Peaceful waiting in Advent Hope

Loaves and Fishes, by Laura James Art

We heard in the Gospel this week of the miracle of the loaves and fishes. The miracle being, the sharing of the food, amongst the many. The many had been waiting with Jesus for three days, thousands of people "the lame the maimed and blind, the mute and many others."[1]

Waiting, waiting with Jesus, sat together, in union and in hunger. The miracle surely is not only in the food multiplying, but in the waiting of thousands of people, waiting for the blind to see, mute to talk, the lame to walk; thousands of people waiting in hope and faith and hunger.

Pope Francis calls us to be aware of the charade of celebrating Christmas this year.  He says that with our world so broken, by climate change, war, poverty and greed, "We should ask for the grace to weep for this world which does not recognize the path to peace… God weeps, Jesus weeps."[2]

A path away from peace is a path to making us all lame, mute, maimed, and blind; such a path is not far from our own feet.

We could despair at the state of the world, at the charade that is looming, but first we have a choice. Just like those waiting with Jesus, hungry and broken, we could chose to stay. We can and must choose the path of peace, hope and love; we can all choose to wait.

I am reminded of the words of Jean Vanier, 

"Each one of us is waiting. Creation is waiting, humanity in its totality is waiting. But sometimes we forget that Jesus is also waiting. Jesus is waiting and sometimes, we may imagine him, in tears, as he weeps over this broken humanity saying 'If you had but known the gift of God. If you had but known the message of peace."[3]

Advent is a time of waiting, a time to celebrate the waiting of an Emmanuel, God with us. As we prepare a path, we are called, more so than ever before, that this path must be one of peace.

We must, moreover we need to be mindful of how we, the broken, forgotten, the unwanted, are invited to wait alongside Jesus to be freed, nourished and welcomed, in love, hope and peace.

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[1] Mt 15:29-37[2] http://time.com/4123703/pope-francis-christmas-charade/[3] Jean Vanier - Images of Love, words of hope pg112-13

Transforming in to the people of The Resurrection

Empty Tomb- He Qi

The Good Friday altar is bleak

three crosses, rough with nails,

we are mean to think

of someone in pain, approach

a cross, each step a prayer,

and take a nail to lighten

the burden. I think of you,

John O’Donohue- for Good Friday – Echoes of Memory

We don’t typically have to wait for much nowadays, we can tell when its going to rain in the swipe of a finger, the probability of a sports score in a mater of seconds, the sex of an unborn child in an afternoon. We can choose to exile the pain and suffering of those around us, to hide those we don’t agree of worse embarrass us.

The women on that first Easter morning - who didn’t have the luxury of choice in waiting - rushed to the tomb in garden in hope and reality, with words of Jesus ringing in their ears, along with the mutterings of doubters. But they waited, trusted and believed.

They hadn’t lived through Triduum after Triduum, years of vigils, but rather; the death of a friend, son and brother; 3 days of agony of questions; exiles- friends disappearing. 

And then as they hear the whispers of past, of their Friend our Christ, they see the unimagined the stone moved the tomb empty.  

As I sit with these women some 2000yrs on I remember that I to am able to wait to discover the unimagined, to question, to open my ears and my heart to the words of past beloveds, to let my soul speak to that of the son, friend, brother which dwells in those around me. And with this comes a newness, like the birdsong in that garden with those women,  as I do every morning with the hearts that shape my day.

We were sent here to search for the light of Easter in our hearts and when we find it, we are meant to give it away generously.

The dawn that is rising this Easter morning is a gift to our hearts and we are meant to celebrate it and to carry away from this holy, ancient place the gifts of healing and light and the courage of a new beginning.”

John O’Donohue Easter Sunrise at Corcomroe

A revisiting of The First Thanksgiving.

The first Thanksgiving- Bruce Weaver and Luke Smith

When our 6th St Home first opened we placed up on the wall next to our table an image of the Last Supper. It is a familiar image to many who visit us. It was a familiar image to me and I thought I knew what it meant, what it represented. I thought I knew the story being told. But then I met Bruce, a man who in only a few words changed my understanding of what the Last Supper is.


One fall Saturday morning as we ate our breakfast, I asked Bruce what he thought heaven would be like; he simply shrugged his shoulders, as only Bruce can, and replied, “Thanksgiving, The first thanksgiving!” He pointed up to the image of the Last Supper, the institution of the Eucharist, and taught me what the Last Supper is, the First Thanksgiving. Bruce continued, “We came as strangers, we eat and we become friends, its Thanksgiving.” His smile, his words, his ability to point out the seemingly obvious, was and continues to be liberating.

Art by Sieger Koder

 How we are called to do similarly, as a family in L’Arche, to welcome each other as strangers, as we all were at some point, to share a meal, be nourished by word and food, to wash each others feet is Thanksgiving, is a celebration of, service, of forgiveness and celebration; of Eucharist.

Bruce I say to you, Thank you.