There is something especially renewing about the turning of the year. It is a time to let go of the past and to embrace the possibility of a new future. We make resolutions. Some create goals for the year. We reclaim our birthright to live a full and wholesome life.
“By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
There is something satisfying about the fact that the Church’s feast of St. Thomas happens on or near the winter solstice for us in the northern hemisphere…
Intuitive openness and acceptance of the Spirit’s yearning for us is an ancient path for God’s creative activity.
am more like Zechariah than I am like Mary. When the angel visits with an unexpected insight of peculiar wonder, I am much more likely to ask, “How will I know that this is so?” than I am to respond, “Let it be with me according to your word.”
We know our Biblical history. We know that the rulers and the people failed to listen to the prophets over and over.
She was in heaven, and there she met the dearest friends she had ever had. They loved her more than anyone else had ever loved her, and they knew her better than even her beloved family did. And she knew she loved them, more than anyone, even family. But, she wondered, she didn’t know their names.
To build a civilization in a new way. An open, defenseless city of welcome and hospitality. A city trusting in God rather than its own might. A city with God at its center instead of its own pride.
There is something about the flavor of Matthew 24-25 that is like a friend looking upon us — erect, bright-eyed, and smiling broadly — and saying, “Well, what did you expect?”
The prophet Joel takes a treasured image from both Isaiah and Micah and reverses it.