Union Differentiates

“It’s just another day, another year,” says my matter-of-fact husband. Well, no, it’s not. When my husband turns 75, I’m “only” turning 64 this month 🙂 and our marriage turns 40 (and my priesthood turns 2) within a matter of days, there is definitely reason to pause and ponder.

On December 1, 1979, we said “I do.” 40 years married. There it is — 40 years. Hard to believe. Where has the time gone? And where have the three adorable little ones gone — off to create their own families. We’re still together Jim and I, as different and as committed to love and unity as we always have been, forged in this crucible we call marriage. Difference and union, separateness and communion, make for wild, stormy seas and the happiest oases both at the same time. Tears of joy and sorrow, tears of frustration and resolution, of anger and reconciliation have watered 40 years of growing in Jim and I, yielding a reasonably healthy centered self (give or take the usual slip-ups) alongside an ever maturing capacity for loving selflessness for the sake of the other.

Strange really, this marriage stuff. Ever witnessed the ritual of the unity candle at weddings? Yes, it is a lovely ritual but it doesn’t really reflect our experience of 40 years when the ritual ends with blowing out the individual candles. In fact, it even smacks of incorrect theology. Every time I see that I have to suppress the urge to rush to the front and relight those individual candles.

Why? Because marriage does not mean that we cease to be our own person, rather the opposite. Married love is intended to create a oneness in the two-ness, yes, but never at the expense of each individual’s personal flourishing. Marital union and loving is not about dissolving one into the other, but rather to press one another into becoming more and more ourselves, to empower one another to grow to our fullest potential and stature. After 40 years of married life with Jim, I dare say that we have learnt a few things, often the hard way. Marriage has invited us to grow in both oneness and two-ness.

In the big scheme of things, ours is a relatively healthy marriage. We have been blessed with good health, not counting the aches and strains of aging creeping in now like thieves in the night. We have been spared trauma and tragedy, so far anyways. But that’s where the good fortune ends, because Jim and I are complete opposites in just about every imaginable way: in background and family history, in character and relational styles, in interests and professional occupations, not even to mention that we grew up on different continents, with different mother tongues and in different cultural contexts.

Jim’s spiritual/emotional roots go down deep in the beloved prairie soil of our family farm. I grew up living above the store of my parents with asphalt both front and back. We carry such family histories our entire lives, consciously and unconsciously. For 25 years we lived at the end of a dirt road with a gigantic garden from which Jim made his living. I worked off the farm, and needed an active social life. Jim’s home was the land and its sacred solitude. My call to ministry grew steadily over many years of Catholic and ecumenical engagement, until I moved into the Anglican tradition, and was ordained to the priesthood, while Jim has remained Roman Catholic.

We’ve spent 40 years dancing with our differences in every respect. We always agreed on the big stuff; it’s the little stuff that creates regular havoc. Jim still puts stuff in the “wrong” place, Jim still defies my second-guessing, Jim still irritates me with habits that just won’t vanish or change. Jim’s intellectual acumen is still superior to mine, and we still read vastly different books. Jim’s sense of order still equals my definition of chaos. I plan the future and look ahead, while Jim lives more fully in the present. I play endlessly with words, while Jim plays endlessly with seeds (and stamps on Sunday). And even after living with this seedy character for 40 years, I still cannot begin to match his love for the land, his commitment to gardening and his genuine wonder and curiosity about seeds. The reason we enjoy home-grown produce all year round is because Jim first lovingly tends the garden before I can preserve our winter supply of veggies. Yes I love him, and he loves me with my own myriad of quirks and irritating behaviours (darn, I just forgot to check his pockets again before washing clothes — soaked papers!!). Fortunate for us, we both like red wine and cribbage (no matter who wins). We are passionate about all things church and Jesus, we share a strong commitment to simple living, we enjoy live concerts by local talent, and we’ve brought three adorable children into the world who have turned into amazing adults.

Each time relational disaster looms, we have learnt to dig deep into our marital vows to find our unity. Thus an intricate web has woven itself slowly, painfully at times but surely, a web of honouring the other in his/her uniqueness as fully as we possibly can, and concretely supporting that uniqueness even at personal cost, while hoping that married love can hold us both. In turn this crucible grew in each of us more patience and respect than frustration and anger, grew a deeper abiding respect than rejection and hatred. But that growing is not automatic or easy and remains costly — at every turn and challenge, we need to freely choose between life and death in our relationship.

The Jesuit paleontologist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin calls this relational movement an evolutionary dance present in all living things. He discovered a fascinating paradox, i.e. that union/communion grows deeper and stronger in and through differentiation: “The more closely an entity or group is united, the more differentiated its parts become.” (Together in Christ, page 28) As couples work through the challenges and tensions in their common life, they grow an increasing emotional, spiritual, intellectual capacity for compassion and joy, forgiveness and generosity. When a couple is most fully in love, De Chardin claimed, the partners become most fully themselves. Looking to our 40 years of marriage, I can now see this as true. Even the entire universe itself displays a differentiating thrust in communion: God and the entire cosmos are about two things: differentiation (people and things becoming themselves) and communion (living in supportive coexistence). Physicists and biologists seem to know this better than theologians and clergy.  (Richard Rohr)
The whole universe story has come into being because God is a hidden treasure who longs to be known. And the way—the only way—this knowing can be released is in the dance of unity-in-differentiation which is the native language of love. (Cynthia Bourgault)

Sharing daily ups and downs with someone who’s so totally other as my own Jim the seedman, and who will always remain a mystery, has hollowed out a large space of grace in my heart and spirit where love grows despite differences. While I often fail to afford Jim the grace he deserves, I’m wondering now if growing this large space of grace has nevertheless equipped me in no small measure to embrace an ecumenical vision for the church. This vision embraces the diverse strengths and gifts of the various members in Christ’s ecclesial family, a vision that is as deep and wide and challenging as my love for Jim.

And if that is true, then the analogy of De Chardin’s evolutionary dance also applies to the diverse Christian traditions. We have come a long ways since the hostile exchanges of the 16th century. What began as reasons for parting company, have over time developed as unique strengths in each tradition, making us realize more and more that we truly need one another to embody the fullness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Can we see our baptismal vows on par with marriage vows, bonding us to one another in the Body of Christ while bowing in reverence before the mystery that enfolds us all?  Do we have the desire and willingness to dig deep into these baptismal vows so that our differences can be held in unity by an ever-deeper abiding love and regard for one another, mirroring the communion of the Trinity itself?

But as Fyodor Dostoevsky said so poignantly: love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to love in dreams. 40 years of marriage has proven the truth of these words. While we claim to love Jesus and want to be his disciples, all of us fail miserably, and often, at growing this ever deeper love. It seems easier to turn our backs on one another and to see differentiation as insurmountable division, even heresy. It seems easier to part company, to limit Eucharistic hospitality, to feed mutual distrust, and to follow Christ without meaningful engagement with “those others,” even though all of these choices betray the unity Christ won for us.

Just as the unity candle at weddings only makes sense when both individual candles remain burning, the unity of Christ’s Body on earth, the Church, shines most radiantly when each tradition lets its witness shine in concert with all others. The sum is greater than its parts. In order to know Christ, in order to witness to God’s love in our fragmented and hurting world, we do best by uniting our lights into one flame, fed by the flames of our varying traditions.


While historic barriers between churches are slowly dissolving, healing even, new ones are emerging to the detriment of our common Gospel witness. There is no shortage of conflict and dispute in our diverse church family as there is in most marriages. Yet each painful crisis continues to come with the same choice: grow deeper in love or part ways. Which will it be today?

Not of This World

What is truth? … Truth and power are on trial these days. Each seem to get more corrupted by the minute. Kings and presidents, religious and secular leaders,  have their truth and power scrutinized and tested, judged and betrayed, condemned even. Fake news and cover-ups are swirling around us like uncontrollable tempests and hurricanes, messing with our head. Nothing seems certain anymore, nothing seems truly true, even on the religious front. Nothing seems spared this dizzying unravelling of securities, of stability, and of clarity.

In the midst of this confusing ethical, cultural and moral tsunami comes today’s account of Jesus before Pilate. Two kings, two rulers, in a showdown of power and truth. Jesus’ truth and power was completely other. And deep down Pilate sensed it. Pilate so sensed how completely different Jesus’ power and truth were, that his nerves … trembled … Even Pilate’s arrogance couldn’t hide his inner shaking. “Are you the King of the Jews?” “My kingdom is not of this world …”

In the wake of fake news, in the wake of never-ending revelations of failures and sins by leaders in all spheres of life – politicians, teachers, principals, religious leaders, business giants – we celebrate today’s Feast of Christ the King. We, foolish followers of a King, dare to claim that in this King lies salvation, in this King lies the way to fullness of life even in death. What a ludicrous claim in the face of today’s world!

How do we respond as followers of Christ, this new King? Our response truly sounds ludicrous. Our response is a king hung on a cross. A king on a cross … not a popular answer right now. Yet that’s our answer, the only answer … A king – himself a victim of the atrocities we inflict on one another, no matter whether committed in secret behind closed doors in family homes and workplaces or on a world stage in government offices and churches.

Pilate agonized, pacing back and forth as he questioned Jesus. He agonized, because here before him was a man who puzzled, scared and intrigued Pilate. Pilate is aware on a subconscious level that his power and authority is really just an illusion. That illusion gets challenged by this weird prisoner. And that makes Pilate very nervous. And so he should be. Because the power and authority of Christ the King, what makes Christ King is indeed a power “not of this world” meaning, completely counter-intuitive for us humans.

What makes it so? Because unlike the increased show of force called for by world powers today, and the cacaphony of voices claiming truth, for the very first time in human history, and so far the only time in human history, someone DARED to refuse to project and pass on the violence and pain inflicted on him. Someone, with a power not of this world said: the buck stops here. In this determined non-violent response, Jesus released a power far greater than the kind we humans normally employ. That’s …. what gives Jesus the crown of glory.

Richard Rohr describes it as follows:
God is to be found in all things, even and most especially in the painful, tragic, and sinful things—exactly where we do not want to look for God. The crucifixion is at the same moment the worst and best thing in human history. The cross reveals a cruciform pattern to reality. Reality is not meaningless and absurd, but neither is it perfect and consistent. Reality, life, is filled with contradictions. Jesus was killed in the collision of opposites, conflicting interests, and half-truths. This King of Glory hung between a good thief and a bad thief, between heaven and earth, inside of both humanity and divinity, a male body with a feminine soul, utterly whole and yet utterly disfigured.

The Letter to the Ephesians tells us that Jesus broke down the barriers of hostility by creating one humanity where formerly there had been two – and he did it this “by reconciling both [sides] in one body through his cross, which put that enmity to death.” (Ephesians 2, 16)

How? How does the cross of Christ kill death itself? Ron Rolheiser, theologian and author, replies as follows:
Jesus on the cross took in hatred, held it inside himself, transformed it, and gave back love. He took in bitterness, held it, transformed it, and gave back … graciousness. He took in curses, held them, transformed them, and gave back … blessing. He took in paranoia, held it, transformed it, and gave back … big-heartedness. He took in murder, held it, transformed it, and gave back … forgiveness.

Jesus revealed the deep secret, the key to salvation. And that is to absorb and hold within ourselves all that divides, all that brings strife, all that sows hatred, to hold it long enough so that it gets transformed. Like a water purifier which holds within itself the toxins and the poisons and gives back only pure water, we must hold within ourselves the toxins that poison relationships, that destroy communion, both in the human family and in the natural world, and give back only graciousness and openness, give back only compassion and care, to everyone and everything. It’s the only key to overcoming division.

We live in bitterly divisive times, paralyzing every sphere of life with half-truths and fake power, polarized on virtually every sensitive issue of politics, economics, morality, and religion. That stalemate will remain until one by one, we each transform rather than fuel and re-transmit the hatred that divides us.

We see in the person of Jesus a strange power at work, a power clearly not of this world … the power of God’s unmerited and merciful love. We claim Jesus as King of Glory, and that he is. But besides claiming this and adoring him, we are also called to imitate him. While fear can choke our compassion and generous loving, our world is famished, starved, for peace and reconciliation, for inclusion and equality, for love and grace and mercy.

So how serious are we about embracing this kingdom of Jesus not of this world? Living by Kingdom ways still comes at great risk, just as Jesus learnt from his experience on the cross. Can we, will we, like Jesus, become signs of dangerous hope for God’s world, possessed by a power not of this world? I think it would surprise and scare and intrigue the world, just as it did Pilate, when he faced that unusual character. We can only profess Christ as our King if we allow God to change us, from the inside out, so that we become the water filter sifting out human impurities, toxins and poisons. As God’s water filter we are transformed into beacons of hope and grace, of love and mercy – all those things for which our world is starving.

But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. He is our peace; in his flesh he made us into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us … He created in himself one new humanity, thus making peace, reconciling us to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death hostility, division, strife, jealousy, and enmity. (Ephesians 2:13—16)

Homily preached on the Feast of Christ the King, November 25, 2018
2 Samuel 23:1-7; Ephesians 2:11—22; John 18:33-38
* I am not real happy with this sermon. Not that anyone criticized it, but as I preached I felt it — it was too wordy, too repetitive and lacked story. Just goes to show I can’t always be at my best.

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A School of Love

Pastoring a faith community is turning out to be a school of love for the pastor as well as its members. The other day I visited a young couple who were inquiring about baptism for their newborn baby. All kinds of unflattering assumptions eagerly clamoured to colour my impressions of them because I had never seen them in church. Then we met  and talked — for a long time.

Ever had the experience of swallowing hard and fast to move false prejudices out of the way before they come tumbling out through your lips? Well, that’s what happened to me. Not only did this couple express the desire to have their beloved baby baptized, but one of the parents expressed a desire to embrace Christian discipleship as the path to give meaning and purpose to her life. In other words, she desires baptism as well.

Meanwhile some six months ago a single woman struggling with personal challenges reached out by phone. We have been growing our relationship by fits and starts since that first day. For quite a while I was uncertain whether our connection was helpful. Now this child of God is awakening to her God-given identity, growing a desire to be baptized and to make Jesus her pattern for living within the community of the church.

As many times before, such encounters evoke surprise, awe and wonder.  The Holy Spirit  moves hearts despite us; we can’t even claim the credit. And I began to wonder: do our parish communities live up to what we profess so others can see and taste and hear and feel Jesus in our common life? Is our faith community as energized by the Holy Spirit as Jesus was himself? When others see us relate and interact, are they puzzled by the love that binds us? Are they attracted and wonder what moves us and and what power we draw on?

Living with Jesus at the center ought to be the norm for a Christian community, as a concrete expression of Christ loving through us: self-giving and generous, sacrificial and inclusive, joyfully and gratefully. Human love on its own is incapable of doing this. Human love calculates what’s in it for ourselves. We love in exclusive and possessive ways instead of inclusive and selfless ways. But the love drawn from God in Christ Jesus is other-centered. It is to be the animating force in every Christian family.

We can choose our friends, but we cannot choose our faith family (nor our blood family of course). In a Christian community God does the choosing, not us. To love Jesus is to love the community of faith, to love the Church, with all its odd members, needy characters and misfits. It is through the Church, flawed as it is, that we are called to live as a “new creation” in Christ (2 Col. 5:17). This summons has serious consequences for how we relate to God, to others and to the world. Why would anyone even be remotely interested in joining us if we do not look and act any different than the world — that is what it means to be in the world and not of it (john 14:18–19). In his book “Great Themes of Scripture” Richard Rohr writes: The Scriptural ideal is not to live in the world and go to church, but to live in the Church and go out into the world. (pg. 150)

Rohr goes on to say that to be “saved from the world” (John 16:33) involves being freed from anger and fear, bitterness and jealousy, possessiveness and power-seeking, and any other habits and behaviours, motives and attitudes that suffocate and destroy life. And so our parishes, our faith communities, are to become a school in loving. Anyone who has been part of a parish, however, will know from experience how often we fall short of this ideal. Yet the summons remains, because we are the only Body Christ has on earth.

The face of God in the person of Jesus Christ is God`s greatest gift to the world. We touch Christ both in his wounds and his risen glory in the fabric of our daily lives and in our interactions with others, especially those most in need. The universal call to holiness through Christ is not some spiritual veneer for experts and religious acrobats. This call, issued in baptism, is to be fostered throughout life in a practice of prayer in a “school of prayer and love.” Every community of Christians is Christ’s Body on earth, and thus called to be God’s sacrament in the world.

None of this comes naturally or is automatic — ask any Christian. Just because we’ve had the water poured doesn’t mean there is no more sin, no more obstacles, no more false gods, no more mixed motives and hurts. But instead of falling victim to our own worst qualities, we embrace with joy the holy vision of God, committing to growing into holiness our whole life long. Even if we fail and want to give up on ourselves, God clearly does not give up on us.

Jesus saves, he truly saves. Jesus saves us from our worst inclinations and from our deepest hurts. The Christian community is not so much a place for the already converted, but the place where true conversion and surrender to unconditional love becomes possible in order to grow us into a new creation in Christ Jesus. In Christ God revealed that the Body of his Son on earth, the Christian community,  is to be the vehicle for healing, reconciliation and unity in a broken world on the brink of despair.

Mentoring new Christians to the font of life is an awesome privilege, even though we will fall and fail often in loving. But God has faith in us despite our weaknesses. And so, here in our little prairie town in our little parish, we have begun the journey to the waters of life with our three candidates: a newborn baby, a middle-aged woman and a young mom. We will surround them with the love of our parish family, each according to their needs. In the process each of us, candidates, sponsors and catechists, will be mentored by God`s Spirit of Love — consoled and corrected, enlightened and guided, forgiven and healed. We want to be that school of love God is calling us to, and we pray for the grace to be faithful to this vision that has so captured our hearts.

Pray for us and Lord, have mercy.

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Truth – A Relationship

A few personal challenges of late sent me reflecting on truth again. Some of our loved ones confronted us with some difficult positions on important moral and family matters. It’s all I could do to keep conversations open and respectful, while working hard to share my opposing perspectives in non-judgmental ways and in a manner that deserved equal openness and respect. Maintaining open and loving relationships in times of disagreement is so heart-wrenching.

And then a peculiar thing happened. As if the ears of my mind and heart were sharpened by my own painful experience of discord, I heard and saw the same pain in so many places and over so many issues: disagreements over assisted suicide, disputes over the need to reconcile with our First Nations sisters and brothers, deep differences over the definition of marriage and how the church ought to care and seek justice for the LGBTQ community, strong disagreements within First Nations jurisdictions over allowing mining on their territory or not, a family feud over an estate, debate over whether to sit or kneel at the consecration or the place of the tabernacle (really!), sharp divisions over the peaceful nature of Islam,  vastly opposing opinions on how to eradicate racism and violence in the US, in Canada, in the world …

Sometimes I wonder: “How can we ever sort this out?” Is it even possible to reach for higher conversation standards; are there others who are dissatisfied with entrenched polarizing positions on controversial questions? The extent of volatile conflict near and far is scary; even disputes within churches sometimes resemble more a vindictive culture war than the Gospel.

What is so hard about acknowledging our vulnerability and awkwardness while affirming goodwill and desire for wholeness in every person? What is so hard about living God’s truth, Jesus’ truth, in the quality of our relationships, challenging ourselves to deliberately choose love as our foundational orientation? I sadly acknowledge the reasons for violence, war, and discords of all shapes and sizes. But are we doomed to live with this alienating way of relating to one another? In all these examples, a battle for “the truth” rages. I find myself asking Pilate’s ancient question again: what is truth?

As if an answer to the pleading prayer in my soul, along came the words of Pope Francis:
The truth, according to Christian faith, is God’s love for us in Jesus Christ. So the truth is a relationship! Each one of us receives the truth and expresses it in his or her own way, from the history, culture and situation in which he or she lives…. This doesn’t mean that truth is variable or subjective; quite the opposite. But it means that it is given to us always and only as a way and a life. Did not Jesus himself say: ‘I am the Way, the Truth and the Life’? In other words, truth being altogether one with love, requires humility and openness to be sought, received and expressed. ~ Pope Francis in his letter to Eugenio Scalfari, Nov. 9, 2013

What if this is true? I mean, what if truth is first and foremost a relationship of love patterned on the Trinity as the ultimate communion of love (long before it is a set of intellectual dogmas and beliefs), and is given to us always and only as a way and a life? If indeed this is true, that has enormous implications for those of us who claim to follow Jesus, the incarnation of that truth. We cannot ignore today’s local, national and international conflicts, both within and between our churches and in the wider world. Nor can we retreat in ideological fortresses of our own making and say to the rest of the Body ‘I have no need of you.’

But we desperately need to adopt conversation models “in a new key” so to speak, models which can equip us to listen without fear or prejudice and seek a better understanding of ‘the other,’ whoever that may be in any given situation. At best we can only change ourselves, and only if our Christian discipleship summons us to do so. In other words, the most life-giving reason to desire change is to deepen our capacity to love as God loves. I know that I need to change daily, as I struggle with difficult people, new issues and moral dilemmas. We may not agree, but can we be committed to hold together in love, and through that commitment, see the face of Christ in one another while inching ever closer to realizing God’s Kingdom on earth?

I read echoes of this same diagnosis and a desire for fostering a higher standard of discourse through the quality of how we relate to one another and the world in Fr. Richard Rohr’s words in Breathing Under Water (pg. 62):
The longer I live the more I believe that truth is not an abstraction or an idea that can be put into formulas or mere words. Our real truth has to do with how we situate ourselves in this world. There are ways of living and relating that are honest and sustainable and fair, and there are utterly dishonest ways of living and relating . This is our real, de facto, and operative “truth,” no matter whose theories or theologies we believe. Our life situation and our style of relating to others is “the truth” that we actually take with us to the grave. It is who we are, more than our theories about this or that. 

Jesus himself holds us to this higher standard, and yet we forget as quickly as water passes through a sieve. We keep making a categorical mistake, i.e. that loving and honouring our opponent implies consent and support for something that risks violating our conscience. But far from condoning sin, pain and woundedness, Jesus’ capacity to love unconditionally and show generous mercy had a radical life-changing effect on persons. His love shed clear truth-filled light into burdened souls, spontaneously exposed the darkness of sin and healed open wounds, while restoring dignity and honour.

Simply by experiencing the honour to be worthy to host Jesus, Zaccheus confessed of his own accord. (Luke 19:1-10) Simply by being in his presence, the sinful woman washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and dried them with her hair, evoking from Jesus the words: “Her sins, which were many; have been forgiven.” (Luke 7:36-50). In the parable on the weeds and the wheat, Jesus cautioned about pulling the weeds before harvest (Matthew 13:24-30). Even the Syro-Phoenician woman, an outcast by all social standards, felt the power of divine love, and claimed it for her daughter. (Matthew 15:21-28)

Simply put, the sheer power of divine love does the sifting and sorting, the healing and restoring; no need to add judgment or condemnation, no need to fear, dispute or despise. That is why St. Augustine said in his famous sermon on love:

Human actions can only be understood by their root in love. All kinds of actions might appear good without proceeding from the root of love. Remember, thorns also have flowers: some actions seem truly savage, but are done for the sake of discipline motivated by love. Once and for all, I give you this one short command: love, and do what you will. If you hold your peace, hold your peace out of love. If you cry out, cry out in love. If you correct someone, correct them out of love. If you spare them, spare them out of love. Let the root of love be in you: nothing can spring from it but good. …

Applying the above to a current crisis:
Contrary to earlier reports, it became clear this morning (July 12, 2016) that the General Synod of the Anglican Church of Canada did pass the motion last night that will change the definition of marriage. While many are grateful and relieved there is also much pain over this decision across the Anglican and ecumenical landscape. What is truth in this painful crucible? Are there really any winners in such a divisive outcome? Some striking comments came from Rev. Dr. Iain Luke, principal at Emmanuel St. Chad College in Saskatoon:

The irony is that before the whole synod started, people were saying it’s a “lose-lose” situation. Everybody knows what it feels like now. Both sides have understood now what it feels like to lose, if you have to use that word. One side ends up not getting their way, but the other side knows what it feels like. For a day, they felt that, and I hope that that will help us. The most important thing going ahead is that we bring those two groups of people together, that people see the leadership of those two groups working together to find one story for our church. It would be terrible if there were two stories of this synod, because two stories lead to two churches. We need one story, one church. But to do that, people have to see that both sides are working together to tell that story.
Why did it happen this way? There must be something for us to learn from this … (Anglican Journal, July 12, 2016)

My heart hurts and my spirit weeps as one group cheers and another group breaks. Can we take seriously Pope Francis’ words that each one of us receives the truth and expresses it in his or her own way, from the history, culture and situation in which he or she lives? Are we willing to look for “Holy Ground” in another’s painful life story? Can we let God’s love purify all our hearts so that love’s divine power can truly flow through us all freely, confidently and generously? For the sake of the world, create a clean heart in me, O God, and put a new and steadfast spirit within me. (Psalm 51:10)

O gracious and holy Father,
give us wisdom to perceive you,
diligence to seek you,
patience to wait for you,
eyes to behold you,
a heart to meditate upon you,
and a life to proclaim you;
through the power of
the Spirit of Jesus Christ, our Lord.
~ St. Benedict

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