The logic of the gun is baffling, staggering, dangerous, and fatal.  To be “armed” yet not reach out in service nor extend a hand in peace, but instead to push away, to threaten, to wall off, to isolate, to suffocate, to drown in the toxic pool of one’s own power.  This is the psychodrama of our time.  The alpha male, caressing his weapon in tragic confusion, quivering on the inside, desperate, neurotic, afraid, does not feel loved, does not know how to love, acts the part.  The manly man who cannot separate himself out from his loathing and fear of another person.  This codependence of hyper masculinity is an ironic and sad commentary on our culture.  Who cares that Jesus explicitly rejected the logic of the gun (Mt 26:52)?  Who cares that Jesus exposed the insanity of violence with the truth (Jn 19:10-11)?  Who cares that Jesus’ resurrection has the final word (Jn 20:17)?  Ecce homo (Jn 19:5), behold the bravest man who ever lived, whose power was made perfect in weakness (2 Cor 12:9).  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Do we not know that we are created male and female?  Have we forgotten that we are each called to live a balanced and integrated life?  Have we become so locked into the gender conversation that we have lost touch with the deeper meaning of our lives?  Have we become blind to the drama that is unfolding in our souls?  Have we been going through life without paying attention to this interior partnership?  May we have the courage to spend time with the Lord, who made us in the divine image.  May we come to see that we are not a thing but a living relationship.  May we rejoice in the mystery of smooth and rough and receptive and assertive and complex and simple at one and the same time.  We shall discover that we do, in fact, have the capacity for the deep ground of being and engagement with the world around us, at one and the same time.  We shall, indeed, discover who we really are and be at peace.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.  

In the world of running, you can redline it all you want, but once you go past the breaking point, it’s over.  Perhaps we have had such burn-out experiences that have made us emotionally and spiritually timid.  Instead of pouring ourselves out, living at the very limits of our existence, encountering reality as it is, we settle into complacent patterns of comfort and safety so that we don’t have to bear the pain of getting hurt again.  How long can we live at a distance from the warmth and light?  How long can we delude ourselves into thinking that we are at peace?  How long can we keep going under the weight of our anxiety?  Jesus instructs us to confront the fear (Mt 14:7) and move forward with him (Mt 16:24).  We will come to experience this constant forward motion as a healing balm that soothes our weary souls with boundless possibilities and eternal hope.  We shall, indeed, learn to run the way of his commands (Ps 119:32) into a life that is never over.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

What does it mean to pray?  The word itself, we might remember from our time reading Shakespeare, means “to beg,” as in, “I pray thee, good Mercutio…” (Romeo and Juliet, III.1).  One might think of the fervor of the tax collector who stood in the back of the temple begging the Lord for forgiveness, as the Pharisee mumbled the words of his religious script in a kind of spiritual performance (Lk 18:9-14).  Or, of course, we have the image of Jesus, in the garden, on the night before he died, so stressed out by the decision he has to make that he was literally sweating drops of blood, begging his heavenly father to deliver him from his impending trial (Lk 22:41-44).  Are we comfortable with such a messy version of prayer?  Does begging the Lord threaten the warmth and safety of our prayer cocoon?  Are we willing to take a risk on real prayer at the expense of our devotional formulas and postures of piety?  Lord, I beg you, make me prayerful so that my prayer may be you.

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“A Christian’s time is not his own.”  This ancient maxim is an excellent reminder of the radicality of discipleship.  Jesus not only asks us to surrender our favorite pair of sneakers and our checkbook, but also our future plans and any claim we might stake on the present moment, in order to follow him more freely.  In a culture that places a high value on “me-time,” this can be an especially difficult task; yet, experience suggests that the more we carve out hours and days and weeks solely for ourselves, the more distant we feel from eternity.  The next time, therefore, our phone rings as we preside over some grand work project, or we see a person with a flat tire while on our way to an important meeting, or a friend knocks on our door as we sit down to watch the ballgame, we can remember, with Jesus, that there is a time for everything (Ecc 3:1). 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.