So help me, I dropped it.

Offer it up.  Suffering can draw you closer to God.  Just trust he has a plan in this.  Words that I myself have thrown out when someone else was suffering.  How can suffering draw you closer to God?  I had an inkling before these past few pain ridden days, but the clarity that I see with now is different.  I can't tell you how your suffering will draw you closer, but I feel the need to share with you how mine did.

Until the other night I would have told you that the one time I experienced true pain was about seven years ago.  It's a day which I will never forget.  I had just had my spine ripped open by a doctor.  Rods, screws, and various twisty pieces of metal lanced into my frame like a sadistic pin cushion.  A living voodoo doll for someone very unpopular.  The pain was unbearable.  Then I experienced true pain.  Sure, I would have told you then that I had been in pain all day.  After that day though, pain had a different meaning for me.

Just after my surgery they needed an xray of my spine with 'weight' on it in order to make sure everything was bolted together properly.  So they wheeled me, mostly sedated, down a hallway to a room designed to torture and haunt my dreams for years to come.  Over by the wall were two bars... they told me to hang on them.   That's right... put your hands on the bar, we need you to hang all your weight on your arms while we take an X-ray of your spine.  They were not kidding.  So I did as asked.. they lifted me up, I couldn't even put weight on my legs yet... placed my hand on this rod and said ok hang on.. and then they lowered me till all my weight was hanging there.. hanging on those freshly spiked screw holes... twisting through those muscles which had been sliced through just days before.

Everything went white.  I couldn't think.  I couldn't breath.  I didn't know who I was.. or what I was doing.. all I knew was, "I have to hold on to this bar."  So I did.  I don't remember what decade it was that they came back to get me... or how we time traveled back to the present day, but eventually, centuries after the command to hold on.. they pried me off the bar and into my seat.. and I lost consciousness.  Everytime I see that scene in the passion of the Christ where they give him the cross and he embraces it, holding it.. almost reveling in the pleasure of that knowledge that he is holding on... I am reminded of what that feels like.

This time in the ER I experienced a glimpse at the living stations of the cross.  Up until this point it had hurt.. it had hurt bad..  enough that this man asked to be taken to a hospital... asked to be moved into a room with needles.. like a vampire asking for daybreak.  I shuffled in towards the room, a familiar one.. it's our date room... some how they always put us in there... as we drew closer the pain hit.  I gasped a few times, moaning out loud.  Then I couldn't see.  My eyes had become overwhelmed.  I felt the tears going down my face.  I felt the shame of crying out loud like a child, weeping in front of all these people... I gasped out something to the effect of, "I can't do it."  So help me God.. I dropped my cross.  Everything was white again with pain.  I couldn't think.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't speak or breath.  All I could do was stand there and exist.

Then my wife, the living Simon of Cyrene, put her arm around me and said just walk with me.  She moved me into the room and onto the bed.  For eternity I lay there waiting for a diagnosis, waiting for pain pills, waiting for something..  Then the nurse informed me she couldn't give me the medicine they had prescribed because I was allergic to it.  I was going to have to hold this cross again.. guess what?  I dropped it again. I begged her for it.  Please just make it go away!  Do something!  She told me she couldn't give it to me because I could stop breathing.. I didn't care, I said.. that'd be better than this..

Sunday my wife brought me the Eucharist and I felt unworthy.  I received Jesus asking him to forgive me for carrying the cross so poorly.  For giving up. You see, I now know the answer to what I would do if I were on the cross... would I go to my death?  I've always said I hope so.. but Jesus took more pain than me.. and begged for forgiveness... he suffered willingly for others, refusing the wine to numb his pain.  Me?  I cried out for anything..  sure I tried to offer it up.. I tried to pray a rosary.. but the words wouldn't come.. an our father? and nothing but moaning escaped my lips.  I sat musing over this while praying my morning office.

Then he showed up.   At the door.  Offering me communion.  His name was Deacon Mike, but I knew him the moment I saw him.... Jesus was there before me.  I felt shame.  Misery.... I told him that I had already received and he said, "Can I bless you then?"  I acquiesced and he placed his hand on my forehead.  He said in a gentle voice something that I will not forget any time soon.  God has created you unique.. so go forth in comfort living your life with joy as the person he created you to be.  No one else can do it the way you do.  Then he blessed my wife in a similar fashion.  Warmth flooded through me.

Yes, I dropped my cross.  I'm not Jesus.... but you know what?  I've picked it back up.. because he's making me more like him.  I am going to try to carry it with joy.. knowing that through this pain and this suffering I learned first and foremost.. who I am not... but secondly, I am more aware of who He is... and even if I have to drop it 100 times more... I will do so.. if only to glimpse Him for a moment saying how much he loves me.. as he helps carry the load I am unable to.

His servant and yours,
Brian

"He must increase, I must decrease."

Hear the Sounds of Hearts Returning to You

This afternoon and tomorrow morning Christian’s all around the world will celebrate the triumphal entry of Jesus Christ into the city of Jerusalem.   This celebration leads up to Holy Week and Easter, our greatest and most important celebration.  Last night as we gathered together to relive the stations of the Cross, we meditated on what it might have been like for Mary to experience this journey alongside her son.   A mother watching her child be welcome in such a powerful way on Palm Sunday, only to see him a few days later being ridiculed and murdered.  It was so very powerful for me personally, that as we looked up at the wooden cross held high above our heads and read the 15th station, the Resurrection of Our Lord, my heart too felt as if it would burst with joy.   Tears streamed down my face and I found it difficult to say the words, not because of my sorrow but because of the immense ecstasy that I felt pouring out on me.

This morning as I prepared to be a lector for Palm Sunday it struck me again that we as Catholics do that a lot.   We don’t just sit passively and watch someone preach or perform, but on many of our special holidays we relive the events.  We read the entire experience from Scripture with one person reading the narration, another the response of specific people (centurions, officials, pharisees, etc), the Priest reading the words of Jesus, and the entire audience the words of the ‘crowds.’  The story of Palm Sunday to many is just that, the story of one day two thousand or so years ago, in which one man had one experience.  We as Catholics do not see it that way.  Last night at the Stations of the Cross I was reminded of that truth.  At the triumphal entry there were two kinds of people… there were those singing “Hosanna,” and those plotting revenge.    There were those waving palm branches, and those sending daggers from their eyes.

Last night’s Stations reminded me of that.  At each stations we are asked a question, challenged in our walk.   Are you condemning Christ to death in your actions and words?  Or are you bringing instead life and joy? Are you looking on as Jesus begins the walk to calvary? Or are you participating in carrying his cross? When Jesus falls are you helping him get back up?  Laughing at his failure?  Being compelled like Simon to do something you don’t want to do?  Rushing forward like Veronica to comfort and console him? Crying for him but missing the message? Are you stripping him of his clothing and dignity?  Or trying to restore him to the place he deserves? So many questions that there isn’t enough space in any amount of storage to contain the words that could be written about these simple 14 events.

The thing is they, like the scripture and tradition they are based on, speak to us in the here and now.   They aren’t just about the time of Christ, but they are about our everyday life.  Once again I must quote Blessed Mother Teresa as she paraphrases one of my favorite pericopes of scripture:

“At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done. We will be judged by "I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me. I was homeless, and you took me in.”

As Christians we see Jerusalem as the early model of the Church.   So when we see Jesus being welcomed and reviled by the same people, we must ask ourselves.. How are we doing Church?  When St. Matthew wrote those words in scripture he reminded us that we as the church must see Christ in every person we meet, not just in the building.  Though Jesus is substantially present in the Sanctuary of the Eucharist, he is not trapped.. Not limited to that place.   He is in every person we meet, every encounter we have is a moment in which we can serve Christ.  So how are we doing?   Are we welcoming them into our lives, into our domestic churches, with fanfare and joy?  Or are we like Simon carrying their cross only because someone forced us to?  Like Veronica are we wiping the face of those who need comfort? Or are we pushing them away?

In our current political sphere we see people who want to build walls, evict families from our presence, even if it means separating mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, infants from caregivers.   How do we reconcile that with the message of Christ?   It is to the alien, the refuge, the widow, and the orphan that we must look for the vision of Christ in our lives.   It is to them that we must give a drink, not pluck their beard leaving nothing but bloody and raw skin.  We must offer them dignity and clothe them with respect and love, not tear apart their clothes and gamble them away for our own comforts and benefits.   We must rush forward to see him as a Mother sees her only child.. To see their suffering as our own.. To be like Mary and see their pain as a sword piercing our own hearts.. That we can strengthen one another.

Yes, we have an opportunity here to help those who are fallen by gossip, trash talk, bullying or teasing.. To help them get back up.. Clothe them with the armor of Christ, the breastplate of righteousness, the boots of peace, the shield of faith and the helmet of salvation. So we must look around and ask those questions of ourselves, to examine our lives every day, and say when I am standing at the water cooler am I building up or tearing down?  When we take a smoke break are we gossiping or edifying?  When we are away from parental supervision and authority figures are we watching things that help build each other up?  Or watching things we know will tear someone down?  Do we glorify God with every breath we breathe?  Or are we letting Him down?

It’s Palm Sunday.  Let us lift our branches both in the Sanctuary and in the world! As you go forward to receive that Sacrament, the Most Holy Eucharist, remember that it's not enough to just receive Jesus.. it's necessary to journey with Him... to pick up our own Cross and journey to our own Easter... That's what it means to live a sacramental life... Not just to receive it.. but to give it away. Not just to be aware of Christ.. but to allow the Sacraments to transform you into a 'little Christ' who then can begin to transform the world. Are you ready for that?

His servant and yours,

Brian

“He must increase, I must decrease.”

Veronica's Veil

This morning during my daily walk I was meditating on the Sorrowful mysteries, one that struck
particularly powerfully this morning was the Carrying of the Cross. I began to visualize as I walked and my mind was drawn to one scene in particular, that of Veronica and her veil.  Now not everyone knows the story of Veronica, but here is the legend:

The story of Veronica is not told in the gospels, but in early apocryphal writings. An early 2nd century version of The Acts of Pilate reports that a woman named Veronica (Bernice, in the Greek version) was the same woman Jesus cured of a blood disorder (Matthew 9,20-22), and that she came to his trial before Pilate to claim his innocence.

Later versions of the story from the 4th or 5th century say that Veronica possessed a cloth imprinted with the face of Jesus. Western pilgrims returning to Europe passed her story on. As the Stations of the Cross developed in late medieval times, Veronica was remembered at the 6th Station: she wipes the face of Jesus on his way to Calvary and he leaves an image of his face on her veil. A healing relic, impressed with the image of Jesus' face, which came to be known as "Veronica's Veil," was honored in St. Peter's Church in Rome as early as the 8th century.  - Stations of the Cross

As I went through the day I kept being reminded of this early morning meditation of mine, and wondering how it all tied together.  Then as I began to read and meditate on a chapter of "My Other Self" it all begin to fall into place.  So let me guide you through the thoughts I've been having today.

Veronica approached the Lord as he walked silently on the path to Calvary.  Simon the Cyrenien was carrying his cross and our Lord was the point where mortal flesh was ready to give way, and death seemed a welcome sight.  His body ripped and torn, beaten and bruised.  Spit from those who teased him ran down his face and his beard was hanging in tattered strips where they had plucked and berated him.  The thorns had worked their way deeper into his flesh, and by carrying the cross the agony of the flayed skin on his back had him wracked him pain beyond all measure. She walked up gently, bravely.   She reached out to him with a beautiful cloth and began to lovingly cleans his face.

Oh the gesture of love from this woman to her Savior, as she cleansed away the blood, sweat and tears.  As she removed the dirt and grim from his face from where he had fallen into the street.  She carefully wiped so as not to cause more pain, wincing herself as she crossed the wounds to his cheeks and forehead.  Tears filled her eyes as she saw how much he suffered for her.  The guards began to beat Jesus and she backed away with tears in her eyes, her breath catching.  She clutched this veil to her chest and fell to her knees flooded with grief and agony to see the King of the Universe, brought to such a pitiable state.

What does this tell us about our lives?  How do we apply this revelation to our walk with Christ?  Jesus told us "Whatever you do for the least of these you do for me."  If we look at this as a spiritual truth, and we look at the cross to Calvary in the light of the Sin which Jesus bore for us, it begins to show us a tender reality of how we are to deal with sin in our community, and how far we've fallen from that ideal.

When someone sins they begin to get covered in the grime of the world.  The dirt covers their face and mixes with the blood, sweat, and tears caused by and gained through that Sin.  It begins to sting their eyes and their face, making it hard to see the path ahead of them.  They may not even be able to carry their cross at this point, too weak to go on.  They can't see where they are going, or even think of where they've been.  All they know is pain.

If we truly are to be to that person as if they were Christ, it's our job to gently and lovingly caress their face with a cloth of cleansing.  How gently and lovingly would you touch the face of Jesus if he were before you in such a state?  Would you push into his wounds gratingly, demeaning him even further?  Or would you look on with understanding, with sorrow, with your breath catching and your eyes full of tears?  Would you fall to your knees in grief and agony and cry with them, as others in the community help them pick up their cross and continue on their walk towards God's will? Would you watch as they journey on clutching the cloth of the experience of having known them to your chest as a treasured possession?

Ah how short we fall.  Not only do we often not want to carry the cross of someone else, we don't even want to see them in a pitiable state.   We treat them as some outsider, the other, THEM.   We ostracize them and verbally berate them.   We talk about them behind their backs and instead of cleansing their face with a refreshing touch of love, we throw more dirt in their eyes and make them stumble away under their cross to try to get away from your glare.  We close our doors and hearts, barricading ourselves away, afraid we might get a bit of their stain on ourselves.

Brothers and sisters, this is not how it should be.  Today, and the rest of our lives, let us try to see Jesus in every person we meet.. and if we must address their sins (and sometimes it's absolutely necessary), let us do it as gently as we would wipe the face of Christ, let us lovingly remove the dirt, blood, sweat and tears from their eyes so that they can see clearly the path before them.. and let us cherish every moment of those encounters, as we help carry the cross of someone who has fallen.