Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Remember you are dust, and to dust you will return.
Think about that. Humans have no guarantees of length or permanence in our daily lives. We had a recent example of how fast things change with the tsunami, and how nearly 300,000 lives were lost.
Created from dust, we indeed will return to it.
If life, and it's gift is a matter of impermancence, then how should be behave?
For some, the answer has always been the Epicurian way: "Eat, drink, and make merry, for tomorrow we die." Yet for people who walk the hedonistic path, often the happiness dries up, and they are left looking at a vast wasteland of emptiness.
So what really matters? He with the most toys does NOT win in the long run, because death takes both the rich and the poor, the good and the bad, the greedy and the giving.
This, of course is not all of the story. The Epicurians are wrong. As Father Victor Brown notes, "The Church could just as truly say to us: Remember that you are spirit and you will live forever, either with God or without Him."
In the readings for today there is this verse: For our sake he made him to be sin who did not know sin, so that we might become the righteousness of God in him. (2 Corinthians 5:21). God himself opened the door to bring us home, and the door that gives us all purpose is the Cross.
It is time, in Lent for us to take up our crosses willingly, and let ourself be drawn to the foot of the cross that gives us meaning, the foolish of God that surpasses the wisdom of men, that God so loved the world he gave his only son to bring us home.
Lord,
let me find refuge
always
at the foot of your cross,
where you bled and died
so that I might live.
Only here,
beneath the cross
where you shed your blood
can I find refuge
from the darkness.
Only here,
beneath the cross,
can I find refuge
from the wages of sin.
Here at the foot of your cross,
I pour out my tears
like the Magdalene,
tears of grief at what my sin has wrought,
tears of sorrow for what you chose to do,
tears of grief at the need.
Here at the foot of your cross,
I stand with your sorrowful mother,
she who I once wanted to comfort
for her pain,
her sorrow,
her loss,
but who sustains me as I collapse in grief.
Here at the foot of your cross,
I confront the reality of my self,
sinful,
weak,
undeserving,
and find not the condemnation or rejection I deserve,
but only love.
Amen.
Think about that. Humans have no guarantees of length or permanence in our daily lives. We had a recent example of how fast things change with the tsunami, and how nearly 300,000 lives were lost.
Created from dust, we indeed will return to it.
If life, and it's gift is a matter of impermancence, then how should be behave?
For some, the answer has always been the Epicurian way: "Eat, drink, and make merry, for tomorrow we die." Yet for people who walk the hedonistic path, often the happiness dries up, and they are left looking at a vast wasteland of emptiness.
Again I saw that under the sun the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to the men of skill; but time and chance happen to them all. Ecclesiastes 9:11
So what really matters? He with the most toys does NOT win in the long run, because death takes both the rich and the poor, the good and the bad, the greedy and the giving.
This, of course is not all of the story. The Epicurians are wrong. As Father Victor Brown notes, "The Church could just as truly say to us: Remember that you are spirit and you will live forever, either with God or without Him."
In the readings for today there is this verse: For our sake he made him to be sin who did not know sin, so that we might become the righteousness of God in him. (2 Corinthians 5:21). God himself opened the door to bring us home, and the door that gives us all purpose is the Cross.
It is time, in Lent for us to take up our crosses willingly, and let ourself be drawn to the foot of the cross that gives us meaning, the foolish of God that surpasses the wisdom of men, that God so loved the world he gave his only son to bring us home.
Lord,
let me find refuge
always
at the foot of your cross,
where you bled and died
so that I might live.
Only here,
beneath the cross
where you shed your blood
can I find refuge
from the darkness.
Only here,
beneath the cross,
can I find refuge
from the wages of sin.
Here at the foot of your cross,
I pour out my tears
like the Magdalene,
tears of grief at what my sin has wrought,
tears of sorrow for what you chose to do,
tears of grief at the need.
Here at the foot of your cross,
I stand with your sorrowful mother,
she who I once wanted to comfort
for her pain,
her sorrow,
her loss,
but who sustains me as I collapse in grief.
Here at the foot of your cross,
I confront the reality of my self,
sinful,
weak,
undeserving,
and find not the condemnation or rejection I deserve,
but only love.
Amen.
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