A Reply to Love
from the foot of the cross
I hate to have to break the Host during Communion. But every once in a while, I have to. After saying Mass in a low-security prison, one of the men couldn’t come so I got together with him later to pray and give him the Eucharist. I had just one Host with me. Another guy came in and asked if he could join. I said, “Sure, that’s fine,” and I thought I would just break the Host in two. Then another guy came and another. When it came time to give the first man Holy Communion, I went to break It, but there was a second Host! Then another Host! I was floored and told the men what had happened.
I love waterfalls. When I was a girl, many of our family trips included a stop at a waterfall to marvel at its beauty and power. I remember visiting Shoshone Falls in southern Idaho, near where my grandparents lived - “the Niagara of the West” at 212 feet tall and 900 feet wide. There was the beautiful Multnomah Falls on the Columbia River Gorge and Rainbow Falls near Lake Chelan in the Cascades. My personal favorite, Palouse Falls, is 200 feet of abundance springing out of the desert, not far from my family’s home in southeastern Washington. It’s the last thing you expect on an arid landscape of sagebrush and tumbleweeds. But then, that’s how the Lord is, isn’t it?
I like to tell St. Patrick that he is the most famous non-Irishman ever to be associated with Ireland! As the breviary tells, he was “born in Great Britain”. He was brought under duress to Ireland as a teenager where he lived for around 6 years. Later in life he chose freely to return and minister to the Irish people. He died at Down in Northern Ireland (which today is part of the United Kingdom, not the Republic of Ireland, though you can choose either a British or Irish passport if you live there).
A couple of weeks ago, I was reading from the Office of Readings. The passage that day was from the book of Deuteronomy 32:48-52, 34:1-12. This chapter details the event in which the Israelites arrive at the border of the promised land and are able to “feast their eyes” on it. Yet, the Lord tells Moses he will not enter because he broke faith with Him at the waters of Meribath-Kadesh. I felt a particular pain in my heart for Moses knowing he had spent so many years serving God, pouring himself out for an often “stiffnecked” people, patiently carrying their burdens, and continually pleading on their behalf for God’s forgiveness. I also found myself wondering who of us can hope for mercy or second chances if a servant leader like Moses is seemingly punished so.
From the time I received my assignment to work downtown, God has been telling me that one of his designs in this season of my life is to teach me how to live my life as a Franciscan penitent, as a poor person consecrated to God, in a more thoroughgoing way. I marvel daily at how he is teaching me through my brothers and sisters downtown.
I was listening to a homily recently when I suddenly became aware of the Holy Spirit amplifying, so to speak, the words of the priest in my soul. He was speaking about our human cooperation with God, which we see exemplified in the heroes we read about in the scriptures as we prepare for Christmas.
There is power in stories. As children, we ask our parents to read them over and over again. My nieces and nephews love to hear stories about things they did when they were little. We get caught up in the stories of great adventures, romances, and tragedies in books and movies. As we mature, we often reflect back and tell story after story of memories from years gone by. As we end this year of St. Joseph, I felt called to share with you a story about St. Joseph in my life, which just happens to include the story of the birth of a poor king.
As we all begin to look to Bethlehem and consider the poverty of that first Christmas, I have been considering my own journey to Bethlehem and my own journey deeper and deeper into poverty.
