, God, working through you that accomplishes greatness.  Whether we like it or not, those words are a part of us, “we’ve always done it that way” and it’s hard to break because we are much more satisfied with the comfortable and what is known rather than stepping out into something new and to the unknown.  Yet, to truly become that spiritual powerhouse, as individuals and a community, we must do just that…recognize the humiliation that it is a part of us, that stumbling stone, and begin to open ourselves up to the Kingdom that God wants to create, not the one we settle for so often in life.  We pray for the courage to become that spiritual powerhouse and ultimately, to change the world by God working through and in us!

Can We Weep With Them?

There have been two stories that had touched me deeply over these past few days, neither one related in anyway. The first is that of 80 year old Donald Sterling, now banned for life from the National Basketball Association and that of Clayton Lockett, probably less familiar to most, but was the recipient of a botched execution this week in Oklahoma. Neither related, neither person condoned for their behavior and actions, but both, as we sometimes forget, human beings themselves.

There aren’t many that will weep for these two men. If anything, Donald Sterling has been run through the ringer, mostly for his racist remarks but also very much for his relation to women and how he views them. I caught myself earlier this week listening to a story on the news about him and they were joking about him and this young woman. She simply provides the sex and he provides all the material goods this woman would ever need. The story continued about the rather grotesque image of him in the paper and all started to laugh. And I started to laugh. And I caught myself. This wasn’t a time for laughter, but rather weeping, and weeping hard. Why, you ask? Who hasn’t been in his place? No, maybe not on such a grand scale as Mr. Sterling, but who hasn’t had a racist thought at one point in their life, maybe not towards a person of a different color, but someone who is gay, someone who is Latino, someone who is in a lower socio-economic class than myself, a woman or a man, someone who, for whatever reason, I deemed less than myself in order to make myself look better. And I wept. Who hasn’t done it?

It takes a great deal of work on oneself to begin to move beyond such judgmental thoughts and to begin to accept and love that the person over there is really me. In that moment I prayed that when I reached his age I wasn’t still holding thoughts like that that weigh me down. I prayed that by his age I would no longer objectify men and women because of my own insecurities. I prayed that I wouldn’t have to kill another rather than confront my own prejudices, my own judgments, my own insecurities in life, because I know I have them, just like everyone else; but I also know they say more of me than the other. Have we not done to him what he had done to another? And I wept. Who hasn’t done it? Or maybe harder yet, who hasn’t been the recipient of it in one way or another?

Then there’s Clayton Lockett. My heart broke when I heard this story, not only because of the horrific crime he had committed, but to see that he too ended up dying in the same way the woman did that he had killed. A botched execution, rushed to take his life, witnesses leaving the room as they watched him struggle to breath, ending with a heart attack that consumed his life. Justice, some cried! But not really. There’s nothing just in taking another life nor for taking the life of someone who has taken a life. Life in prison, beyond the cell, a prison this man created for himself and within himself, failing to see life as gift, failing to see the dignity not only of this woman’s life but of his own. And I wept. He may have even wanted to die at this point; death was nothing to fear when you reach such extremes. I think I’d want to if I were in his place, locked behind layers of security and confinement, without human touch and care; a death he seemed to endure from the moment he arrived on death row. In the hearing of that story, yes, even hundreds of miles away, a part of me died as well, with him, the pain of violence and brokeness, stripped of dignity. And tears filled my eyes in prayer.

No, they aren’t related in anyway, but humans nonetheless, brothers, who we suffer with and seek to allow those parts of us to die in order that life may follow. Oh how painful it is to watch and even more so to endure. Can we take the time and weep with these two and the countless others that walk the same path? Can we take the time and walk in their shoes for just a moment and rather than laugh and crucify, weep? Can we take the time and feel the pain of their family and friends who now carry the burden with them, tainted by the weight of death, of one’s ego and one’s life? Can we weep for a broken humanity in which we are not immune, but rather participate? Can we weep at our own wounds that become the catalyst of hurting others? Can we weep with these men who are them but also us?