- This topic has 5 replies, 4 voices, and was last updated 3 days, 4 hours ago by
.
- Sunday November 23: Today You Will Be With Me
-
-
To Practice:
- Prayerfully re-read these passages again in the manner of Lectio Divina, reading them aloud to engage more of your senses and feel the vibrations in your body. Gaze at the image. What do you receive for your journey now?
- Call to mind a moment of pain, struggle, or rejection in your own life. Were you also aware of God with you in that moment? If you were not aware of the Divine presence at that time, are you able to look back now and recognize Christ loving and suffering in solidarity alongside you? Or a mysterious sense of peace or strength within the difficulty? What can this moment teach you now about the nature of the “kingdom of God?” Or of being remembered by Jesus? Consider writing your response to these questions in your prayer journal or in the community forum.
- For further reflection on a contemplative understanding of God’s sustaining presence within human darkness and struggle, listen to James Finley’s “Our Response to Suffering,” a 7-minute recording available at this link on YouTube.
If you wish, you may re-read the full email reflection here: https://mailchi.mp/coutreach/2025_word-of-the-week-nov23
-
Crucifixion was designed to torture and break the body. Speaking at length was impossible; every breath required agonizing effort, pushing up on pierced feet. Each inhale was an act of resisting suffocation.
Given that, we’re left wondering: what was truly said? Were words spoken at all? Were they conveyed through the eyes, or communicated in a silence deeper than speech?
St. Teresa reminds us that, since Christ no longer has an earthly body, we are now the eyes through which he looks with love and compassion. Grace and mercy often come through silence, carrying an understanding far beyond words. We are the feet with which he continues to do good, the hands through which he blesses.
Our cross, as Christians, is the burden of love—loving with our eyes, hands, and feet. Even when our eyes weep, when our hands and feet feel pierced, when every breath is a struggle, we are still called to love.
-
“We are still called to love.” AMEN! Thank you so much for your deep reflection. – Pamela
-
-
Years ago, I wrote a short reflection on an experience I had when my children were very young. This short piece came to mind as I read the Word of the Week – I thought I would share it with you:
Bulletin Blurb
It was foolish of me – dangerous really. Blurry eyed with fever, blood in my urine, I had no business driving myself to the hospital at 2 a.m. But I could not bring myself to wake my husband. He would have insisted on driving and that would entail bringing our two children. The thought of carrying those tiny bodies to the car, strapping them into their car seats was too much for me. I lifted my jeans and a sweatshirt off the handle of the exer-cycle and silently slipped out of the bedroom.
The lights of St. Thomas’ emergency room were blinding – but I was not in the reception area long. Out of nowhere a bevy of nurses materialized, whisked me into a room, began helping me out of my clothes, cuffing my arm and pumping up the blood pressure sleeve, recording my responses to the questions that were being fired at me, jamming a thermometer under my tongue. They were like gnats, all around me. Suddenly a doctor appeared, quietly asked a few questions – then all of them disappeared out the door.
I sat in the hospital bed dazed – more frightened than when I had first seen the bright red blood in the toilet bowl. Where had they gone? What was wrong with me? Why did they leave me completely alone? I stared at the door, willing someone to come back. But it remained closed; there was only silence.
Then I saw something, just above the door – the silver body; thin, elongated arms drooping off the wooden cross beam; the nail pinning two feet together. I was not alone in the room or in my suffering. God was right there with me.
-
So beautifully shared — thank you, dear Carolyn.
-
-
The image “From the Cave of the Heart” by Tomás Sánchez speaks deeply and profoundly to me. I see myself not in the safety of the cave. I am the figure on the beach, fully exposed to the oncoming tornado(s) of life. All appears calm, serene, peaceful around me. Are these storms without or within? Vulnerable, exposed, I sit and know from my inmost being I am in paradise amidst my sufferings. <3 linda
-
- You must be logged in to reply to this topic.
