Some days, it’s hard to get past everything we’ve lost. An empty seat at the table. A relationship lost in the fray of what felt like a life or death argument. A family member who has deeply wounded us, taking in those cruel moments not only our joy, but also what our relationship should have been. A friend who moved away, and a connection that’s a little less strong whenever we meet. Along our journey, do we not sometimes stumble on the road of our lives, sometimes in little potholes and too often in the gaping crevasse where our will and desire weren’t enough to keep mended all that had to break?


What does Christ offer those of us broken down on the side of a road that has become impassable? He doesn’t simply pick us up and skip us over those rough patches. Nor does He ask us to keep pushing through so hard that we wreck ourselves on the broken road. Rather, He makes our road into something new! That doesn’t mean that He takes our losses and erases them. He patches them, leaving all the good of those moments in there, but takes away the sting. He patches up our wounds from where we stumbled. He reconciles our hearts to Him and forgives us our failings.


Where does that leave us with those people who have wounded us, who caused those painful breaks on our journey? The challenging call as Christians is that we can’t keep the forgiveness and reconciliation to ourselves. It’s a gift that’s meant to be shared. We have an opportunity to reassess those relationships that are strained and broken to see where we were wounded but also where we wounded others. With the grace of Christ, there is a path towards reconciliation.


In those relationships where the person who wounded us destroyed the chance of a return to the original relationship, we are still invited to reconciliation. But what does that look like? In my experience, it takes God-given, God-driven forgiveness — even for those who refuse to accept their responsibility. Like grace itself, forgiveness given without hope of a return to right relationship is a free gift. What we gain by giving it is a freedom, an easing of our burden, because unforgiveness is a poison that only hurts us, and not the person who wounded us. Where we can give that forgiveness, but cannot safely repair the relationship, our best recourse is prayer for the soul of that person. Prayers that the Holy Spirit would speak to their hearts and bring about a great conversion. God has made saints out of some of the greatest sinners.

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Through our desire to give forgiveness and seek forgiveness, we can be ambassadors for Christ. What better testimony can there be to the world than to be a healed person, getting back onto the lifelong marathon that is our earthly journey? To do that in a way that mends the wounds of others and witnesses to the glory of God — can there be any better journey?




Stephanie Potter

O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace…


Saint Francis of Assisi’s famous prayer seems to echo in this Sunday’s psalm. Together, they speak of the transformative power of God. Eternal. Constant. Never changing. The source of all light.


I sought the Lord, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears…
… [W]here there is despair, (let me sow) hope…


Both psalm and prayer tell a conductive story: one of crying out to God, receiving Him, possessing Him, and then, finally, expressing Him.


Look to Him, and be radiant…
… [W]here there is sadness, (let me sow) joy…


There is a natural tendency to assume that anything existing in murky darkness is part of that darkness. However, psalm and prayer paint a defiant image of pure, perfect light existing unsullied in the dead of night. An image exemplified by Christ’s Passion and crucifixion, and what we, as His followers, are called to imitate.


I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth…
… O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console…


Surrounded in darkness, it’s easy to believe that we, too, are part of it. We call out to the Lord expecting Him to remove us from the mire, and He does — in a way. He removes us insofar as He gives Himself to us so that we come to possess Him. Unfortunately, however, we’re still stuck in the mire.

As a result, there is a temptation to believe that because the environment around us hasn’t changed, He’s not doing anything. Or He’s not present, or He’s ignoring us. But that’s not the truth. He’s with us. We possess Him. The next chapter in the story isn’t to leave the mire, but to express Him there.


My soul makes its boast in the Lord…
… [Grant that I may not so much seek] to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love…


When we do, we become sources of His light in the darkness. Unsullied. Unchanging. Unconquerable. A sign of the Lord.


Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.
… For it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned…


As both psalm and prayer suggest, however, this will never happen without our faith, trust, consent, and cooperation. At the end of the day, the sign of God is also a relationship.


The poor one called, and the Lord heard, and saved that person from every trouble.
… [I]t is in dying that we are born to eternal life.


God chooses to work with imperfect vessels, who choose to work with Him; lifting us out of the all-consuming darkness, and then purifying us, so that we may shine brightly with His light.




Laura Dysart

For 40 years, the Israelites were in a sticky situation. After escaping slavery in Egypt, then starving in the desert, they complained to Moses they might die of hunger. Moses cried out to the Lord for food, and manna rained down from heaven. For those 40 years in the wilderness, the bread of heaven sustained them.

In today’s scripture, Joshua has completed the work of his predecessor Moses by leading the Israelites into Canaan, the Promised Land. But upon their arrival, things change. They are no longer in the desert where food cannot be harvested. They begin to work the land for crops and to eat its produce. The manna disappears, and the Lord says to Joshua:

Today I have rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt.

For the Israelites, entering the Promised Land was a new beginning. When they were in the desert, God knew they needed manna. The manna has now served its purpose. Now God invites the Israelites not only to actively participate in determining their future good, but to also take on their identity as free people. He wants them to grow into the fullest version of themselves as He intended them to be.

A comparative concept could be our journey in Lent — or any season of life we experience as wilderness. Because God is good, we trust He will sustain us in times of trouble. But we are not made to stay in the wilderness forever. To stay there is antithetical to God’s plan for us. At some point we must step out into a new beginning and take on His purpose for our lives, whatever that might be. 

There is a sense of maturation in this process. All deserts come to an end, and if we allow them to, they can lead us to the resurrection. There must be an end to something, so that something else might be born.

There are 2 weeks left in Lent. Perhaps now is a good time to reflect on what fruit our wilderness has borne, and consider how it will help us to become more fully as God intended: a resurrected people.




Michelynne Gomez
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What does the word “repent” conjure up in your mind? I’m guessing for most people it causes feelings of anxiety and shame. 

“What have I done that I need to repent of?” 
“How is God displeased with me?” 
“How have I let someone down?”


The Merriam-Webster dictionary has a few definitions cited for the word “repent”, but the one that caught my eye was this: 

re·​pent | \ ri-ˈpent : to change one's mind


In this gospel from Luke, Jesus seems to be reading the hearts of those questioning Him: “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?”

“No,” He tells them, “but unless you repent (change your mind), you will all perish as they did” (Luke 13:2-3).
 

How easy (or difficult) is it to change your mind? I’ve always been a fairly easy going person. If I make a decision and it doesn’t work out to be the best one, then I usually don’t mind pivoting. But sometimes I dig my heels in and am unwilling to be flexible. At times, this is because I truly believe in the decision I’ve made. Other times it’s because I don’t want to be wrong. Sometimes, it’s because I don’t want someone else to be right. Regardless, changing my mind can be hard to do. 
 

Jesus also tells them a parable about a fig tree that isn’t bearing fruit. The owner wants to cut it down but the gardener intercedes and convinces the owner to give the tree another chance. 
 

How is Jesus speaking to you through this gospel passage? How is He asking you to change your mind? I think He’s reminding us that it's easy to make a judgement about someone without knowing the whole truth. The “Galileans” that we encounter every day may be no worse sinners than we are, but because of life’s circumstances we may judge them as such. We all have our vices. We all have things that keep us from growing in holiness and from bearing fruit. 
 

We all need God’s mercy. 
 

​As Christian brothers and sisters we have the choice to intercede for one another, or to cut each other down. Change your mind about someone this week. Give them an opportunity to receive the love and mercy of God through you. Be a beacon of hope and not of discouragement. Build up instead of cutting down — all because that’s what Jesus does for you.




​Maxine Brown
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