A Short Meditation on Giving

Mt 6:1-4 / Luke 21:1-4

I understand

the motive

of keeping

the left hand

in the dark

of what the

right hand is doing.

All things done

for the glory of God

and all that good

Sunday School stuff.

But there is 

one more point

to be made 

of what happens

if silence is broken

on one's charity.

Half the assholes 

in the world 

will scream,

"Why did you give it to them?"

And the rest 

will whine

"Why didn't you give it to me?"

Christian Zen

“All the way to heaven is heaven, 

because Jesus said, "I am the way.” 

―

 St. Catherine of Siena

A Tough Crowd

Sometimes he thought,

I'm like an aging rock star,

where the fans don't want

to hear my latest songs.

"Just give us the hits,”

they scream.

As he approaches the assembly,

he decides

on what his Sabbath 

playlist is.

He begins,

striking a chord to

a faithful 

that learned by heart 

the Sunday School equation

of Easter

divided by Christmas

yields Life Eternal.

Big Blind

I'm sure

there are

a lot of 

people

thinking:

"What were

those people

thinking?"

Placing 

schools,

old folks' homes,

houses

right next

to a plant.

Gambling 

with their lives.

Especially

when they

can't see the

hole cards.

This Week (Boston/Baghdad)

The Iraqi 

police sergeant

wished

he had the 

luck that

occurred

this week

in the Empire.

A brother

ran over

by his sibling

in a car theft.

The boy

later found 

in a boat

in a water town.

And as he looked

at his current 

list,

he sighed

his request

to al-Malik:

“Bless those you

have received in 

Paradise.

And make me 

an instrument 

of your

Justice.”

Bread of Life

Ex 12:17-20 /John 6:51-59

The child asked,

"Why is the bread so dry?"

 I told her the ancient story

of a people who had 

to rush out of the

land of slavery.

They couldn't wait to 

for the baked bread

to rise.

So they prepared 

their bread

without yeast.

So when we 

eat the bread

we remember

the people

God rescued.

Then I told her

another story.

A tale of a lifetime ago.

When there was 

no SPF-50

no carcinomas

where the beach was

a place

where some got

the glow of a tan

and some suffered

the pain of sunburn.

And some of us

who endured the hurt

would strip the skin

and taste it.

Seasoned with

sand

and salted with 

the ocean

and sweat.

And when we

got home,

we bathe

and lie in our

beds  as still

as we could manage.

Every now and then

we would

spot a piece

of dead washed

flesh.

We placed it

our mouths

and  recall

the taste of

the wafer

on Sunday morning.

And the words

the priest said,

"This is My flesh.

Do this in remembrance of Me."

Gasp

Mt. 22:37

(When is the last time you said, "I love You."?)

Two pews behind me

I heard 

her gasp,

"My God, my God,

I love You!

My God,

I love You!"

And her prayer,

disturbed

the equilibrium of

my relationship

with the

Other.

A content,

comfortable 

bond

between us.

No passion.

Words not

spoken

but 

believed to be

understood.

O, 

unembarrassed

God 

with

arms wide open

on the cross

and

when we meet.

Embrace

my heart.

And may

my prayers always

begin:

"My God, my God,

I love You!

My God,

I love You!"