A Hope That Holds Us

 

Readings 071826  

There’s something about hair..  

Men who are balding shave their heads.  

Others dye their hair bright colors 

so they won’t disappear into the crowd.  

My mother—and my wife—

still fuss with their hair before they go anywhere.  

Some cultures ask women to cover their hair 

to lessen temptation.  

And then there is the cancer patient  

who shaves their head because treatment has taken their hair away.  

Those who love them often shave theirs too—  

a quiet act of solidarity, faith, and hope.

Scripture says, “Many people followed Him, and He cured them all.”

Because hope is not wishful thinking.  

Hope is not crossed fingers or soft optimism.  

Hope is the firm assurance that God will do  

what God has promised.

“And in His name the Gentiles will hope.”  

Not because they understood everything,  

but because Jesus Himself became the anchor of their confidence.

Hope believes God is faithful.  

Hope stands steady when the path is unclear.  

Hope trusts that Christ is already working  

in the places we cannot see.

And hope always requires faith—  

faith that refuses to let fear write the final chapter,  

faith that whispers,  

“Lord, I trust You… even here, even now.”

May this be our hope today—  

a hope rooted in Christ,  

a hope strengthened by faith,  

a hope that carries us  

until His promises unfold.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, 

Anchor our hearts 

in Your faithful love.  

Steady us when the path feels uncertain.  

Strengthen our hope when fear 

whispers its lies.  

Let Your healing grace 

surround all who suffer.  

And keep us trusting You—

here, now, and always.

Amen

Written on the Heart: A Reflection on Mercy

 

Readings 071726 

When I sit with people in prayer—  

as a deacon, a spiritual director,  

a friend, a brother—  

I see a pattern that runs deep in the human soul.  

Desolation doesn’t always come from catastrophe.  

Sometimes it comes from hunger—  

a hunger for mercy  

that has gone unfed for far too long.

One wound,  

one memory,  

one moment of rejection  

can open a desert inside a person.  

And in that desert,  

the heart begins to starve.  

It starves for gentleness.  

It starves for compassion.  

It starves for the simple grace  

of being seen and loved without condition.

As I prayed through that today,  

the Gospel offered its quiet diagnosis:  

“I desire mercy…” 

Not sacrifice.  

Not performance.  

Not spiritual achievement.  

Mercy—  

because mercy is the food the human soul was made to live on.

The Lord says,  

“My words are spirit and life.” 

But spirit and life are only received  

in silence,  

in humility,  

in reverence.  

He keeps speaking—  

to every person,  

every soul—  

yet many hearts have grown calloused,  

and in that hardness,  

they lose the ability to taste mercy at all.

And maybe that’s the deeper ache of our world:  

desolation is not just emptiness—  

it is humanity starving for mercy,  

crying out for a tenderness  

we no longer know how to give.

So today,  

let go of the pressure to perform.  

Sit in the quiet.  

Let His mercy feed the places  

that have gone dry and weary.  

Let Him write His words  

upon your heart—  

because mercy is the nourishment  

that turns desolation  

back into life.

Prayer

Lord, 

Feed the dry places within me 

with Your mercy.  

Soften every hardened corner of my heart.  

Let Your quiet voice rise 

above my desolation.  

Heal what has grown weary 

and forgotten love.  

Write Your mercy 

upon my heart today.

Amen