The Cracks Where Grace Enters A reflection on brokenness, calling, and grace

 

Readings 102325

At a recent meeting of my spiritual directors’ peer group,
we spoke honestly about brokenness.

Not just the kind that comes from sin—
but the kind that comes from change,
from longing,
from the quiet ache of being unseen.

One of my peers, an Episcopal deacon, is retiring from active ministry.
He’s served faithfully.
Now he’s turning toward his businesses—he has at least three.

I admire his clarity.
His courage to name the season he’s in.

I’m discerning a shift too.
Preparing to retire from my job—
not to step away,
but to step deeper into ministry.

To give more of myself to the Church,
to the people,
to the call that’s been growing louder in me.

But something stirred in me when I saw his church’s website.
They call him “Reverend.”

The churches I serve call me “Deacon.”
I don’t even know if they realize I’m a reverend.

My mother doesn’t.
She says I’m a deacon.

But when she speaks of my late father,
she names him as a licensed and ordained minister.

It’s a small thing.
But it stings.

And yet—
God does not forget who we are.

Scripture reminds us:
God’s response to our brokenness is always relational.

He seeks us.
He walks with us.
Even in exile,
He plants seeds of redemption.

The cracks become places where grace seeps in.

St. Paul urges us to present our bodies—
not to impurity,
but to righteousness.

Not for recognition,
but for sanctification.

The gift isn’t in the title.
It’s in the transformation.

We are not defined by what others call us,
but by the One who calls us His own.

Jesus says He came to set the earth on fire.
Not with comfort,
but with holy division.

A division that exposes what is shallow,
what is inherited,
what is easy—
and invites us into what is true,
costly,
and eternal.

So I stand in the tension.

Between being named and being known.
Between retiring and re-firing.
Between the ache of being overlooked
and the joy of being claimed by God.

And I remember:
the cracks in me are not flaws to hide.

They are places where grace enters.
Where fire catches.
Where sanctification begins.

Prayer: Where Grace Enters

Lord Jesus,
You see the cracks I try to hide—
the places where I feel unseen, unnamed, unfinished.
Yet You call me still.
Not by title, but by love.
Not for what I do, but for who I am in You.

In the quiet ache of transition,
in the longing to give more,
let Your fire find me.
Let it burn away what is shallow,
and kindle what is true.

Make my brokenness a vessel of grace.
Let the places I feel forgotten
become the very ground where You plant redemption.

I offer You my life again—
not for recognition, but for sanctification.
Not to be known by many,
but to be Yours, fully.

Amen.

The Story of a Tattoo - When Rebellion Marks the Body

Readings 102225  

I once knew a man—older than me, long gone now, and I pray he’s home with the Father. He served in the Navy during World War II, and like many sailors of his time, he bore a tattoo: a scantily clad woman inked on his arm. But when he came to Mass, he’d cover the scandalous parts with a bandaid. That small gesture stayed with me. It was as if he knew—this body, once marked by rebellion, was now being offered back to God.

Today, tattoos are everywhere. Piercings too—ears, noses, tongues, and places we don’t see. And while I don’t presume to know the heart behind every mark, I do see a pattern: a world aching to express itself, but often doing so through rebellion. Not just in skin, but in speech, in systems, in silence.

St. Paul writes:
"Sin must not reign over your mortal bodies, so that you obey their desires. Do not present the parts of your bodies to sin as weapons for wickedness, but present yourselves to God."
(Romans 6:12–13)

Our bodies—our tongues, our hands, our feet—are meant to be instruments of righteousness. But too often, they’re used to divide, to exploit, to destroy.

The tongue becomes a weapon—amplified by social media, used to shame, to lie, to stir division.
The hands sign off on injustice—corruption, exploitation, environmental harm.
The feet walk paths of indifference—stepping over the poor, avoiding the hard work of reconciliation.

And yet, we are not helpless.
"Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth."
(Psalm 124:8)

Jesus reminds us:
"Stay awake! For you do not know when the Son of Man will come."
(Matthew 24:42)

This is not a call to fear. It’s a call to readiness.
To wake up.
To offer our bodies—not as weapons of rebellion, but as vessels of grace.
To be found faithful, not frantic.
To be stewards who serve, not servants who squander.

So let us gird our loins. Let us light our lamps.

Let us be marked—not by rebellion, but by righteousness.

And when the Master comes, may He find us ready.

Prayer for Readiness and Grace

Lord,
In a world marked by rebellion and noise,
quiet our hearts.
Help us offer every part of ourselves—
our words, our hands, our choices—
as vessels of Your grace.

Keep us awake,
not with fear, but with faith.
Not with judgment, but with mercy.
May we be found ready when You come,
lit from within,
and faithful in Your work.

Amen