God reigns! Let earth rejoice and the many coastlands be glad!
The heavens declare your righteousness
as the people behold your glory.
-Psalm 97: 1, 6
How have you welcomed, celebrated, shared the blessed sacrament of today?
Sacraments are not magic,
they are messy, majestic,
and at their core, mysterious.
Pungent though they be,
we don’t see what we don’t see.
To resurrection’s ubiquitous release, how blind can we be?
Pollen to irritate the eyes,
perfumes and resplendent bouquets
to overwhelm the senses.
Still the miracle fails to arrest us,
draw us out of our heads,
teach humility, school us in awe.
First we must free ourselves
from fractious fears,
For every day is earth day
when we open the soul’s window
to let in the bird-song Psalms.
Now we practice holy communion,
the sacramental act of breath-receiving and returning—
first and final sounds we ever make.
In the face of that first inhalation,
in the wake of that final exhalation,
surely all else pales.
This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never dry all at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.
I went one day
for a walk into the woods,
and time lost track of me.
So, on I amble, and sometimes stumble,
knowing less and less about anything
and more and more about everything.
Don’t we need to lose sight to regain vision?
And knowing we are blind might be the first prerequisite
to letting ourselves be led into the path of another’s pain.
…you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied… -Warsan Shire
In all this wide,
wonderful and woeful universe,
all that is real is love.
We understand this best
when letting-go of what and whomsoever
we have come to love
For we do not, cannot make love.
We can only welcome it,
make room to receive it, share it with abandon.
This is our sacramental mission,
from first breath to final.
Love is not attachment; it is release, losing, falling, letting-go.
Prayer is our humble answer to the inconceivable surprise of living. It is all we can offer in return for the mystery by which we live. It is embarrassing to live! Only one response can maintain us: gratefulness for witnessing the wonder, for the gift of our unearned right to serve, to adore, and to fulfill. It is gratefulness which makes the soul great.
How has the blessed-broken sacrament of life touched you?