I’ll say yes to celebration, yes to sorrow, yes to today,
yes to tomorrow.
It’s the third heading – yes to today – that I want to major
on as part of our preparation for Easter when I hope a good few of us will be
moved to write a letter of self offering to God for consumption in the flame of
the Easter Candle, symbol of our Risen Lord.
On the suggested framework we've got four headings linked to
giving God things we’re grateful for, sorry for, needful of and concerned
about. Today’s third theme is about identifying our exact needs for today to
give to God.
Give us this day our
daily bread we pray. In this last week of Lent we have an opportunity to seek
just what those words might mean for you and I in this third week of April
2014.
This is the day that
the Lord has made writes the Psalmist (Psalm 118.24). Today is the day of salvation writes Paul (2 Corinthians 6.2).
Just for today, what
does it matter, O Lord, if the future is dark? wrote St Therese of Lisieux.
To pray now for tomorrow – I am not able.
Keep my heart only for today, give me your protection today, grant me your
light – just for today.
Our Lord promised us daily
bread, bread for today. When God gave
bread from heaven to the Israelites in the desert it went off at the end of
each day as he was intent his people should seek him day by day. O that today you would
listen to his voice: harden not your hearts wrote the Psalmist picking up
on this Exodus story (Psalm 95.7-8a)
That reading of the Passion is for today. It’s set annually
for Palm Sunday, the only Sunday in the year the Passion of Christ is read,
designed to catch those who can’t make Good Friday, but it’s a word from God
for this hour, this day.
The Son of God loved
me and gave himself for me, as Paul puts it to the Galatians in Chapter
2.20b
God’s love is here for me today, at this mid morning hour on
the 13th April 2014 and I am called to welcome the good news of it.
If we endeavour to live with that love in the present moment
we see a number of things getting sorted out in our lives.
What’s important gets underlined from among all that’s
pressing upon us. Our wants are sifted through so that we establish our needs.
Under the heading Yes
to celebration we thought how we live
as eucharistic people giving God thanks for all he’s given us. Last week as Passiontide began we considered
our need to say Yes to sorrow in the
sense of owning up to our sin and seeking the remedy Christ provides for all upon
the Cross.
Lord I thank you, Lord
I’m sorry – and now our third prayer: Lord
I am needful.
In these days of Holy Week we have a privileged time to look
at our lives in the light of that Love, which over and around us lies, that finds
its focus in the story we just heard from St Matthew’s Gospel.
Thomas Merton described this focussing as like that of the
sun shining through a magnifying glass. Just as a magnifying glass concentrates
the rays of the sun into a little burning knot of heat that can set things on
fire, so the passion of Christ concentrates the ray of God's light and fire to
such a point that it sets fire to the human spirit .
The Son of God loved
me and gave himself for me.
In the light of his love we see ourselves most clearly - our
wants are purified so what we need is made most clear to us - and among our
greatest needs is to enter the vulnerability of God in the passion of Our Lord
Jesus Christ.
I end with a story about finding that, and in it, finding
our needs, from a passage called Wounded
Healers in Elizabeth Basset’s Anthology Beyond
the Blue Mountain.
I met him on the
train, and before long, I felt I knew him. I felt I could trust him. He was in
education: ‘Learning for Life’, he called it.
I said I was
interested in education too, so he invited me to come with him to where he
taught and learned. It was off the main road, near the fire station. It didn’t look like a
school. You walked in the door of a second-hand shop, and going through the
back, you came into a big room, with a lot of people in it.
We stood and looked
around.
In the corner was an
old man with a white stick. Beside him sat a girl reading him a newspaper.
‘Nice to see young folk helping the blind’, I said. ‘Oh’, he replied, ‘he’s
actually teaching her how to see.’
Across the floor in
the direction of the toilets came a wheelchair. A palsied boy of eighteen sat
in it and a boy of the same age pushed it. ‘It’s great when friends help each
other’, I said. ‘Yes, it is…’ he replied. ‘The boy in the chair is teaching the
other how to walk.’
An old woman lay in a
bed at the bottom of the room. She was covered with open sores. A woman much
her junior was bathing her and dressing her wounds. ‘Is she a nurse?’ I asked.
‘Yes’, he replied. ‘The older woman is a nurse. She’s teaching the other how to care.’
Seated round a table
were a group of young couples. A doctor in a white coat was talking to them
about childbirth. He spoke slowly and used sign language with his hands. ‘I
think it is only fair that deaf people should know about these things’, I said.
‘But they do know about these
things’, my friend replied. ‘They are teaching the doctor how to listen.’
And then I saw a woman
on a respirator breathing slowly. These were her last breaths. And around her
were her friends soothing her brow, holding her hands. ‘It’s not good to die
alone’, I said. ‘That’s right’, he replied. ‘But she is not dying alone. She is teaching the others how
to live.’
Confused and not
knowing what to say I suggested we sat down.
After a while, I felt
I could speak. ‘Seeing all this’, I said, ‘I want to pray. I want to thank God
that I have all my faculties. I now realise how much I can do to help.’
Before I could say
more, he looked me straight in the face and said: ‘I don’t want to upset your
devotional life – but I hope you will also pray to know your own need, and not
to be afraid to be touched by the needy’.
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