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.

What we do with our bodies is the truth.  The mind, indeed, has a way of obscuring the situation of our human lives.  We make up stories that help justify our complacency or our vices or our closed-heartedness, but, while these rational lies might seem like they are buying us time for our big moment, we are really squandering our days until there are none left.  The priests who passed the wounded man on the side of the road probably told themselves, “Tomorrow” or “Next time,” but their bodies told a different story: they faded into the distance while their helpless fellow human being languished in the gutter.  During this season of Lent, let’s focus on the risk of living in a bodily way.  Let’s be so integrated that we test every narrative that is generated by our imaginations with our hands and our feet.  Let’s demand consistency between our ideas and our actions.  Such a union of body and soul cannot help but to be fruitful, as the truth takes root in us and Christ is born into the world.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

With each other

Silently seeking

How to suffer

The children!

The shadows!

The future!

Ourselves!

Step right up

To this ladder

Reach the top

It does matter.

Then, rung by rung,

We make your way

Down to earth

Where we say:

“The Truth!

At Hand!

Eureka!

Praise God!”

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

That damn clock!  

There is an interesting progression of pronouns in the biblical narrative that invites our spiritual growth.  The distance between the Lord and his people early on is clear:  HE created heaven and earth.  HE promised land and descendants.  HE parted the waters.  HE gave the law.  HE established a kingdom.  These expressions become refreshingly personal, however, as the journey unfolds:  YOU are my God.  YOU are my light and my salvation.  YOU give wisdom to the simple.  YOU take no delight in sacrifice.  Finally comes the integration, where the human person and divine life coincide so deeply that they share the singular voice of communion:  I am the way, the truth, and the life.  I am the good shepherd.  I am the gate.  I am the resurrection.  During this Lenten season, let’s pray for the grace to have our hearts and minds transformed so that our personal pronouns may declare the truth and serve as a healing balm to all those whom WE encounter.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The Roman Catholic Church does not save people.  God saves people – hence, the name Jesus literally means God Saves.  The Roman Catholic Church is the living tradition of Jesus on earth.  It thus makes sense that the Church is desperate to maintain the memory and presence of Jesus even if it means rigidity or being misunderstood or conflict.  Such intentionality and commitment allows Jesus to be known in very real ways.  Indeed, the Church’s insistence on priesthood and sacramentality and rubrics and calendars gives us a sense of Jesus and perhaps allows us the dignity of exploring how Jesus, like a well-formed key, fits neatly into our complex human wounds.  Once we know and believe in Jesus at this level, however, the wound will only ever heal from within, in the intimacy and secrecy of a hidden life with the divine.  The Roman Catholic Church is thus necessary in this grand project of salvation, but only because God Saves.  Let’s therefore learn to strike a balance between respect for the legitimate and awesome Jesus tradition of the Church with a willingness to take a real risk of faith, outside the bounds of the safety of institutional life, on the God who Saves.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The Trojan horse is upon us!  In a fully globalized and digitized postmodern society, symbols abound, flitting across our phone screens and through our psychological spaces at top speed.  They are really quite marvelous: the logo of our favorite baseball team, a flashback photo from our social media account, a religious icon, an advertisement for tacos, a laughing emoji, all in rapid succession!  The invisible influence of the symbol gives it a kind of divine mystique – hence the prominent place of symbols in liturgical worship – yet one should be careful about the soldiers who lay hidden within.  Symbols can serve as host for another person’s fears, anxieties, insecurities, and general baggage.  We must therefore be on our guard at all times (1 Pet 5:8).  With Jesus standing watch at the door to our souls (Jn 10:9-11), our intellects, like a two-edged sword (Heb 4:12), have the power to confront and deconstruct any symbol that comes knocking.  We shall not only be kept safe, but we shall be of service to the multitude of these masked enemies by knowing them deeply and gently redirecting them to Jesus who is desperate to keep them safe too.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

There was a clarity in his soul about the meaning of things.  Everything simply meant the Lord.  His eyes opened and the day began, the Lord.  His tunic fit neatly over his shoulders and pressed against his skin, the Lord.  The bread in his hand nourished his body, the Lord.  His lathe steadied long planks of wood, the Lord.  A stranger’s face, the Lord, a morsel at lunch, the Lord, slaking his thirst at the well, the Lord, a cut and a bruise, the Lord, dusty sandals, the Lord, a handful of nails, the Lord, speaking and feeling and breathing and being, the Lord.  In a culture that celebrates interpretation at the expense of the deeper meaning of things, it’s easy to get stuck in a mode of half-hearted truth-seeking.  Let’s instead go all the way to the limit and choose to see the Lord in all that we think, say and do.  We shall become so theocentric, that, like Jesus, we will actually start believing – perhaps for the first time – that we are in fact the Lord’s.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water!  We get angry and frustrated, then, in an instant, “to hell with it!”  But such impulsiveness simply reveals our own intellectual deficiencies.  Are we really that underdeveloped that we cannot mentally separate out the weeds from the wheat (Mt 13:24-30)?  Are we that obtuse that we cannot differentiate sea junk from a great catch of fish (Mt 13:47-50)?  Are we so self-absorbed that we cannot distinguish between a bleating goat and a gentle lamb (Mt 25:31-46)?  The next time we get stuck on line 35d of our income tax form, or are desperately searching for our car keys, or accidentally overhear a friend gossiping about us, let’s experiment with pausing before going into terminator mode.  We will discover that our spiritual blindness has been causing us to exit relationships, abort projects, and, tragically, separate ourselves out from the life that has been given to us.  We will gradually begin to recognize that everything in our lives – our taxes, our vehicles, our friendships, and the rest – are precious, like that baby, and deserve to be seen, known and cared for no matter what.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica. 

There is a building located at 2016 Millennium Blvd. Cortland, Ohio that captures my imagination.  It is not one of the raucous football stadiums of my youth nor one of the sublime cathedrals of my adulthood, but rather the local Walmart, and I love to be there.  For some reason that I do not yet comprehend, the Lord’s voice echoes through the produce section, down the dairy aisle, across the home goods, and all the way to the check-out lanes.  Perhaps the limited pretensions of this store combined with the common task of trying to run a household allows a feeling of community-in-transparency to abound in all of us shoppers.  And though it is true that the Walmart business model is deficient in many ways, who am I to judge how the Lord chooses to draw me into relationship and speak the simple Word of communion to my heart?  Let’s therefore try to cultivate a spirit of openness – this week and beyond – to the possibility that the Lord will encounter us in the ordinary and anonymous circumstances of our human lives.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Christ speaks: Leave nothing on your table.  Deal with all of your problems.  The grief and pain will last but a moment.  Your peace is forever.  I know that the mountain has grown over the years.  That you feel impossibly distant from yourself.  Please trust me though.  Begin with one memory, one emotion, one idea, one hardship that you carry around in this life.  Hold that thing up to the light.  See it.  Know it.  Name it.  Bury it.  Then move on.  One by one, things will return to right order.  Space will open up within you, and you will begin to breathe again.  Do not be afraid.  I am with you and cannot wait to dine with you.  In your home, at your table.  And all shall be well.  Leave nothing on your table.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Jazz music is a fun way to think about the Christian life.  We begin with a trustworthy baseline, a beat, which functions as a constant point of reference to build off of and to fall back onto throughout the duration of the song.  Like the scene at the beginning of the world, the beat is a supportive backdrop that begs for creativity and guarantees that whatever is composed will, in fact, be “good.”  Then the instruments are introduced.  One by one they speak, weaving their sounds together, striking a balance between personal expression and group harmony.  These collaborations, just as in the biblical narrative, have dramatic climaxes and unexpected twists until they finally effect some feeling in the one who listens.  It is here that Christ emerges, proclaiming the sweet song of salvation, in the depths of our souls, reminding us of the beauty and truth that save.  As we commence a new year, let’s take the time to dig up and dust off the old record player.  Let’s not be afraid to jam out to some quality jazz music.  Let’s sway with and enter into the rhythms of eternal life.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

There is a classic episode of the Twilight Zone in which the main character dies and passes on to the afterlife.  He is initially overjoyed with the instantaneousness by which his wishes come true: money, women, luxuries, fame, etc.  As the episode unfolds, however, he becomes increasingly frustrated with his life which devolves into an endless series of impulses that leave no room for mystery.  In the final scene, as he is lamenting the boredom and predictability of heaven, a gentleman dressed in white turns to him and says, “Who gave you the idea that you were in heaven?  This is the other place!”  In an age of phone screens and one-click-shopping, it can feel impossible to hold space between our impulses and our actions.  The good news is that grace abounds and that, starting today, we can experiment with self-control, patience and trust.  We can envision a version of life where we are not ruled by our desires.  We can let the Word breathe and speak and live in the tender places that, up until now, we have been too afraid to share with any reality beyond ourselves. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Thomas Aquinas was perhaps the most systematic thinker in the history of the western world.  Beginning with a series of theological propositions – about trinitarian life, the goodness of creation, the nature of salvation, etc. – he constructed gorgeous arguments for the Christian religious tradition that endure up to this day.  Nevertheless, at the peak of his career as a theologian, he had a powerful experience, a mysterious spiritual encounter of some sort, in which he saw the many thousands of pages of his famous tomes blow away like straw in the wind.   He was left speechless, stopped writing altogether, and died several months later as a quiet contemplative and joy-filled mystic.  It appears that all of his mental analysis was not for its own sake but served a greater purpose.  His mind, indeed, had become a well-built container capable of humbly receiving his Lord, which was the point all along.  In this new year, let’s not get stuck on our ideas, or lost in an endless maze of trying to figure things out, but instead, like Thomas, surrender our thinking to the Lord.  Our souls will be nourished only when we have the courage to finally lay down our menus and be fed.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Procrastination is an age-old problem that has been the focus of many new year’s resolutions.  After discovering how truly impractical it is to constantly put things off till tomorrow, we begin scheduling our days with great enthusiasm, but after some time, our focus wanes and we eventually settle back into our old procrastinating ways.  What we need is a motivating mechanism that keeps our minds engaged and brings purpose to our planning.  What if we actually believed that Christ wants to be close to us?  What if he is the unexpected guest who longs to enter our homes?  What if all we had to do is make room for him?  Let’s therefore get excited about the laundry, the grocery list, the lawn and our taxes in this new year.  Christ will indeed arrive in the form of an impromptu coffee date, the lovely landscapes of the scenic route home, emotional availability in a time of crisis, and the midnight yearnings that draw us to prayer.  We shall be free to receive our guest, and our hearts will rejoice.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Prayer is not a technique.  It is an encounter, a relationship, a mystery, and a risk.  Perhaps we were trained to stand and sit and kneel while reciting religious words.  That’s a great start, but that’s not prayer!  To pray is not something we do, but something that we want, and something that we are willing to give up everything else for, and something that happens to us.  During this final week of Advent, between the last minute shopping and baking, let’s find a quiet place to spend a few moments paying attention to our desires.  We shall discover that what we really want for Christmas is a heart that prays and a connection with others that lasts.  Come, Lord Jesus, be born into the manger of my heart so that others may, in turn, come to me and be nourished by our hidden communion.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica. 

It’s Saturday evening, still and dark, in the heart of the winter, and my life is a vigil Mass.  Pondering whether this is the end of one week or the beginning of another leads to my awareness that Christ dwells here: always on the verge, always at the edge, always rooted in what has been, always open to what will be.  As the pastor preaches, and as we sit and kneel and stand together, and as the bells toll and the collection baskets are passed, Christ speaks:  Come to me, all who are weary, I am the way, no one comes to the Father except through me.  Christ dwells in and through all things.  May we thus resist the urge to fill our Saturday evenings, and other quiet moments, with events and tasks that drown out his tender voice.  Our fear will be met with love, our anxiety will be transformed into gratitude, our lives will become vigil Masses, and Christ will truly be born.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“As Kingfishers Catch Fire” by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The word Advent literally means “coming to.”  As a human species we consistently find ways to isolate ourselves and hide behind the walls of our collective self-containment, yet the Lord keeps choosing to draw near and “come to” us.  This act of humility is pure vulnerability, rejection at its most existential level, unrequited love to the extreme!  How long can we hold out?  How long can we entertain the delusion of control?  How long can we go on living this way?  How long can we play this game?  During this season of Advent, let’s take a risk on the one who patiently and gently “comes to” us.  Let’s pray for the grace to let our guards down low enough, long enough to feel what it’s like to actually be connected to a reality beyond ourselves.  In this way, we will “come to” our senses and “come to” know the truth of our human lives.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“Have you not heard his silent steps” by Rabindranath Tagore

Joan, teach me how to fight!  Francis, teach me how to love!  Thomas, teach me how to think! Thérèse, teach me how to pray!  John, teach me how to risk!  Dominic, teach me how to preach!  Patrick, teach me how to lead!  Teresa, teach me how to feel!  Andre, teach me how to serve!  Catherine, teach me how to speak!  Edward, teach me how to rule!  Lucy, teach me how to see!  Ignatius, teach me how to know!  Benedict, teach me how to hear!  Augustine, teach me how to write!  Peter, teach me how to fail!  Paul, teach me how to change!  Solanus, teach me how to heal!  Hildegard, teach me how to sing!  James, teach me how to walk!  Martha, teach me how to cook!  Nicholas, teach me how to give!  Vitus, teach me how to dance!  Sebastian, teach me how to win!  Carlos, teach me how to play!  Philip, teach me how to laugh!  Joseph, teach me how to dream!  Mary, teach me how to trust!  Jesus, teach me how to live! 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The pop psychology gurus of today have conditioned us to use phrases like “live in the moment” and “the power of now,” but such noble spiritual sentiments can easily lead to what is called participation mystique, the raw experience of life where we are immersed in the flow of reality to the point of lacking any consciousness of our experience and thus any ability to exercise our capacity to think and choose.  Such a way of life is natural for animals and children, but for adults it is a cause of great anxiety, as, indeed, the person who only “lives in the moment” is always on the verge of losing what is precious to them.  What is needed is a strategy to extend our experiences into the future.  This is precisely why the Word became flesh (Jn 1:14), to be the trustworthy intervention and firm boundary marker (Jn 19:30) in the drama of it all, a durable container to keep our experiences going all the way into eternal life and beyond.  Let’s therefore get into the habit of inviting the Word into the present moment so that we don’t just participate in life, but so that we might have life and be at peace (Jn 10:10).  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

My novice master once told me, “The moment you think you’ve got it figured out is the moment you get in trouble.”  This simple and unassuming man, who would have rather been immersed in parish life instead of being thrust into the spotlight atop the holy mountain of our novitiate, spoke directly to my soul.  The grasping at images and ideas of myself, the desperate attempt to fulfill expectations that others had laid upon me, and the need to control my life had, in fact, gotten me into trouble!  His words were an invitation to freedom, surrender, and deep trust in the living God.  The next time, therefore, we think we’ve “got it right,” let’s catch the accompanying dopamine hit which keeps us at the surface and obscures the deeper reality.  We shall gradually be released from the safe, yet stuffy and fearful, container of the self and be introduced to some mysterious horizon with new possibilities and hope.  In this way, our psychological coffin will finally be buried and we will be at peace.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“To have without holding” by Marge Piercy

“Hello, welcome to McDonald’s, can I take your order?”  Feed the hungry.  “Yes, we offer free refills.  Do you want ice?”  Give drink to the thirsty.  “This one only comes in a small, would you like to see the rest of our sweaters?”  Clothe the naked.  “Checkout is at noon, there is a free continental breakfast in the morning, and the pool is open till midnight.  Enjoy your stay!”  Give shelter to the traveler.  “Hey man, you seem really upset, would you mind if I sat with you to talk things through for a bit?”  Visit the sick.  “Grandma!  Can we stop by to see you on our way home from school today?”  Visit the imprisoned.  “I forgive you and agree that it’s time to move on.”  Bury the dead.  In a society of famous people, super heroes, celebrities and experts, it can be easy to lose sight of our unique vocation in life.  The good news is that it is right here, exactly where our feet are, and all we need to do is extend our hands in service to others and allow our hearts to be opened.  We shall become the quiet saints of tomorrow. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

One of my sisters memorized a poem when we were very young, and the final stanza has remained with me into my adulthood: “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, / But I have promises to keep, / And miles to go before I sleep, / And miles to go before I sleep.”  Truly – out of the mouths of babes (Ps 8:2) – this child mystic revealed my deepest identity to myself.  Between naptime and snacktime, playtime and bedtime, she instilled in me, as she walked around the house reciting this poem, a sense of wonder and an attraction to mystery.  How tragic it is to get stuck along the way, to lose the forest for the trees, forgetting the boundlessness of life and the uniqueness of our personal calling.  As for me, I will just keep taking it one step at a time, one foot in front of another, awkwardly, but sincerely, trying to walk with the Lord, into a future full of uncertainty and hope.  Lord, help me to be a prophet like my big sis and cheerfully announce the plain truth to others, that there is no life without risk. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost

The word “feedback” is my new favorite euphemism.  It is uttered by bosses, managers, executives, and supervisors all around the world with their positivity, professional demeanor, and lists of talking points.  It’s meant to take the sting out of a critique, to make the delivery more palatable, yet it quickly becomes a patronizing tactic, office mumbo-jumbo that, as the name itself suggests, is just a bunch of noise.  Let’s have the humility to ask Jesus to teach us how to speak honestly and kindly at the same time.  Let’s pray for the integrity to say what we mean and mean what we say in any situation.  Let’s trust so deeply in the truth that we no longer feel the need to dress it up and disguise it in our daily conversations.  Let’s simply feed back to others what the Word is constantly feeding us in our depths.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Is there a more poetic word than “yesterday”?  To even utter those syllables places my heart at that psychological boundary marker where the past meets the present.  My mind is indeed faced with the sobering and haunting reality that there is no way to fix or change what has happened, that the only way forward in life is, in fact, the bold and daring decision to enter into the unknown.  Jesus, interestingly, does not speak the word “yesterday” even one time.  Perhaps his eyes were too fixed on his heavenly father and his divine mission to look back into the past.  It is also possible, however, that Jesus was so integrated and comfortable with the reality of death and the risk of living authentically that letting go and surrendering was just a way of life for him.  During this season of falling leaves and fading sunlight, let’s lean into the drama of being human with Jesus.  We shall discover not despite, but precisely through our grief, that our yesterdays become our todays and our todays become our forevers (Heb 13:8). 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

It’s dusk, and there’s a vehicle headed down the highway in my direction without its lights on, but when I go to flash my brights, I realize that my lights aren’t on either!  This is always an embarrassing and humbling experience for me, yet, isn’t this simply the way of being human?  My wounds and insecurities are so deep that they escape my limited scope of self-awareness, and so I must learn to depend on other people to reveal me to myself.  For instance, my people-pleasing tendency is just my way of operating, yet, when I witness, with compassion and not judgment, how another person is spread thin and overwhelmed with anxiety as a result of such a behavior, a flash of insight comes over me, and all of a sudden I realize that this is how I have been living and why my life has felt so stressful all along.  Let’s therefore have the courage to join the community of wounded-healers (Is 53:4) who trust that even our so-called defects of character serve some greater purpose.  Let’s celebrate the splinters and beams (Mt 7:4) that make us human.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The word “God,” from its ancient root, simply means something like “the one who is worshiped.”  It’s a generic term, a placeholder for some mystery that we cannot quite grasp, but, by intuition, know is there.  Our human experience tells us, however, that the space being held by the word “God” can be hijacked by all sorts of unsavory visitors: ideology, power, arrogance, sentimentality, etc.  How our hearts ache, indeed, when we hear about a crime done “in the name of God”!  It is thus not enough to believe in “God,” we must have a more disciplined approach that allows us to unerringly encounter the mystery behind our language (Ex 3:14).  This is why Jesus commands us to “put out into the deep” (Lk 5:4).  He has, in fact, made the eternal decision to stand guard as our Good Shepherd (Jn 10:11) so we too can taste and see the goodness of the Lord (Ps 34:8).  Let’s therefore stop hiding behind the word “God” as some kind of spiritual shield for our lack of faith.  Let’s actually take the quiet risk of entering into life with “the one whom our hearts love” (Song 3:1).  Let’s “God” and rejoice. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“Dark Night of the Soul” by Juan de la Cruz

The Serenity Prayer is a very popular tool for spirituality in our postmodern world.  Countless alcoholics, codependents, and addicts have clung to that last phrase, “the wisdom to know the difference,” as a way to separate reality out from all of the drama unfolding in their souls.  This line of distinction, which signifies the onset of spiritual puberty, positions us for the risk of consciousness, by which we make a free and trusting decision to enter into the mystery of life.  It is no wonder, therefore, that the word disciple literally means “to know one thing from another,” and that Jesus, who himself is called the “wisdom of God” (1 Cor 1:24), invites us to stand in that narrow place of encounter where divine meets human, time meets eternity, male meets female, rich meets poor, Jew meets Gentile, etc.  Let’s therefore double-down on our commitment to prayer and discover, on the other side, a serenity that lasts.  In this way, we shall become artists, and the lines that we draw with our lives will serve as truth and beauty for a world that is desperate for meaning.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“The Serenity Prayer,” 1951, Reinhold Niebuhr

The goal of yoga is enlightenment.  This “yoking” of our human bodies with the invisible is an act of faith that demands deep trust in the ground of our being.  How easy it is indeed to default to a life of complacency, wasting our time in the shadows, wasting away in an unceasing playground of concepts.  To yoga is to rush out to meet our beloved at the level of our cells, to demand the fresh air of existence, to know where the psychodrama ends and life begins.  In an age of multiculturalism, it is not hard to imagine how such a practice might translate to our daily lives: actually taking the risk of asking the person caught in a thunderstorm if they need a ride, getting out of bed twenty minutes early to shovel our elderly neighbor’s driveway, or selecting a walking route that takes us past the house of a person with whom we need to make amends.  Yoga is more than posing, and what we do with our bodies becomes our salvation. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

🔥 Feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross 🔥

The word “obvious” is of the essence of the spiritual life.  When we discern with discipline and trust the process, one step at a time, the solutions to our problems and the answers to our questions gradually appear “along the way,” that is, they are “obvious.”  Indeed, the rigor of thinking things through to their rightful end and simultaneous openness to the mystery of life beyond our narrow view positions us to receive, for the first time, that which is already in our midst.  Jesus says as much about the Kingdom of God, that it is “among us” (Lk 17:21) and “at hand” (Mk 1:15).  If only we had eyes to see (Ps 115:5)!  Therefore, the next time we are faced with a big decision and are weighing our options, instead of getting lost in pointless worries or other mental distractions, let’s dig deep into our inner well and with single-hearted devotion lower our feet so that they touch the singular way that leads to life (Jn 14:6).  The way is obvious and he longs to meet us.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost

Jackpot!  My alarm clock goes off and it’s a new day.  Jackpot!  It’s time for my morning routine which affords me the opportunity to practice intentionality.  Jackpot!  My long commute gives me the chance to study the landscapes and exercise good traffic etiquette.  Jackpot!  My normal parking spot has been taken so I will be able to park somewhere new.  Jackpot!  My boss is reviewing me today and I get to sharpen my listening and communication skills.  Jackpot!  My tuna salad sandwich and pile of carrots at lunch serve as reminders of my dependence upon the earth.  Jackpot!  One of my colleagues offers a fair critique of my work which will help me to improve my craft.  Jackpot!  My significant other texts me an impromptu list of items to pick-up from the grocery store which means that I will soak in some air-conditioning on my way home.  Jackpot!  I get stuck in traffic just long enough to hear the news at the top of the hour.  Jackpot!  An evening meal, a reasonable amount of sleep, and a life full of possibilities as my heart just keeps beating:  Jackpot!  Jackpot!  Jackpot!

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

What does it mean to be a “fisher of men” (Mk 1:17)?  A proselytizer?  An apologist?  A televangelist?  The phrase certainly conjures up images of sharp hooks and bait, of being in pursuit, of trying to literally capture someone or something, but this does not sound like Jesus!  What if, however, “fishers of men” has to do with the nets that were so typical during ancient times?  And what if these nets were not to be used against anyone, but were instead for their benefit?  What if we are being called to “catch” those who have been entrusted to us when they fall?  What if, like a safety net, we are being called to humbly descend just low enough to ensure that another person remains intact and capable of continuing on their way?  What if ours is not to bring them to Jesus, but to create circumstances, like others have done for us, that allow for the dignity of choosing to follow him?  This is indeed an exciting vision of the Kingdom, which is, in fact, like a net (Mt 13:47), and a worthwhile way to spend our eternal retirement. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

If we really want to understand other people, we should follow the humble example of Jesus and find ways to “stand under” them.  His dramatic immersion in the lowest-lying river in the world at his baptism, his willingness to stoop down to wash his disciples’ feet at the Last Supper, and his harrowing descent into the underworld to rescue souls after his death give us a sense of the extreme measures that Jesus takes to see us clearly and love us fully.  We too can arrive at a place of true perspective by actually making eye contact with the person holding a sign at the traffic light, by listening attentively to another person’s angry tirade directed towards us, by foregoing some luxury item that has crept into our daily routine, or by literally bending down to pick up a piece of trash along our way.  In doing so, we shall quietly and invisibly be drawn down the interior ladder and come to stand with Jesus under the drama of it all, appreciating, for the first time, the beauty of other people.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Here’s a provocative question:  Is sin confessable?  It seems that, in an ironic way, that which is deformed, twisted, distorted and misshapen loses its sinful character the moment it finds expression in words, which are naturally meaningful.  A soul that is lost in the overwhelming emotions and confusion of sin actually discovers a sturdy point of reference in naming the experience as “lust” or “rage” or “hate” or “despair.”  What is being confessed, then, is simply our capacity for transformation and newness of life.  This act of consciousness, indeed, is a necessary development on our journey toward authentic human living rather than an exercise in blame and guilt and shame and sorrow.  The next time, therefore, we enter into the wooden box on a quiet Saturday morning, let’s leave the list of transgressions and dramatic revelations to the movies.  Let’s, instead, confess the glory of the living God who not only draws order out of the apparent messes of our lives, but who invites us to be coredeemers with every “I confess” and “I am heartily sorry” that we proclaim.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica!

Sitting at the kitchen table, on a warm summer night, working on a project, the ballgame on in the background, scratching my head, scraping something from my scalp, dried soap or dead skin, it’s a tick.  My dear brother tick, you have quietly and masterfully intervened in my life.  You have broken into my world of narrow perspectives and complacent routines.  Your heroic journey from the blade of grass, to my shoe, up my pant-leg, across the entire length of my sweatshirt, onto my hair, and under my ball cap has awakened me to the radical interconnectedness of all that exists.  My throbbing neck, my sneezing and my fever throughout this whole month have been welcomed reminders of the creatureliness that you and I share, and that the gift of being-in-the-world-together is enough.  And so, the next time I am tempted to think that I need to be something special, I can pull you out of my pocket, hold you in the palm of my open hand, and thank you for befriending me.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

If the Body of Christ were a mathematical precept, it would be the transitive property of equality: When a = b and b = c, a = c.  In other words, if I am somehow connected to Christ through the grace of discipleship, and another person is connected to me through the grace of friendship, then that person is also connected to Christ, and that’s how the body grows.  Such texture, which resists neat categories and clean ecclesiastical pronouncements, signifies a living organism marked by interdependence and mutuality.  The next time, therefore, we start to make quiet judgments about non-religious friends or family members, we can remember that each member of the body enjoys a unique calling.  We can be energized by the thought that their only Eucharist might be our weekly taco night outing, or that their only Baptism might be the tears of grief that we share at the funeral home, or that their only Confession might be the honest talk during our late night phone calls.  The more we come to see how thoroughly transitive our human lives really are, the more the Body of Christ will appear. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unia.

Every authentic identity crisis eventually arrives at the realization that, at our very foundation, we are sperm and egg.  Beneath our complex personalities, memories and emotions, is the existential fact that one of many male reproductive cells successfully integrated with a single female reproductive cell which is the basis for our consciousness, all of our experiences, and entire lives.  In fancy language, we are composites, of physicality paired with a rational soul, and, as such, we stand at the nexus point of the cosmos, mediating realities with a unique dignity that not even the angels enjoy (Ps 8:5).  Therefore, each time we are tempted to settle for some superficial identity — “I’m a cop,” “I’m an old man,” “I’m a Catholic,” etc. — we can pause and remember that our deepest self, at the level of biology, is utterly relational.  We can rejoice in the fact that our primary vocation, which pairs love of the one true God with service to our many sisters and brothers (Mk 12:30-31), is etched into our very DNA.  Indeed, we can “be fruitful” just by being (Gen 1:28).  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

We all know the expression, hurt people hurt people, but do we ever think about how this pattern of pain gets interrupted?  The escape artists, tender of soul and overwhelmed with the grief of trauma, spend their lives in comfortable hideaways that keep them at a safe distance from those who have done them harm, hoping that their wounds will magically disappear.  The self-help gurus say that we just need to finally make up our minds to establish a good boundary with the transgressor and let our “no mean no,” then they spend the rest of their lives anxiously holding the line.  The mystics, unsurprisingly, offer us a middle way: between that island of safety and the impenetrable wall of contempt, there is a tiny window of vulnerability, through which the actions of others are desperately trying to speak.  Indeed, the hurt they give is an awkward attempt at communion which only a listening ear and interpreting heart can identify and transform.  Lord Jesus, teach me to befriend the other at the place where it hurts the most, trusting that by my attentiveness to another person’s wounds mine will be healed.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

What would an “acceptance” morality look like?  Instead of vilifying our human desires, wallowing in denial, and playing a perpetual game of interior dualism, we could accept our fundamental goodness, as twisted up and distorted as we may sometimes feel, with the firm hope that a greater meaning will be worked out in time.  The fact that an alcoholic person, for instance, has the very specific desire for alcohol that can be met through intricate systems of innovation, production and transportation of alcohol, is itself an existential miracle that should be celebrated!  Such trust in the very ground of one’s being opens the way for new emotional and spiritual possibilities: the mystery of growth and recovery, the satisfaction of authentic human relationships, and the sheer joy of reaching out to others in service.  The repressed, however, are confined to a life of fighting that offers no greater horizon for anything at all.  Lord Jesus, set within me the sturdy foundation of self-acceptance as the altar for my morality and help me to make something beautiful out of my life.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

We hear a lot about “values” in an election year: pro-military, pro-choice, pro-media, pro-business, pro-life, pro-family, or conversely, anti-abortion, anti-federal, anti-establishment, anti-taxes, anti-war, etc.  Even “God” and “religion” have been neatly packaged to fit nicely into a value system!  But, how long can we endure living in these spheres of self-containment?  How long can we deny and repress?  How long can we resist integrating new experiences and new perspectives?  You can have your values, as for me, I want feet!  To touch the ground, to stand, to walk, to run, to hike, to saunter, to trundle, to stroll, to skip, to sprint, to dance, to jump for joy, to go somewhere, to move forward in life, to exercise the dignity of being a unique person in a complex and confusing society.  Let’s therefore allow the Lord Jesus to massage our atrophied feet (Jn 13:4).  Let’s run the way of his commands (Ps 119:32).  Let’s look forward to walking with him during the breezy time of day (Gen :8).  Let’s commit ourselves to following in his footsteps and bringing this value to others (Mt 16:14).  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

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.

If the spiritual life had a slogan, it would be, “Pay attention!”  This is not the angry admonition of a neurotic teacher nor the egocentric demand of an insecure child.  It is, rather, sage advice from the master himself on how to live well.  The gift of life flows forth from the divine fingertips into the realm of time.  This point of contact contains all of the glory and drama of eternity.  Yet, unsure of ourselves, confused about the meaning of our lives, we quiver in some corner of existence, pretending that we get it.  But we don’t!  We need to pay attention to the miracle and mystery of it all.  We need to pay attention to what is happening on the field instead of getting lost along the sidelines.  We need to make the decision once and for all to quit squandering our attention on things that don’t matter and start paying our attention back to the one who cannot but constantly, and lovingly, pay attention to us.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

What good is it to gain the whole world but to lose my soul?  This spiritual precept may be simple, but somehow we all seem to end up as prodigals.  How easy it is, indeed, to go after a career at the expense of our vocation.  How easy it is to hang out with the rich and famous at the expense of our friends.  How easy it is to pursue the good-looking at the expense of our true love.   How easy it is to build a dream house at the expense of our home.  Such decisions happen in an instant, and before we know it, these ideas start to occupy our core and center as we blindly, and tragically, lose touch with ourselves.  Let’s therefore double-down on the spiritual life.  Let’s beg for the grace to convert our clasping hands into open palms.  Let’s get comfortable with being little and simple.  Let’s learn to celebrate the whole world and relinquish the need to possess anything ever again.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth” is the famous opening line of the Song of Songs.  While these words may appear to just be the provocative beginning to a lengthy erotic poem, they have been the focus of countless commentaries by mystics and scholars throughout the ages.  All created things, indeed, were kissed to life by the divine mouth which simply spoke light and seas and rivers and stars into existence.  Our first ancestor, in the garden, came into consciousness with the Lord literally kissing his face (Gen 2:7).  Our very salvation is described as a marriage feast of lovers! (Rev 19:7)  Let’s therefore avoid the sin of betraying our master with impulsive, ill-timed, fearful, clingy, and greedy kisses (Mt 26:49) that drive us further and further apart.  Let’s get comfortable going low and allowing our lips to touch, and in fact, anoint our beloved’s feet (Lk 7:38).  In this act of vulnerability, we shall discover the joy of mutuality that transforms a simple kiss into a partnership.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

My third grade teacher was a religious sister who had a reputation for being tough in class.  She demanded a lot from her students and insisted on a disciplined classroom.  We were in the chapel for Mass one day, and I noticed that she had a tape recorder next to her in the pew.  When we got back to class, one of my classmates asked her about it.  She told us that it was to record us singing, because she thought our voices were beautiful and wanted to listen to us in the evenings.  Even as a child, this was a very humbling and powerful experience for me.  It taught me about the mystery of the human person and the reality of grace.  How easy it is, indeed, to think that the judgments we make about other people are final, instead of the starting point for a deeper and more enduring understanding that is revealed in time.  Deliver me, Lord, from the temptation to draw conclusions about another person’s soul.  Save me from the sin of pride that keeps me from communion.  Never let me think that I could ever speak the last word about another human heart.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

John of the Cross lays out a very simple path for healthy spiritual living.  He says that the human person is deep spirit paired with a sensory capacity, and that the mixing or confusion of these two distinct realities causes us to organize our lives around earthly things that do not satisfy.  The human mind becomes an idol-making machine, constantly generating phantasms that we spend our lives chasing!  John, thus, invites us to slow down, quiet ourselves and remain still.  He says that the Lord, like an ice sculptor, will use this stability to sort us out again.  Our light will be light and our darkness will be darkness.  We will breathe deeply and trust fully.  Each step along the way, indeed, will draw us further and further into a health that lasts. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

We all want to be seen.  Our human hearts have always ached for such existential validation, yet it is only now, during this particular moment in history, that this desire has bubbled up into the collective consciousness and people have felt empowered to express their longing.  While millennia of repression may at times cause us to demand that others see us in quite superficial ways – as a job, as an ethnicity, as a religious tradition, as a personality, etc. – we can rest assured that our truest identity goes all the way down to the ground of being, the divine, whose ancient name, θεός, comes from a root word which literally means “to see” and “be seen.”  Let’s therefore commit to the slow process of learning how to see ourselves.  In so doing, we will gradually move beyond, and, in fact, forget our need to be seen.  We will simply rest in and be glad “to be.”  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Have you ever met a person who does not like ice cream?  What a refreshing treat on a hot summer day, sweet conclusion to a family dinner, welcomed guest at any birthday party, fun way to celebrate the end of a long week, and safe bet for a first date.  Whether in a bowl, bathed in hot fudge and sprinkles, or sitting atop a cone, ice cream is a trustworthy companion on our journey to humanness.  Let’s, therefore, invite Jesus to sit with us the next time we find ourselves relaxing with an ice cream sundae.  Between the spoonfuls and smiles, we can be attentive to his presence and imagine him cooling off, savoring the flavors, getting every last ounce, enjoying the cherry on top, and generally being human with us, one scoop at a time.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.