Grace

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I had a strange dream recently. I dreamed I was stricken with one of the most horrific diseases known to man. A disease that causes your flesh to slowly rot, turning you into something that appears less than human before eventually killing you. Perhaps worse, because this disease is so contagious, I was completely ostracized from - and forbidden to interact with - my family, friends, and the entire community in which I lived. Thus, my only companionship was a few other poor wretches with the same affliction, who, along with myself, had been banished to the outskirts of the city.

In my dream, my miserable companions and I had heard about a miraculous healer - a man named Jesus - who had been traveling around other cities and towns near ours. Almost everyone was talking about him - how he gives blind men sight, makes the deaf hear, and causes the lame to walk. But, most importantly for us, there were rumors that he had cured the same horrific disease that we had. The word on the street was that this Jesus would soon be coming to our city, so we - all ten of us - gathered outside the city in eager anticipation that he might soon arrive.

Fortunately, the rumors were true, and later that afternoon, we saw this Jesus walking towards us along with his disciples. We were forced to keep a certain distance from him - and everyone else - because of our disease. Nevertheless, as we had previously agreed, all ten of us in unison began crying out at the top of our lungs "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" Almost immediately, Jesus fixed his gaze on us. It was a look of compassion and mercy unlike any I had ever seen before. Then, he uttered a single sentence, telling us to "go and show yourself to the priests." Although this wasn't exactly what we had hoped to hear, my companions and I were so mesmerized that we instinctively obeyed the Master, turned around and walked back towards the town. Within a few moments, I realized that the disease has left me. One by one, each of my formerly diseased companions realized it too. Our open sores were healed. Flesh that was rotting was now restored as if we had never suffered from the debilitating malady. We were cleansed and cured!

I remember in the dream a feeling of indescribable joy. A joy from having been given something that I could have never obtained for myself; a pure gift - one that I had no right or even expectation to receive - that made me whole again. As I looked down upon myself in the dream, I thought "surely I will run back toward Jesus, fall at his feet and praise him, giving thanks to him for the miracle of my restoration." But that's not what happened. Instead, myself and eight of the others just kept walking back toward the town as fast as possible. From there, the nine of of scattered, going our separate ways in order to resume the lives we had led before we knew we had the disease and, more importantly, before we had experienced Jesus's mercy and compassion. Sadly, only one of us, some foreign guy from a different country, went back to thank Jesus for his miraculous healing.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a dream at all. No, Jesus' healing of the ten lepers in the Gospel of Luke (17:11-19) is all too real to me. Of course, I'm not so unfortunate as to have contracted leprosy. But worse than any physical disease or illness, I, like all of humanity, am stricken with the stain of original sin and the concupiscence that comes with it. For although I have been cleansed by Him in the waters of baptism and forgiven time and time again through the Sacrament of penance, more often than I could ever imagine or care to admit, I am one of the nine lepers who fails to return to Jesus. I return instead to my worldly ways as if nothing has changed - sowing, but harvesting little; eating, but never having enough; drinking, but never having my fill; clothing myself, but never being warm; earning wages, only to put them into a bag with holes (Haggai 1:6).

Like so many times in Scripture, it is easy to scoff at the obstinacy, the hardness of heart, the weakness, and/or or the ingratitude of the nine ungrateful lepers who turn their backs on Jesus. On closer examination, however, I usually have much more common with them than the lone Samaritan who returned to give him thanks. Even worse, I doubt like Thomas, deny like Peter, and betray like Judas.

Yet the mercy of God is stronger than the disobedience of man. Surely, justice demanded that Jesus withdraw the great gift of healing that he had given to the nine ungrateful lepers. But that was not so. As the renowned Scripture scholar Cornelius a Lapide explains:

He might with justice have deprived them of the benefit of the cure, and allowed them to fall back again into their leprosy. But he would not do this, because His mercy was so great that it extended even to the ungrateful.

And it is this great mercy that allows me, like the prodigal son, to come to my senses, arise, go to my Father, and beg his forgiveness once again. Then, like the lone Samaritan leper who was healed, I will hear Jesus say, "Rise . . . your faith has made you well."

God love you.

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For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant; later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.  (Hebrews 12:11)

One of the greatest gifts God gives us here in South Texas during the early Spring is the beautiful Mountain Laurel trees.  Blooming anywhere from late February to early March, the vibrant flowers burst from the trees in all their deep, purple richness.  The beauty of the blossoms is matched by their sweet aroma that permeates the air wherever the trees may be found.  The Mountain Laurels bloom before most other flowers later in the Spring, serving as a preview of the beauty and warmth still to come in April and May.

It seems a shame though that such beauty comes just once a year, and for only a couple of short weeks.  Now, as the ides of March have passed, the bright purple pedals have either faded or fallen off all together.  To one looking at it for the first time, the Mountain Laurel looks like just another tree—one that will not produce its beauty again for a whole year.  But in all these ways, it is fitting that the blooming and fading of the Mountain Laurels happens during the season of Lent.

For just like the purple vestments worn by priests during Lenten Masses, the purple flowers of the Mountain Laurels remind us that this is a penitential season of preparation for the coming passion, death and resurrection of our Lord. Like the foretaste of the full beauty of Spring to come, the blooming Mountain Laurels give a preview of the full glory and divinity of the Resurrected Christ on Easter morning. Yet, as the flowers fade and disappear almost as quickly as they came, we are reminded that Lent is not quite over, and some amount of painful discipline remains before we are ready to celebrate the Resurrection and the "peaceful fruit of righteousness" to come.  And as we look upon the Mountain Laurel now in all its ordinariness, bereft of the beauty of its flowers, we remember that it will be an ordinary tree upon which our Lord will be crucified on Good Friday—an ordinary tree made beautiful by the incarnate Word of God that hung upon it to conquer sin and death so as to open the gates of heaven for us all.

In his recent book, "The Power of Silence", Cardinal Robert Sarah writes: "God achieves everything, acts in all circumstances, and brings about our interior transformations. But he does it when we wait for him in recollection and silence." As we pass through these last days of Lent into the coming Holy Week, let us persevere to wait for God in recollection and silence, thankful for the preview of His glory He has already given us, willing to allow God to continue transforming us interiorly, so that on Easter morning we may exclaim with confidence and joy, "He is Risen!"

God love you.

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Readings for Thursday of the First Week in Advent: Isaiah 26:1-6; Psalms 118; Matthew 7:21, 24-27

In today's Gospel reading, Jesus compares those who hear his words and do them versus those who do not, using the imagery of building a house upon rock or upon sand.  (Matthew 7:24-27) With those verses as inspiration, I penned the following short poem:

On rock or sand? It seems so clear.

What to build my life upon, O God, my Dear

I hear your words; seek to do your will

Will either foundation my desires fulfill?

For the sand is soft; it feels good under my feet

It’s easy to walk on; glimmers in the heat

I think I’ll lie down and rest before I build

There’s plenty of time; no threats that might kill

Yet beyond the horizon, I see a large rock

It protrudes from the earth; there’s a path that it blocks

I get up and draw closer, not knowing at first why

Then I notice the darkening clouds in the sky

With haste, I arrive at the stone

I cannot explain it, the feeling I’m no longer alone

But the wind is swirling, the storm is near

Upon the rock I notice an inscription: “A wise man builds here”

Quickly, I commence with the chore

Four walls, a roof, a makeshift door

The rain falls; the floods come; wind beats upon the shack

Despite all odds, my dwelling survives the attack

The storm finally passes, I step outside

There’s no more reason to run or hide

I look to the sky and cry out loud

How, O Lord, did your grace abound?

“Simple,” He says, as I begin to smile

“You took the less traveled path; walked the extra mile”

“But,” He paused, “even more important than that”

“You did the will of my Father in heaven during this Advent.”

God love you.

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th-25

"Death is certain; life is short and vanishes like smoke.  Fix your minds then on the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ."  - St. Francis of Paola

A couple of weeks ago, I was on my daily morning run.  Almost every day, I run the same distance of 4 miles using the same route.  Basically, I run two miles out and two miles back to my house.  Half the route is within my subdivision, while the other half takes me out onto a two-lane FM road.  For most of that portion, there isn't much of a shoulder on either side of the road; just some gravel, dirt, and then weeds and/or grass.

On this particular morning, when I came to the two mile mark (where I always turn around), I decided to keep going.  I can't really explain why.  On occasion, I will do 5 miles instead of 4, but that wasn't my intention as I kept running on this day.  I just kept going.  I ended up running about another quarter of a mile and then turned around to head back home.  After about another mile or so, while still on the FM road, I noticed a pickup truck about 100 yards ahead coming my direction at an above average speed.  Without warning, the truck veered off the road almost completely and onto the gravel/dirt shoulder, straddling the two for several seconds.  Even though the truck was still well ahead of me, I quickly moved to the left off of the road and shoulder.  The driver eventually noticed what had happened and corrected himself before he got to me.  As he passed by, he gave me a small wave to acknowledge his error.

I continued my run and didn't think anything of the event for another minute or two.  Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.  If I had done my normal 4 mile run (turning around where I usually do), I  likely would have been in the exact location--or at least the proximate vicinity--where the truck ran off the road.  Given that scenario, the speed at which the truck was traveling, and the suddenness of his swerve, the chances are slim that I would have been able to avoid him.  In other words, running that additional quarter of a mile probably saved my life that morning.

Of course, this was no mere coincidence or a simple piece of good luck.  God watches over each of us as a loving Father every single day of our lives.  Without His love, His mercy, His grace . . . we would not exist, could not rise every morning, could not so much as take a breath of air into our lungs.  Yet most days we walk around this earth like little gods, demanding this, thinking we are entitled to that, grumbling about our difficulties, trying to control every single aspect or our lives.

We woud do well to remember the words of the psalmist: "Teach us to counts our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart."  (Psalms 90:12)  Because the truth is, this wasn't the first time God had protected me from danger or harm.  There have been several other times in my life that I can recall where I was keenly aware of God's intervention or protection over me--many times when I was too stupid to protect myself.  My guess is that you can recall these times in your life too.  But what about all those countless times that we haven't been aware of it?  All the times God has watched over and protected us, but we never realized it?

One of the worst aspects of the modern, secular world we live in is the loss of the sense of the supernatural; the loss of the belief in miracles.  But miracles happen everyday, we just usually don't realize it.  As G.K. Chesterton once said, "The sense of the miracle of humanity itself should be always more vivid to us than any marvels of power, intellect, art, or civilization."  (Orthodoxy)  Modern man in the twenty-first century has turned this truth on its head.

If we hold fast to the reality of the miraculous, however, it frees us to live with true joy, thankful for each and every day that God gives us.  As Jesus told us, He came so that we "might have life, and have it more abundantly."  (John 10:10)  Not merely life . . . not merely waking up day in and day out and going through the motions, but abundant life . . . life lived with a fullness and peace that surpasses all understanding.  Because in reality, Everything Is Grace--every day, every joy, every suffering, every tear, every breath, every moment.

God love you!