I like the process.  To plan, to think things through, to break up the whole, to articulate goals.  This work is welcomed weight which fills the crevices of my soul with much needed structure, coherence and meaning.  The process is not only an invitation to discipline, but also creativity.  While cooking dinner, for instance, it is precisely between the pinch of salt and the half stick of butter that the thought of honey finds expression in my mind as an interesting complement to the other ingredients.  To be a process person in our current milieu, ruled by the commodification of everything, is truly countercultural.  Products!  What have you done for me lately?!  Fill the void!  Let’s slow things down.  Let’s appreciate the fact that it took Jesus thirty years to even begin his public ministry.  Let’s savor the sweetness of the many parts that become some new thing.  Let’s become attuned to the quiet movements in our hearts and in our lives.  Let’s trust the eternal and flowing process that leads to life.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Crucifixions were all the rage in the first century world.  The Romans loved to assert themselves with this relatively cheap and excruciatingly painful form of execution.  They nailed thousands of unruly enemies to trees, walls and wooden crosses.  The victims would linger for a while, gasping for breath, nude and humiliated, then suffocate under the weight of their own bodies.  Desensitized to this barbaric practice, people would just walk past these dying men on their way to work or to the market.  What must have gone through the mind of Jesus as he stared down from the cross?  What would he have felt when the passers-by just treated him like another anonymous criminal?  How deeply he must have believed in his human goodness and his mission!  How deeply he must have trusted his heavenly father that all things, in fact, do work unto good in the end!  Lord Jesus, when life isn’t going my way and my mind is crushed by a thousand naysayers, save me from the thought of despair.  Hold my heart open enough, long enough that it may receive the first rays of dawn.  We shall Easter together and all shall be well. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Francis of Assisi came of age at a time when urban centers and commerce were replacing a longstanding agricultural economy.  It seems that Francis was particularly affected by these changes: not only was he the son of a wealthy merchant, but his father, in fact, treated him like a commodity, calling him Francis, instead of his birth name Giovanni, to please his business associates in France!  Francis spent his early years behind the walls and bank accounts of the family estate but grew disillusioned with a symbolic life that separated him from the pulse of his human existence.  And so, after years of interior turmoil and quiet suffering, he made the decision to follow Jesus.  He quite literally individuated at the center of town one day, stripping stark naked before a curious crowd, then walked into the countryside where he hoped to encounter his true father.  We know the rest of the story – preaching to the birds, rebuilding the church, gathering “little brothers,” etc. – but perhaps it would be helpful to spend this holy week reflecting on the power of a single decision. Perhaps we too are called to take a risk on Jesus. Perhaps now is our time for authenticity. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.   

Sitting in a restaurant booth, having dinner, peering out the window, I saw an old, tired man.  He was hunched over, slowly pushing a shopping cart, by himself, through the center of town.  There were thirty plastic bags neatly packed, bulging, hanging from the cart, his worldly possessions.  As he trundled past, it became clear to me: this is what an honest human being looks like. How my social status and bank account and degrees have created a protective webbing that prevents me from having to be so transparent!  My shopping cart, indeed, is hidden from the public eye as my vast collection of memories, emotions, resentments and fears sit neatly on well-fortified psychological shelving that apparently we all carry around but do not talk about.  Lord Jesus, during this season of Lent, make me humble like you.  Take me to that low place of honesty where my insides match my outsides.  Teach me to be, with my friend, a trundling prophet who stands beyond the shadows and lives authentically in the light of day. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.