Day 102- The Mile I thirst

I thirst…

I miss everything about the Eucharist.

Its free grace. The ease on my tongue. Your love wrapped in it.

The way You hold me when I do not deserve it. 

The entryway to heaven. The gift of peace. The song of redemption.

In all this, I long for you O Lord.

On my knees, I am empty. You are not there.

When I cry out to you, you are not there.

Your body is a song, and I cannot hear the lyrics.

My love seems empty and cold.

I long for you to hold me in your embrace.

My Father, where are you?

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

 

Born of a Spiritual exercise taken from Father Dan’s 3 p.m Good Friday homily. Watch it here.

 

 

 

Day 97- The Mile I Broke

The dance of the perfumed oil was not the smell of life, but that of death. It was a preparation, a love story, a total consecration. The one whose heart beat for the one whose heart would soon be stopped. 

The scene of Mary anointing the feet of Jesus and drying them with her hair is a movement of love. It is an act of worship, a passionate “yes.” The contradiction of the time was that is was in fact a  woman, and not a man, who was performing this religious ritual. It was Mary who was preparing Jesus for death.

The subtlety of the movement can be lost if we expect complicated answers. Worship is not an act that is performed for others, it is an act performed for one. 

Her movement was intentional, the dowry that was all that she had, the most precious gift.

The very thing that was meant to make her was the very thing that she gave away

The costly bottle of nard was the entirety of her inheritance, what the world had given to define what she might have been. And while for years the fragrant nard sat listless in that bottle, it came alive at the feet of Jesus with purpose and meaning.

The breaking of the fragrant oil at the feet of Christ was not a waste, it was a rebellion 

And while we contemplate this one small act, this sacred mystery of what that nard may have smelled like, the sweet smell that reaches our nostrils should remind us of the sweetness and the sorrow of preparing ourselves for Holy Week. We too are to prepare the body of our Lord for proper burial, but how do we do that?

By breaking our most precious possession, by breaking our alabaster box

It has been several weeks since our vulnerabilities have been exposed, since time at home has forced us to stare into the eyes of our maker. We have found ourselves helpless, crying, desperate and out of control. We have realized that we are small.

And in that smallness, we have either continued to live our lives as if God did not exist, or we like Mary, have fallen at the feet of Christ and found ourselves desperate and unworthy. Mary did not break that alabaster jar to have it go to waste, we too should not break ours without counting the cost.

And what is it in your alabaster jar that you do not want to break it?

Do you refuse to give alms because the church is closed?

Have you accumulated earthly treasures that you have hoarded away?

Are you holding on to that very important thing- your job, your pride, whatever it is that you refuse to let go, refuse to break, because you think that it belongs to you?

Would you not rather be able to break that alabaster box of your own free will in an act of worship and total devotion to God rather than have the sin of man break it for you?

What is in your alabaster box?

Sit with these questions. The answers will come to you. If it’s all that you have, if it is everything, you must count the cost.

Have you truly counted the cost of being a follower of Christ?

It will cost you everything…

Heavenly Father,

I have been clutching my alabaster box close to me and am unwilling to break it for you. Now before your passion and death, I beg of you to expose me, to help me to break it, so that I can be free to serve you with my whole heart. I have waited for this very moment, like Mary, to give myself away to you, as the bride does for her bridegroom. I am here at your feet, box in hand, waiting for your words.

In Jesus Name,

Amen

 

 

Day 96- The Loneliest Mile

“But Mary Magdalene and the other Mary remained sitting there, facing the tomb.” Matthew 27:61

“One of the first signs of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die. This life appears unbearable, another unattainable. One is no longer ashamed of wanting to die; one asks to be moved from the old cell, which one hates, to a new one, which one will only in time come to hate. In this there is also a residue of belief that during the move the master will chance to come along the corridor, look at the prisoner and say: “This man is not to be locked up again, He is to come with me.”
― Franz Kafka, Blue Octavo Notebook

(Listen to “On the Nature of Daylight” while you read today’s piece)

A tomb is a place where the dead go to die. Where the soul leaves the body. Where breath is not present. Where life is no more.

Inside the tomb, there is hollow and darkness. No love, just pain. The hope of light is lost and the dawn of daylight is far away. We ache at the thought of our loved one being lost to the night forever, and grieve at the passage of time, the regret of loss, and the emotions which consume us. There is no cure for broken heartedness. There is only the passage of time.

While some of us flee and fail to grieve, move on with our daily lives to forget, others stay beside the grave, beside the tomb. We feel every bit of our grief, allow time to stop.

We allow our emotions to consume us, guard the headstone, and lay at the feet of the one we love. We mourn at loss, make peace with the sky, but cannot see its face. We miss the smell of life, the joy of closeness and the flesh that He once wore.

We are alone.

Sitting next to the tomb is unfulfilling and hollow, but we cannot move- He still beckons us. While others have gone astray, we remain embracing, steadfast and tears. It does not matter that there is just us. We guard Him now as we guarded Him then. The love still in our hearts. The wounds still in our hands. The eternity we still carry. The blood that sustains us, running through our veins.

We stay because He is our Master. We stay because He is our friend. We stay because never before have our hearts been touched in such a way as this.

We stay because it is alright to grieve.

Who else will guard His tomb? They have all went away- every one of them. We remain. The weak things of this world. The vision of two lowly women in the world’s eyes guarding the King of the Universe.

And even though a stone is in our way, the compulsion for it to move is greater. It is greater than us, of our souls and of our being. It is our fiat.

I will not leave Him because I love Him. Because He trusts me. Because He knows that I will stay.

Let the night bring His death but the day His resurrection. May I see what I cannot see now. The morning of hope. The fruit of loss. And the remembrance of everything that I have gained.

No, tomorrow is not promised but He is. I AM. Not I was. He is present, alive, here- yes, even in death.

In His finality I am sorrowful, but hopeful of his triumphant return. The strings of the violin, my tears, His pain, and the wood that bore His body. That is all gone now. So I will sit and wait for my heart to return to me. The lover of my soul. The one that knows every breath of me.

My love, you are the eternity in my heart. The song in my tears. You are everything. And I will wait until you rise again in your triumphant procession. The Easter that you created. The rising you predicted. I will use my tears to water the soil surrounding your grave.

Lord, you are and always will be the reason I exist, the cry of my heart, the depth of my soul. Your song is joy. The cross is my joy. Rest now my love while I sit by and let you sleep while I keep watch- as you do for me every moment of my life. I look forward to your coming, your awakening and mine, when we will see each other again face to face. When I will touch your lips and your hands.

You transcend time. 

My risen Savior, the tomb is just the beginning of your emergence. Your song. The silent way you tell us that everything will be o.k. I know that you have not forsaken me.

So I will remain sitting here, facing the tomb.