Roller Coaster & Rich Soil

 

Readings 072426

I know a man raised in faith.  

Life happened—  

and life can be a roller coaster.  

Ups and downs.  

Highs and lows.  

Good and bad.  

Debauchery and piousness,  

woven together in the same human heart.

But even in the sway of that ride,  

there comes a moment of clarity—  

a moment when a man remembers  

the One who loved him  

and gave Himself for him.  

A moment when he can say with St. Paul:  

“The life I now live in this body,  

I live by putting my trust  

in the Son of God.”

And the Lord, in His mercy,  

still speaks:  

“Return, rebellious children,  

for I am your Master.”

Not to shame,  

not to scold,  

but to gather,  

to heal,  

to restore.

Because God knows the soil of a soul.  

He knows when it has been trampled,  

when it has been dry,  

and when—by grace—  

it becomes rich again.

And Jesus tells us:  

The seed sown on rich soil  

is the one who hears the word,  

understands it,  

and bears fruit—  

a hundred, sixty, thirtyfold.

Remember the man raised in faith.  

Remember the God who never stopped calling.  

Remember that every heart—  

even one weathered by the roller coaster of life—  

can become rich soil again  

when it trusts the Son of God  

who loved us first.

Prayer  

Lord Jesus Christ, 

Let my wandering heart 

remember Your steady love,  

turning rebellions into pathways 

that lead me home.

Make the soil of my soul 

rich again with grace,  

plant Your Word deep 

where fruit can rise and shine.  

Let my life lift in trust of the Son 

who loved me first. 

Amen

The Parable on the Goal Line

 

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Last night at my grandson’s summer football drills,  

I watched a parable unfold on a goal line.

After an hour of speed, strength, and agility work,  

the boys were worn out.  

Then came the 100‑yard dashes.  

Some glided across the field—  

smooth, effortless, almost floating.  

Most ran steady, including my grandson.  

And then came the big boys—  

the ones I know well from my own life—  

slow, heavy, determined.

By the fourth sprint, one seventh‑grader—  

well over six feet, close to 300 pounds—  

bent over in agony,  

crying, unable to go on.  

But the coaches ran to him.  

His friends ran to him.  

They lifted him, encouraged him,  

and with their help,  

he finished the run…  

and even two more afterward.  

Never the fastest,  

but unmistakably the most determined.

And that is where the Gospel speaks.

The disciples ask Jesus,  

“Why do You speak in parables?”  

And Jesus replies:  

Some look but do not see,  

some hear but do not understand—  

their hearts grown heavy, closed, tired.  

But blessed are the ones  

whose eyes still see  

and whose ears still hear.

That young man could have quit.  

His body said “stop,”  

but his heart said “go.”  

And when he could not lift himself,  

others lifted him.

This is what it means  

to have eyes that see  

and ears that hear.

To recognize mercy when it comes running toward you.  

To accept help when your strength runs out.  

To trust that God sends people  

to pull you forward  

when you cannot move on your own.

Many longed to see what we see—  

the God who meets us in weakness,  

the Christ who speaks in stories  

so our tired hearts can understand.

So keep running your race—  

not the fastest,  

but the most faithful—  

with eyes open,  

ears open,  

and a heart ready  

to be lifted by God  

and by the people He sends.

Prayer

Lord, 

Open my eyes to the grace 

that meets me in my weakness.

Steady my steps when life 

feels long and heavy.

Send companions who lift me 

when I cannot lift myself.

Keep my heart soft, listening, and ready 

to understand Your Word.

Make me faithful in  trusting You 

Amen

Recognition Becomes Revelation

Readings 072226  

 

Feast of Saint Mary Magdalene

Sometimes my wife says  

the moment my life changed  

was when I saw Jesus.  

Truth is—I don’t remember  

a single blinding moment,  

a vision I could point to,  

a story I could retell.  

If I had seen Him that way,  

I’d remember.  

My experience 

was His whisper.

But I do see Him—  

every day.  

In the aged who walk slowly,  

in the poor who carry quiet burdens,  

in the sick who whisper hope,  

in friends whose kindness  

shines through their weariness.  

His countenance hides  

in ordinary faces  

if we’re willing to look.  

Maybe that’s why Mary  

didn’t recognize Him at first.  

Maybe resurrection light  

takes a moment  

to settle into our sight.  

And yet, like her,  

there comes a point  

when the heart knows  

before the eyes do—  

and something inside us  

finally says,  

“I have seen the Lord.”  

Because whoever is in Christ  

is a new creation;  

old things fall away,  

new things rise quietly,  

like dawn breaking  

over a familiar horizon.  

Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,

Give us eyes  

to see Your face  

in every person we meet—  

and to recognize You  

even when You come

gently,  

softly,  

unexpectedly. 

Amen

Circle of Belonging

 

Readings 072126

When I visit the elderly in care centers,  

I am always met by a quiet, gentle grace.  

Even in frailty… even in illness… even in weakness…  

love still rises to the surface.  

So often, before I can settle into the chair,  

someone will look up with soft eyes and say,  

“Deacon, can you visit my friend?  

They need prayers.”  

There is a holy tenderness in that request—  

a sensitivity to the needs of people,  

an appreciation for those we are called to serve.  

It is the kind of love that does not fade with age;  

it deepens, it softens, it becomes generous.  

And the Gospel echoes this same truth.  

Jesus is speaking to the crowds  

when His mother and brothers arrive,  

waiting outside, hoping to see Him.  

Someone says,  

“Your mother and your brothers are standing outside,  

asking to speak with you.”  

But Jesus stretches out His hand  

toward His disciples and replies,  

“Here are my mother and my brothers.  

For whoever does the will of my heavenly Father  

is my brother, and sister, and mother.”  

In that moment,  

He widens the circle of belonging.  

He teaches us that family is formed  

not only by blood,  

but by compassion…  

by mercy…  

by the willingness to carry one another gently.  

The elderly show us this every day.  

They remind us that holiness is often quiet—  

found in noticing who is hurting,  

in asking someone to pray for a friend,  

in loving beyond themselves.  

May this Gospel shape our hearts,  

and may their example guide our steps,  

as we learn to see every person  

as Christ’s own family—  

and therefore, our own.  

Prayer

Lord Jesus,  

teach my heart to notice 

the quiet needs around me.  

Let Your compassion guide my steps 

toward those who feel forgotten.  

Make me gentle, make me attentive, 

make me willing to serve.  

And gather us all 

into the wide circle of Your family.  

Amen

Recognizing the Voice

 

Readings 072026 

This weekend reminded me how a voice can be recognized  

even when the face is blurred.  

A young man—once a kid in the halls with my daughter—  

stood in church as I baptized his child.  

And one of his classmates said to me,  

“I couldn’t see you…  

but I knew your voice.”  

My daughter said,

everybody at school was afraid of you.
Her husband, in disbelief said,

“They were afraid of your dad?’

And it struck me:  

many people know God like that.  

They carry an old opinion of Him—  

shaped by fear,  

distance,  

misunderstanding.  

They hear something familiar in His voice,  

but they cannot yet see Him clearly.  

Today’s readings tell us why.  

Micah says God is the One  

who removes guilt,  

casts our sins into the sea,  

and delights in mercy.   

The Psalm says He restores, forgives,  

and withdraws His anger.   

And Jesus says the true sign of God  

is not spectacle,  

but the mercy revealed in His own life—  

the greater‑than‑Jonah love  

that enters the depths for us.   

So maybe the eyes of the heart  

open slowly—  

through remembering His mercy,  

walking humbly,  

refusing to harden ourselves,  

and seeing Christ  

as the sign of God’s love.  

And when that happens,  

we don’t just recognize His voice—  

we finally see His face. 

I give thanks for the grace 

Of being able to see his face. 

Prayer 

Lord Jesus Christ , 

Soften the places in me 

that have grown stiff with worry.  

Let Your mercy be the light 

that steadies my steps.  

Teach my heart to recognize Your voice 

in every moment.  

Hold me close 

when I cannot yet see clearly.  

And lead me deeper into the love 

that never lets go.  

Amen