Monday, April 21, 2014


There is real danger and evil in the wars, greed, pride that I read about to do my writing, and see too often in the world about me, and at times recognize in myself.   Thomas Merton wrote about this as hatred {at base an alienation from one’s true self, and God at the center}. 

Strong hate, the hate that takes joy in hating, is strong because it does not believe itself to be unworthy and alone.  It feels the support of a justifying God, of an idol of war, an avenging and destroying spirit.  From such blood-drinking gods the human race was once liberated, with great toil and terrible sorrow, by the death of a God Who delivered Himself to the Cross and suffered the pathological cruelty of His own creatures out of pity for them.  In conquering death He opened their eyes to the reality of a love which asks no questions about worthiness, a love which overcome hatred and destroys death. [from Chapter 10, A Body of Broken Bones-- New Seeds of Contemplation]

This Eastertime we should rejoice in this unconditional merciful love of God, God’s eternal and only answer to hatred and sin.  We are called to share this love with all people, friends & enemies alike.

n Easter Monday I’m remembering at our morning mass offertory petitions, some friends suffering the struggle of chronic illness—Jean Jaques, John, Bob, Catherine—and that they, as well as all of us, have this wonderful Easter promise.  We are healed beyond the bounds of time and bodily infirmity.   All of us at some point to die, but at once born into an eternity of goodness, by the mercy of the God-Man Jesus who joined in our death, to conquer it.   And in this way we’re re-united with all loved ones who've passed through before us.

Riding my bike back from church, the spring sun starting to re-warm the earth, bringing out grass and early flowers, there is a certain momentary cast to the deep yellow light of sidewalks & yards I pass.   I feel a surge of my 5-year-old body and mind returning.  {Seems to happen on occasion now}   This fleeting vision gives way quickly to the 66-year-old me, but it refreshed, makes me know that my concept of time and place is just a baby.  Our second childhoods will merge into an infinity of loving childlike play at the feet of the Creator.

Illumination by Kathy Brahney

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