Memory and Anticipation

 Readings 052826  

My friends,
God has given us this holy gift—
the gift of memory
and the gift of anticipation.

We move through the world aware of ourselves,
and because we can reflect on that awareness,
we carry our experiences in memory.
And from that memory,
we imagine what may come next.
That is part of being spiritual,
part of being storied beings—
our lives woven with continuity,
threaded with grace.

But sometimes—
in the middle of the night—
I wake with a little trouble in my heart.
Something I thought I had placed in God’s hands
still clings to me,
still whispers, still unsettles.

So I pray the prayer of Bartimaeus,
the prayer of every soul that longs for mercy:
“Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me.”

Because this is what 

scripture reminds God’s people;
once you had not received mercy,
but now you have received mercy.

So when the world tells you to be silent,
when fear rebukes you,
when doubt tries to hush your prayer,
do what Bartimaeus did—
call out all the more.

Because Jesus still stops.
Jesus still hears.
Jesus still says,
“Call him.”

And in that moment,
memory becomes grace,
anticipation becomes hope,
and the night becomes light.

Prayer

Lord Jesus,
hold my yesterday’s in Your mercy
and my future in Your light.
Steady my heart when shadows rise,
and let my cry reach Your healing love.
Build me again in Your peace.

Amen

Destiny, Freedom, and the Cup of Christ

 

Readings 052726 

No matter where we stand in life,
we are living out a destiny—
a destiny shaped by the years behind us,
by the wounds we carry,
by the stories that formed us.

But by the gift of freedom,
a freedom breathed into us by God Himself,
that destiny can change.

And I know this because mine changed.
I was hard. I was bitter.
I carried the weight of bullying,
the ache of tragedy, the sting of loss,
and the shadows of injustices—
some real, some only perceived.

Yet even in that heaviness, grace was reaching for me.
Right in the middle of the pain,
right in the middle of the anger,
a quiet invitation rose in my heart.

I chose Christ.
And Christ chose to remake my heart.

And it is here—right here—
that the Gospel meets us again.

Jesus tells the disciples,
“The chalice that I drink, you will drink.”
He does not promise privilege.
He promises a path—
a path shaped by love,
a path shaped by service.

And that path leads us straight into the mystery of destiny.
Because if we are to drink His cup,
we must first understand
the life we stand inside right now.

Destiny is real.
It is the sum of all those things in our lives
we can no longer change—
our history, our wounds,
the consequences of choices already made.
They shape the moment we stand in now,
but they do not define
the moment that waits ahead.

And this is where the Gospel turns us toward hope.
Because the God who sees our destiny
also breathes freedom into our souls.

Because God has placed in us
the fierce and holy gift of freedom—
the grace to rise beyond what destiny has handed us,
to choose the good, to seek the true,
to walk toward the beautiful.

And this freedom—
this Gospel freedom—
is never blind impulse.
True freedom requires just reason,
the harmony between the mind God gave us
and the revelation God offers us.

True freedom requires critical thinking—
the courage to examine our motives,
to discern our path,
to ask whether our choices
draw us deeper into Christ
or carry us farther from His heart.

Then Jesus says,
“Whoever wishes to be first
must be the slave of all.”
This is the freedom of the Gospel—
not the freedom to do whatever we want,
but the freedom to become
who God created us to be.

To drink the cup. To serve with joy.
To choose love again and again.
To let Christ reshape our destiny
and sanctify our freedom.

Prayer
Lord Jesus,
Shape my heart in Your mercy.
Steady my steps in Your truth.
Free me from the weight of yesterday.
Lead me toward the good You desire.
Make my life a quiet “yes” 

 to Your love.

Amen