A Reflection on the Gospel for April 2, 2023: |
Jesus wasn’t proud.
He didn’t consider Himself better than anyone – He just knew that His purpose was to point us all toward God. He didn’t deny that He was the Son of God, but He didn’t do anything to save His own life because He knew God would provide.
Sometimes, I’m proud.
I can easily fall into the trap of comparing myself to others, and my pride can be either buoyed or deflated depending on what I find. I can wrongly assume that my own experience is the only possibility, and fail to make space for others.
To deny oneself to the degree that Jesus did seems to be a miracle in and of itself to me. But the truth is, if I ask Him, God will provide me, too, with the grace and healing required to do it. The ability to empty myself, to give without ambition or conceit, depends on how I see myself – and that is either as a beloved child of God, or as someone who relies on earthly, material assurance of my worth.
It makes total sense that if all I know is earthly assurance, or worse, earthly rejection, then my pride will grow as I seek and strive to earn what my heart needs here in this life. But I am slowly learning and trusting the blessed reassurance of God’s love for me, and that Jesus is God in the flesh, come to show me that all will be well. This is what will ultimately allow me to be free to discover my purpose and live, empty of myself, for Him. For Love. To the glory of God the Father, who provides everything I need.
Lindsay Elford
He didn’t consider Himself better than anyone – He just knew that His purpose was to point us all toward God. He didn’t deny that He was the Son of God, but He didn’t do anything to save His own life because He knew God would provide.
Sometimes, I’m proud.
I can easily fall into the trap of comparing myself to others, and my pride can be either buoyed or deflated depending on what I find. I can wrongly assume that my own experience is the only possibility, and fail to make space for others.
To deny oneself to the degree that Jesus did seems to be a miracle in and of itself to me. But the truth is, if I ask Him, God will provide me, too, with the grace and healing required to do it. The ability to empty myself, to give without ambition or conceit, depends on how I see myself – and that is either as a beloved child of God, or as someone who relies on earthly, material assurance of my worth.
It makes total sense that if all I know is earthly assurance, or worse, earthly rejection, then my pride will grow as I seek and strive to earn what my heart needs here in this life. But I am slowly learning and trusting the blessed reassurance of God’s love for me, and that Jesus is God in the flesh, come to show me that all will be well. This is what will ultimately allow me to be free to discover my purpose and live, empty of myself, for Him. For Love. To the glory of God the Father, who provides everything I need.
Lindsay Elford
A Reflection on the Psalm for April 2, 2023:
Passion (Palm) Sunday
Psalm 22
R. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
All who see me mock at me; they make mouths at me, they shake their heads; “Commit your cause to the Lord; let him deliver; let him rescue the one in whom he delights!”
R. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
For dogs are all around me; a company of evildoers encircles me. My hands and feet have shrivelled; I can count all my bones.
R. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
They divide my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots. But you, O Lord, do not be far away! O my help, come quickly to my aid!
R. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
I will tell of your name to my brothers and sisters; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you: You who fear the Lord, praise him! All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him; stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel!
R. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
The readings for this weekend contain so much of the drama and conflict of Christ’s life. He is celebrated in the streets by the faithful as they wave palms. He enters Jerusalem as a King. Then, in the Passion reading, Christ is taken out of Jerusalem’s walls, where He is mockingly dressed in a King’s colours and made to wear a crown of thorns. He is acknowledged by some and mocked by others. But in neither circumstance did they know the nature and heart of the King who entered triumphantly and left humbly from the gates of Jerusalem.
This Psalm helps us see the shift in the narrative. He is not a triumphant King come to conquer. He is not a pretender to the throne being rightfully shamed. He is the truest King who comes not to conquer kingdoms, but to save souls. But the cost. Oh, the cost! As the song goes, sometimes it causes me to tremble.
The crucifixion is unlike any death in human history. Crucifixion is designed for slow, painful, and shameful death. A death that is public, visible from a distance. One that internally drowns the crucified, while causing immense physical stress and pain. But for Christ, the crucifixion has extra layers of torture. They draw lots for His clothes. Feed Him bitter wine. The crown of thorns and the flagellation beforehand. The verbal abuse and the mocking signage of “King of the Jews.” He took on our flesh and experienced the most humiliating, horrifying, painful death. For us. He did it for us. Without fighting. Without escaping.
By taking on our humanity and paying for our sins, Christ is one not with kings and rulers, but with those who suffer. He accepts the slander, the physical and psychological pain, the attempts to steal His dignity. But through all of it, Christ’s dignity remains – it is unassailable. Even in the most shameful, grotesque circumstances, Christ is King. Through the prophetic words of the Psalms, we see that the attempts to steal His dignity fail, and that in His mouth are words of praise. Christ belongs to His Father and His Father belongs to Him.
Christ gives us a beautiful and challenging pattern to imitate in the face of our own suffering. By His stripes, we are healed. Through His example, we can face our suffering with new eyes.
When the world hates us. When we experience pain. When we feel our dignity is under attack. We can lament. We can acknowledge the suffering. But we can also praise God, our Good, Good Father, in the face of our own cross. Even when everything we’re experiencing seems designed to break us down, we can rest in the knowledge that our Saviour has walked this via dolorosa. Christ has experienced suffering beyond our imagining and sends the Holy Spirit to comfort and console us. Christ was wounded for us and gives us the strength to rejoice with Him. The love He poured out through life, death, and Resurrection is for us, with us, and in us.
Stephanie Potter
This Psalm helps us see the shift in the narrative. He is not a triumphant King come to conquer. He is not a pretender to the throne being rightfully shamed. He is the truest King who comes not to conquer kingdoms, but to save souls. But the cost. Oh, the cost! As the song goes, sometimes it causes me to tremble.
The crucifixion is unlike any death in human history. Crucifixion is designed for slow, painful, and shameful death. A death that is public, visible from a distance. One that internally drowns the crucified, while causing immense physical stress and pain. But for Christ, the crucifixion has extra layers of torture. They draw lots for His clothes. Feed Him bitter wine. The crown of thorns and the flagellation beforehand. The verbal abuse and the mocking signage of “King of the Jews.” He took on our flesh and experienced the most humiliating, horrifying, painful death. For us. He did it for us. Without fighting. Without escaping.
By taking on our humanity and paying for our sins, Christ is one not with kings and rulers, but with those who suffer. He accepts the slander, the physical and psychological pain, the attempts to steal His dignity. But through all of it, Christ’s dignity remains – it is unassailable. Even in the most shameful, grotesque circumstances, Christ is King. Through the prophetic words of the Psalms, we see that the attempts to steal His dignity fail, and that in His mouth are words of praise. Christ belongs to His Father and His Father belongs to Him.
Christ gives us a beautiful and challenging pattern to imitate in the face of our own suffering. By His stripes, we are healed. Through His example, we can face our suffering with new eyes.
When the world hates us. When we experience pain. When we feel our dignity is under attack. We can lament. We can acknowledge the suffering. But we can also praise God, our Good, Good Father, in the face of our own cross. Even when everything we’re experiencing seems designed to break us down, we can rest in the knowledge that our Saviour has walked this via dolorosa. Christ has experienced suffering beyond our imagining and sends the Holy Spirit to comfort and console us. Christ was wounded for us and gives us the strength to rejoice with Him. The love He poured out through life, death, and Resurrection is for us, with us, and in us.
Stephanie Potter
A Reflection on the First Reading for April 2, 2023:
Passion (Palm) Sunday
Isaiah
50. 4-7
The servant of the Lord said: “The Lord God has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word. Morning by morning he wakens — wakens my ear to listen as those who are taught.
“The Lord God has opened my ear, and I was not rebellious, I did not turn backward.
“I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting.
“The Lord God helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame.”
I had always considered myself a generally quiet person, but in experiencing my first silent retreat I realized how noisy I can be. Not so much outwardly, but somehow I sustain a nearly constant interior monologue where I analyze, criticize, theorize and perseverate. With my external speech limited for nine days on this particular spiritual retreat, I was quickly humbled by the challenge of learning to simply “be” in silence.
As poor as I was at the task at first, with God’s grace and with practice I gradually improved at limiting distractions and really listening. God increased my desire to hear His voice, and He drew me towards places that helped calm my mind, helped increase my focus, and made me aware of His presence. During the windows of time that were dedicated to prayer, I had the freedom to roam the grounds of the retreat centre. I walked slowly through snow-covered cherry orchards in the bright morning and paused to listen to birdsong. I watched pine needles rustling in the wind and took in the crunch of the ice beneath my boots. I noticed the sound and the misty cloud of my breath that formed in the cold evening air, and how it frosted my hair with ice crystals. Instead of intrusive or distracting thoughts invading my mind, I felt increasingly present to each “now” as I perceived His beauty in and through His creation. Over the week, the Holy Spirit also spoke of His love through scripture, daily mass, journaling, and through people in the rare moments where we had time to share our experiences in small groups. My confidence in prayer and trust in Jesus grew massively by the daily habit of seeking Him in silence and expecting Him to speak. The structure and the community I found on retreat helped turn my resistance into surrender to facilitate my healing and growth.
As is typical after retreats, it was hard to maintain this connection and to keep an open ear once I returned to daily life. Each morning most of us are inundated with innumerable distractions vying for our attention. I easily forget the consolation of past prayer times when I’m in dry desert periods and I get caught in loneliness, restlessness, or discouragement. Despite the daily struggles to listen, I know I can always ask for His help; His merciful heart is drawn to weariness, and His desire is to become our daily sustenance. What is even more beautiful is that when He meets us and draws us away from distraction and to Himself, He will also gift us words to speak His life and love into others and to fulfill His mission.
As we continue our Lenten journey, let us ask God to speak in silence and be our Daily Bread – the One who sustains us at all times.
Kendra L
As poor as I was at the task at first, with God’s grace and with practice I gradually improved at limiting distractions and really listening. God increased my desire to hear His voice, and He drew me towards places that helped calm my mind, helped increase my focus, and made me aware of His presence. During the windows of time that were dedicated to prayer, I had the freedom to roam the grounds of the retreat centre. I walked slowly through snow-covered cherry orchards in the bright morning and paused to listen to birdsong. I watched pine needles rustling in the wind and took in the crunch of the ice beneath my boots. I noticed the sound and the misty cloud of my breath that formed in the cold evening air, and how it frosted my hair with ice crystals. Instead of intrusive or distracting thoughts invading my mind, I felt increasingly present to each “now” as I perceived His beauty in and through His creation. Over the week, the Holy Spirit also spoke of His love through scripture, daily mass, journaling, and through people in the rare moments where we had time to share our experiences in small groups. My confidence in prayer and trust in Jesus grew massively by the daily habit of seeking Him in silence and expecting Him to speak. The structure and the community I found on retreat helped turn my resistance into surrender to facilitate my healing and growth.
As is typical after retreats, it was hard to maintain this connection and to keep an open ear once I returned to daily life. Each morning most of us are inundated with innumerable distractions vying for our attention. I easily forget the consolation of past prayer times when I’m in dry desert periods and I get caught in loneliness, restlessness, or discouragement. Despite the daily struggles to listen, I know I can always ask for His help; His merciful heart is drawn to weariness, and His desire is to become our daily sustenance. What is even more beautiful is that when He meets us and draws us away from distraction and to Himself, He will also gift us words to speak His life and love into others and to fulfill His mission.
As we continue our Lenten journey, let us ask God to speak in silence and be our Daily Bread – the One who sustains us at all times.
Kendra L
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