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Today's Readings
Dear Lord,
This morning I remember my new pair of Jesus sandals. You know that just the other day, my friend flew in from Hong Kong and came by to say hello. She had just returned from a trip to the Holy Land, and she said she got me a pair of authentic "Jesus sandals."
"Jesus sandals--what's that?!" I asked her, thinking it was some kind of a joke.
To answer my question, she handed me a pair of very leather-smelling--but odd-looking--sandals. Odd-looking because each sandal had a relatively more complicated set of straps--plus a toe loop! Apparently, "Jesus sandals" is the official name for this particular style of sandals.
"Except this pair," she was quick to add, "I got from the Holy Land, where the Lord actually walked."
She also warned me that it would take a while before the sandals would feel comfortable. "But when they do," she promised, "they become really comfortable!"
These days, whenever I can, I've been walking around the house in your sandals, Lord, I have to confess that they feel as odd as they look. I'm not used to so many straps, for one. And I've never had my big toes inserted into loops like those. I guess I have yet to grow accustomed to this type of footwear, not to mention that I still need to break this pair in.
But maybe it feels odd also because they're Jesus sandals. Believe it or not, I can't help but feel biblical once in a while. Once in a while I would suddenly remember what John the Baptist had said about not being worthy to undo the straps of your sandals. And of course the obvious and disconcerting symbolism of walking in your shoes/sandals is not at all lost on me--and is quite hard to shake off during the day.
In today's Gospel reading, you give untypically specific instructions to your disciples about "taking nothing for their journey"--except for a walking stick and a pair of sandals! I wonder how long it took the disciples to get used to their journey of following you. And I wonder if they ever got used to walking in your shoes/sandals.
As for me, Lord, I can't help but wonder: Am I uncomfortable wearing my pair of Jesus sandals primarily because of the oddity of their name and their appearance? Maybe I've grown too accustomed to looking too common and--yes, maybe even worldly. Aside from when I'm saying Mass, except for the occasional cross I wear around my neck, maybe my clothes are no longer odd enough or worse, Jesus enough because let's face it, sometimes you just have to be a little odd to be like you. Am I myself no longer odd enough or Jesus enough?
Lord, today let me end with an odd prayer: May my Jesus sandals touch not only my soles, but also, more importantly, my soul! Amen!
How about Quick Prayer?
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Today's Readings
Dear Jesus,
You knew about deserted places, didn't you? Small wonder you frequented them in your life. In today's gospel, you invite your disciples to "come away" to such a place. To rest, you say, but you know better, don't you? And by now, your disciples probably know better, too.
There's something about deserted places that opens us up. There's something about great, open spaces that stretches the heart: a sky full of stars, the open sea, a vast football field, even an empty room. I remember the first time I saw the ocean: The waves frothing around my feet, I stood stunned at the edge of that beach, speechless, awed by the sight of your sea and sky and drawn immediately to spontaneous prayer and praise.
Yesterday afternoon I drove into an empty university campus for my two-week study program. I've "been here, done this" before. Yet the familiar, but haunting scene of the deserted campus had an instant effect on me. The empty spaces opened up my own space inside--a space where I haven't lingered in days given the frenzy of recent activity. The silence summoned a similar silence within, and the solitude about the campus drew me to my own door of solitude--and it was ajar.
Silence and solitude can be a very scary thing. They can be pretty threatening, but those of us who have experienced them before know that these lead us out of the ever-thickening woods of our lives into that clearing where we can see your light. Those of us who've seen the clearing also understand that if we wish to catch a glimpse of you, that is where we should go. Even now, it's these deserted places in our hearts that you frequent still. That's still where you love to linger.
Lord, help us to seek those open spaces and deserted places in our lives. Grant that we make time for the silence and solitude we need to see you.
How about a Quick Prayer here?
(image: theinspirationroom.com)
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Today's Readings
Dearest Lord,
What a nightmare scenario: Five loaves, two fish--and five thousand hungry people! But trust you to turn every event organizer's worst nightmare into an unforgettable affair!
What struck me most this time around, however, was not what happens during the miracle, but after it: As the people sit on the grass after feasting on your miraculous banquet, you tell your disciples, "Gather the fragments." They probably could once again only shake their heads in bewilderment, but as usual they do it anyway. And to their astonishment, the leftover food fills twelve wicker of baskets.
Now I have no idea exactly how much that is, but it sounds like a lot. Once again you outdo yourself! Not content with feeding the five thousand, you had to send them home carrying doggy bags too.
But Lord, isn't that typical of you? Haven't you always been pretty extravagant? The only problem is, you're quite quiet about it. Every single day of our lives you perform both great and tiny miracles. But often your miracles are far too subtle for us to sit up and notice. At times we do take notice--a prayer finally granted, healing from pain, rescue from some trouble, or just a happy turn of events. But what do we do? We say, "Thank you!" but like a guest rushing to go to another appointment, we "eat and run."
Every moment of our lives, you feed us with bread, with breath! But what do we do? We eat and run.
Today you say to us: Don't eat and run. Gather the fragments. Linger after the miracles. Don't rush away. Savor the memory of blessings past. There are still far too many leftover graces that we can keep in storage--crumbs from past miracles can still fill us for days!
Today, Lord, I will recount and re-count my blessings. Thank you. Amen.
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