First Sunday of Advent @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

First Sunday of Advent: The Splinter in Your Mind

The Red Pill Moment

In the 1999 science fiction classic The Matrix, there is a defining moment that has permeated our culture. The protagonist, Neo, sits across from Morpheus in a rainy, decaying room. Morpheus explains to Neo that he has been living in a dream world, a computer-generated simulation designed to keep him docile. He says, “You know something. What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad. ”

Morpheus then offers the famous choice. The blue pill: you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. The red pill: you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. The blue pill is the comfort of sleep; the red pill is the harsh, demanding, but liberating shock of reality. 

Today, on the First Sunday of Advent, the Church presents us with the Red Pill. The liturgical color changes to violet. The music shifts. The readings become stark. We are being asked to wake up from the simulation—the simulation of a world that tells us life is only about buying, selling, eating, and entertainment—and to confront the "splinter in our mind" that tells us we were made for God. 

The Sleep of the Good-Enough

The Gospel today from St. Matthew (24:37-44) is chilling, not because it depicts evil, but because it depicts apathy. Jesus compares the coming of the Son of Man to the days of Noah. We tend to imagine the people of Noah’s time as wicked monsters, but Jesus describes them quite differently. He says they were “eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage. ”

Think about that list. Eating. Drinking. Getting married. These are not sins! These are the fundamental goods of human life. They are necessary for survival and society. The tragedy of the people in Noah’s day wasn't that they were doing evil things; it was that they were so consumed by the good things that they became blind to the ultimate thing. They were so busy maintaining their daily routines that they didn't notice the storm clouds gathering. They were sleepwalking through life, right up until the flood came and carried them away. 

Jesus warns us: “So too, you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come. ” The danger for us in 2025 is the exact same. We are not necessarily fighting against paganism; we are fighting against the anesthetic of busyness. We are fighting the blue pill of comfort that tells us we have plenty of time. 

St. Paul, in the Second Reading from Romans (13:11-14), identifies this spiritual lethargy perfectly. He writes with the urgency of a man shaking a sleeping friend by the shoulders: “You know the time; it is the hour now for you to awake from sleep. ”

Paul contrasts the "works of darkness" with the "armor of light. " Interestingly, he lists "rivalry and jealousy" alongside "drunkenness and promiscuity. " Why? because rivalry and jealousy are the byproducts of a mind that is asleep to God. When we forget that our true citizenship is in heaven, we start fighting over the scraps here on earth. We need to wake up. 

Atomic Faith: Making it Obvious

So, how do we wake up? How do we take the red pill and stay awake when the entire world around us is screaming for us to go back to sleep, to buy more, to scroll more, to care less?

We can turn to a principle from James Clear’s book, Atomic Habits. The first law of behavior change is: 

Make it Obvious

Clear argues that our behaviors are largely responses to the cues in our environment. If you want to eat healthier, but you leave a jar of cookies on the counter, you will eat the cookies. The visual cue triggers the habit. Conversely, if you want to practice the guitar, but it’s hidden in the closet, you will never play it. To change the habit, you must change the environment to make the cue unavoidable. 

In the spiritual life, we often rely on willpower. We say, "I will just try harder to remember Jesus this December. " That is a strategy for failure. Instead, we must Make it Obvious. We must design our environment so that the reality of God is the first thing we see. 

The Prophet Isaiah gives us the ultimate visual cue in the First Reading (2:1-5). He describes a physical restructuring of the world: “The mountain of the LORD’s house shall be established as the highest of mountains. ” He describes a world where “swords are beaten into plowshares. ” These are tangible, visible changes. When the sword becomes a plow, you can’t miss it. The environment dictates a new way of living—one of peace rather than war. 

The Challenge: Redesigning Your Advent

This Advent, I challenge you to redesign your environment to make the "Red Pill" of faith obvious. 

1. The Visual Interrupt: In The Matrix, "glitches" were signs that reality was breaking through. Create holy glitches in your home. Do not just put the Advent wreath on the table as a centerpiece; put it in a place where it interrupts your flow. Place your Bible open on the coffee table, not closed on a shelf. Put a Rosary on top of your phone charger. Make it so that you literally cannot go through your day without bumping into a cue that says: Wake Up.   

2. The Digital Cue: We live on our screens. St. Paul tells us to “put on the Lord Jesus Christ.” In the modern world, this means we must curate what we see. Change your phone background to an image of the Nativity or a verse from today’s Gospel. Unfollow accounts that make you feel jealous or inadequate (the "rivalry" Paul warns against) and follow accounts that prompt you to pray. 

3. The Morning Anchor: The people in Noah’s day were swept away because they started their day with "eating and drinking. " Start your day with the light. Before you check the news, before you check the weather, light a candle. Say one prayer. Make the presence of God the most obvious thing in your morning routine.  

The world wants you to stay asleep. It wants you to be a consumer, a passive observer of the holiday season. But the Lord says, “Stay awake!” He is coming. The Mountain of the Lord is calling. Let us beat our swords into plowshares, our distractions into devotion, and walk in the light of the Lord. 

Christ the King Sunday @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

In the 2010 movie The King’s Speech, we meet Prince Albert, Duke of York — known to his family as “Bertie” — who unexpectedly became King George VI, at the very onset of the Second World War. 

When we hear the word "King," our minds automatically conjure up images: crowns, gold, and power. A king's authority is often symbolized by the strength of his voice—his ability to speak with command.

The great crisis of Bertie’s life was not a foreign enemy, but his own profound, paralyzing stammer. Though he was called to lead his nation on the brink of World War II … to inspire, and to rally his people … he struggled to speak at all — every halting word betraying his own weakness, fear, and limitation. 

This weakness threatened to defined his kingship. 

To truly reign, he had to find his voice, a voice trapped within his own vulnerable humanity. His true strength was unlocked only when he embraced and conquered this personal internal struggle.

Today we celebrate the Solemnity of Christ the King — the final Sunday of our Church year. Next Sunday, we will start a new Church Year, and enter into Advent. But today, the Church asks us not to think of a baby in a manger, but to look at the majestic, eternal King.

This struggle to find true authority brings us to our Scriptures, which reveal a God whose sovereignty is constantly turned upside down.

The First Reading introduces us to the second human King of Israel, King David. The people asked him to be their shepherd and commander. David’s kingship was born out of relationship — “your [own] bone and your [own] flesh.” David had proven his leadership through loyalty, protection, and care for the flock. The Lord Himself called David “a man after [God’s] own heart.” This human kingship pointed to something far greater: leadership defined not by wealth, or power, or palaces, but by a self-sacrificial love for his people.

Our Second Reading explodes this image into the universe. It reminds us that Christ is not just the commander an earthly kingdom; He is the universal King. He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. He existed before time began, He created everything, and in him, “all things hold together.” Yet, this King of infinite power reconciles everything to Himself “by the blood of his cross.”

Which brings us to today’s Gospel. If you want to see the King of the Universe enthroned, don't look at a gilded palace. Look to the Cross. The soldiers and the crowds demanded that He use His power for self-preservation, mocking Him with the title: “The King of the Jews.” But Jesus shows us a different kind of sovereignty. His power is revealed in His weakness. He does not command legions; instead, He asks God the Father to forgive His executioners.

The profound act of Christ’s divine reign is revealed in his final words to the criminal hanging beside him. This criminal, who acknowledged his own guilt, saw past the current circumstances to the true authority of God — the authority of mercy saying, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

And what is the voice of Christ the King in his moment of ultimate vulnerability? How does the King of Kings, the Word Made Flesh speak from the cross? It is the purest expression of His divine authority.

Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.

This is the promise of Christ the King to us. His shepherding care, His divine power, and His unconditional mercy all converge on the Cross. His kingdom isn't built on force; it’s built on forgiveness, grace, and mercy.

As we approach this altar to receive the Sacred Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ — let us choose Him as our King and Lord. His kingship is defined by humility and service, and so our own discipleship must be defined by the same. 

Like our King, let us seek the lost, speak with mercy, and cling to the Cross. Our “King’s Speech” is found in the living Word of God. He has already promised us Paradise. Let us pray that we may have the faith to say to Jesus: "Remember me," and live our lives as loyal subjects of Christ our Risen King.

Dedication of the Lateran Basilica @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish Birch Run

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica in Rome. It’s not a saint, it’s not an event in the life of Jesus or Mary or one of the saints. So what’s the big deal?

Seventeen-hundred-and one years ago, the Emperor Constantine gave the property, which had once been owned by the Laterani family, to the Church for public worship.

For the first 300 years of its existence, the Church operated in secretly in Rome, and suffered persecutions off and on. And so, this makes the Lateran Basilica is the oldest public church building in Rome and the oldest Basilica in the Western world.

Point of trivia: The Lateran Basilica is the Pope’s Cathedral. St. Peter’s is not a Cathedral — but it is a Basilica. And it’s just more centrally located.

And so, today we celebrate the dedication of Cathedral of Cathedrals 17 centuries ago — as an indication of our continuity as Catholics with the 12 Apostles and proceeding through two-thousand years with the current reigning pontiff — Pope Leo.

Our readings address “What is a temple,” or maybe in more modern language: “What is a place of worship?”

The first reading from Ezekiel gives the image of God’s temple in heaven and a trickle of water flowing from the temple into the Dead Sea — where the seeming small amount of water gives life to the toxic waters.

For us as Christians, this trickle of water can be seen as Baptism. But even more so, it is God’s grace in all of the Sacraments — cleansing us of the toxins of worldliness and sanctifying us into the living Body of Christ.

St. Paul takes this even further. We are the Temple of the Holy Spirit. We receive the first fruits of the Spirit in Baptism, and the fullness of the Holy Spirit in Confirmation.

And all of this grace is focused in a special way in the Sacraments of Service — Holy Matrimony and Holy Orders.

Today also marks the end of Vocations Awareness Week. And, last weekend — as the start of that week — I spoke of the Saints and deceased priests and family members who were helpful in my own discernment of my priestly vocation.

A key aspect of any priestly vocation is “sacrifice.” While hearing about playboy priests, or priests who felt God’s call in a prison cell or in the midst of a sinful life are “entertaining stories,” or perhaps “interesting anomalies,” . . . Giving up a life of crime or a life of sinfulness is not much of a Sacrifice. 

I would propose that all Christians are called to do this. 

According to Merriam Webster, a sacrifice is “the act of giving up or losing something of value for the sake of something else” and in the case of a religious vocation, it is giving up a career, marriage, children, and sometimes family for the sake of God and service to Jesus Christ and His Church.

A religious vocation is not about running away from something. It is about running into the all consuming love of God, and doing everything for the love of God.

God should never be second-place. Every Baptized Christian is called to put God first, and everything else second. And this is a constant effort we all share in order to grow in holiness and virtue.

And so, what does a priest do? There’s the joke about a kid who said he wanted to be a priest because he would only have to work for one hour on Sunday.

Oh how I wish . . . 

In the 21st century, a priest runs a small business. Oftentimes without many resources. It requires business sense, and an understanding of what needs doing.

My official title here at Ss. Francis and Clare is Administrator and President of the Parish Corporation. 

That “job” can often get in the way of doing “priestly” things.

A priest is vowed to obedience and celibacy. In the eyes of every bishop, the most important thing is obedience. And in the eyes of every married couple celibacy is an unimagined curiosity.

But a priest is also vowed to pray. And not just a couple of Hail Mary’s here and there. 

There is a four-volume book of prayers called The Liturgy of the Hours or The Divine Office. It is an arrangement of Psalms, Acclamation, Antiphons, and Readings. Priests pray this daily. It can be “cranked out” in about an hour, or it can be drawn out across the day. But the vow to pray is central to priesthood. Without prayer, the river that protects our temple from the toxins of the world dries up. 

And, of course, the Great Prayer of all Prayers — the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Priests are encouraged to offer Mass daily. Some do; some don’t. I would propose that the offering of this Holy Sacrifice tunes a priest into Christ’s Sacrifice — provided that the Mass is offered worthily and well.

And then the Rosary, and hopefully a Holy Hour before the Blessed Sacrament.

Finally, a priest is vowed to Faithfully Hand on the Sacred Mysteries. This means the Sacraments of the Church. And I would add the word: Generously. 

Our little parish here has Mass and Confessions 6 days a week. This is, unfortunately, an exception to the rule in many places. 

Finally, in the Gospel we hear of Jesus’s zeal in the phrase: Zeal for your house will consume me.

Zeal is nothing more than love in action. In religious terms, zeal means advancing the Kingdom of Christ, sanctifying souls, and advancing the greater glory of God.

As we approach this altar to receive the Sacred Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ — Let us give thanks for the river of grace that flows from this temple. And let us remember that we are all called to be living stones, built up as the temple of God. And as that temple, let us be zealous for God and Christ Jesus — putting our Faith, Hope, and Love into action as we go forth into a world starved for God’s grace, and mercy, and love.

All Souls Day @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

Today we celebrate the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed. We remember in a special way those parishioners who passed away over the last year. And, as if that’s not enough — this weekend falls at the end of the Solemnity of All Saints, and begins Vocations Awareness Week.

Priests have been asked by the bishop to talk about their vocations journey — which for someone ordained at the ripe old age of 46 — is long and winding road. In next week’s bulletin will be a condensed version of that.

Today, I would like to talk about the saints and the deceased persons who helped me discern my vocation.

First would be my grandmother who asked me before she died: “Why don’t you just hurry up and join the seminary?” I was 17 years old, and was running headfirst into the computer revolution. So, that seed — although planted early — didn’t sprout until nearly 30 years later.

Blessed Father Solanus Casey, who for his time, over 125 years ago, was considered a “late vocation” at the ripe old age of 27. He joined the Capuchin Franciscans in Detroit, was ordained in 1904, and for those of you who know his story — he was a Wisconsin boy living in Michigan — and miracles followed him wherever he went.

Saint Edmund Campion, was an English priest during the persecutions in England during the reign of Elizabeth the first. He fled to France, but then snuck back into England. Posing as a wealthy jewel merchant, he gained access to homes, where he surreptitiously baptized infants, offered Mass and heard confessions of recusant Catholics. No one suspected that this wealthy playboy gambler was a priest, until he was captured by a royal spy who had infiltrated the underground Catholic community. He spent months in the Tower of London, and was hanged, drawn, and quartered.

Saint John Bosco, another “late” vocation — entered the seminary at the ripe old age of 21. He came from a farming family and was no stranger to hard work. His father died when he was 2, and he and his brothers worked the land to provide for their mother and each other. When he finally entered seminary, he was very far behind in his studies of Greek and Latin. But somehow managed to persevere. He went to Turin, which was in the throes of the Industrial Revolution. He felt the need to “think differently” in how he exercised ministry, and ran afoul of the status quo. He was accused of “stealing parishioners” from other priests, his open-air catechism classes were seen as disturbing the peace, and the growing Italian revolutionaries were suspicious of his loyalty to the Pope. He ended up creating a religious order that exists to this day and provides education and support for youth and orphans.

Those were my spiritual muses: a Michigan boy, a persecuted spy, and an out-of-the-box thinker. And gramma.

The deceased priests who influenced me the most were Fr. Edward Obuchowski, Fr. Donald MacLennon, Fr. Larry Pashak, and Fr. Valerian Rykowski. 

Their stories are their own, but needless to say they worked hard, prayed hard, and played hard. By the time I met them, they were compassionate old men — more “grandfathers” than “fathers.” Faithful to a fault to Catholicism and to their ministries. And despite difficulties that may have popped up, they stayed the course and persevered in their vocations. 

You see, no matter your vocation, we all have a “great cloud of witnesses” whether canonized saints or just plain folks, praying for us in eternity — or as I like to think of it: cheering us on as we fight the good fight.

The saints that inspired me faced difficulty with dignity and honor and were faithful in persevering in their vocations. The men and women that inspired me were both practical and spiritual. Pragmatic, yes, but with their eyes fixed on Jesus and their hearts desiring eternity with Him. 

Priesthood is an adventure of sorts. But it’s also not for the faint of heart. In one day you can deal with both birth and death. You can be praised as a saint one minute, and get an email or a voicemail calling you the devil shortly thereafter. It’s often a roller-coaster ride of sorts.

Priests in the 21st century are independent, but crave community and fraternity. There are daily challenges that require practical knowledge, and minute-by-minute urgent needs that require lots of prayer.

As we approach this altar to receive the Sacred Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ — let us pray for our priests, both living and deceased. Realizing as one TV priest used to say: “No priest, no Mass. No Mass, no Eucharist. No Eucharist, no Church.” 

And let us also pray for our deceased loved ones and all the faithful departed — especially those parishioners who died in the past 12 months.

Funeral Homily for My Dad -- St. Mary, St. Clair, MI

We are gathered here this morning to honor the memory of William Charles Jenuwine … Husband, Father, Grandfather, Great-grandfather, Uncle, Friend … and my Dad.

Theologian Dr. Scott Hahn has stated that God is not “like” a father, but rather God is “Father” in His very being and ontology. Which is why we call God “Our Father.” 

Those of us who share that title of Father — whether by generation or by spirit — are called to model our lives on “Our Father” (who art) in heaven.

And my Dad was a great one. 

Mom wrote something down for me, and I copied this word-for-word from what she wrote on that piece of paper — “He raised five gorgeous, handsome, brilliant, successful children.” End quote.

Lots of memories. 

Whether it was riding up to and around Harson’s Island on bicycles, taking the boat up and down the St. Clair River, driving around in the Corvette with the top down, going to Barnes and Noble, breakfasts at McDonald’s, phone calls, birthdays, holidays. Those and many other memories live on in all of us.

Dad was born in 1933. A year like any other. And he was born on a Saturday, like today. To some, 1933 might seem like ancient history. For others, it’s just a little while ago.

Herbert Hoover was in his last months as president, soon to be succeeded by FDR. The 20th Amendment would later that year change Inauguration Day from March to January. Also in December, the 21st Amendment would end Prohibition.

That was the year that construction began on the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.

The Lone Ranger debuted on the radio — WXYZ in Detroit. And it was broadcast from 1933 up to 1956. The year he and Mom got married. It would have been 69 years next month.

The Singing Telegram was introduced in New York. And the board game Monopoly was created that year.

Mount Rushmore was Dedicated in South Dakota.

Walt Disney’s first Silly Symphony cartoon ‘The Three Little Pigs’ was released in theaters. And the first Drive-In Movie theater opened.

The first Major League ‘All Star’ Game was played that year.

Many things, many names. Lots of firsts. And lots of history. A lot happens in 91 years, 7 months, and 12 days. 

And while we continue to live our lives; and as our own experiences become history; and as time rolls on and on … Let us remember that the ties of love and affection that bind us together do not dissolve with death. Rather, they continue on into eternity.

Dad was a great provider, had a great sense of humor, was good at most everything, and instilled in each of us a love of reading, a desire to know and to learn, a sense of hard work and responsibility, and many other things.

And so now we accompany him with our prayers and with our love on this, his final trip into the arms of “Our Father” in heaven.

May he hear the voice of Jesus Christ, his loving and merciful Savior, say to him: “Well done, good and faithful servant. Come share your Master’s joy.”

I love you, Dad.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord. And let Perpetual Light shine upon him.

May he rest in peace. Amen.

Hay his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, Apostles -- Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

Premiering on September 17, 1972 and running for 11 seasons, the television show M*A*S*H was a dramatic comedy (or dramedy) set during the Korean War and revolving around the key personnel of a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital near the front lines.

In 1983, after the last season, M*A*S*H was, at that time, the longest-running television series. It was nominated for over 100 Emmy Awards, and won 14; also winning the 6 Golden Globe, the 7 Directors Guild of America awards, a Peabody Award, seven Writers Guild of America Award, and several Humanitas Prizes.

In the tenth episode of the fourth season, titled “Quo Vadis, Captain Chandler” the characters encounter a wounded bombardier waking up on his arrival at the hospital, and thinking he is Jesus Christ. The reactions of the cast range from concern to outright disgust — and everything in-between. 

The Latin phrase in the title: “Quo Vadis” — relates to an apocryphal story relating to Saint Peter. Supposedly, during the persecutions of the Emperor Nero, Saint Peter chose to flee Rome. While walking out of the city along the Appian Way, Peter encounters Jesus himself; and asks him “Quo vadis, Domine?” Or “Where are you going, Lord?” To which Jesus replies: “I am going to Rome, to be crucified again.”

At that, Peter changes his mind about running away, and instead returns to Rome to continue leading the nascent Church, and subsequently being martyred during the persecution of Nero.

Today we celebrate the Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul — an annual celebration which falls on June 29. In many places, it is a Holy Day of Obligation, but it hasn’t been in the United States since a dispensation of Pope Gregory XVI (the sixteenth) in the year 1840.

The last time this feast fell on a Sunday was 2014, and so we see this on a weekend Mass roughly every decade.

Saint Peter is held to be the first Pope, the chief of the Apostles. His turbulent life — even while following Jesus during His earthly ministry — was one of many ups and downs. 

Saint Peter is the first to proclaim Jesus as the Christ, the Son of the Living God; but almost immediately after that tries to stop Jesus from talking about His eventual Passion and Death. 

Saint Peter declares his unwavering loyalty to Jesus at the Last Supper, and later that night denies that he even knows Him, three times. Yet, this merely points to the powerful action of God’s Grace — that an uneducated, confused, and very human man was able to lead the early Church for roughly 30 years, before dying on the Vatican Hill in the City of Rome in the year 64 AD.

And Saint Paul, the master of the run-on sentence, wrote 14 Letters to the early Churches scattered around the Roman Empire — most of which he visited, preaching the Gospel, and admonishing them to persevere in the Faith. 

All of this despite having initially persecuted the Church in his younger years.

Saint Paul met Christ on the Road to Damascus as a bright light — that blinded him — and a voice — that converted him. And Saint Peter knew Christ first-hand during His earthly ministry, and having encountered him in a time of fear was inspired to return and continue in his mission — despite growing persecution.

In today’s Gospel, we hear Jesus ask the disciples: “Who do you say that I am?”

And we might ask ourselves that question as well.

As we approach this altar to receive the most holy Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ — let us listen for His voice, calling us to follow Him. 

And as we receive Him in Holy Communion, let us tell Him who we say that He is.

He who is our Way, and our Truth, and our Life. 

He who is Our Lord and Our Savior. 

And may we hear Him say to each and every one of us: “Follow me."

Ecumenical Lenten Reflections - Christ Lutheran Church, Birch Run

ECUMENICAL LENTEN REFLECTION

MARCH 12, 2025 

This year, we are using reflections from Henri Nouwen; a Dutch Catholic priest; who was also a professor, a writer, and a theologian. 

I suppose he could be called an intellectual of sorts, having taught at Yale Divinity School, Harvard Divinity School, and the University of Notre Dame. Colleges aside, he eventually went on to work with individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities at a special needs community in Canada.

Puzzling through the week’s worth of reflections on the subject of The Way of Love, where seven Scripture verses are tied in with seven quotes from Nouwen’s prolific writings, and seven reflections on top of all of those quotes; I would say that in following The Way of Love, we begin as individuals in isolation. Each one of us begins this path all alone.

But through Baptism we become, a Child of God, and through that, we step onto the path — the Way — of the Gospel. Following in the footsteps of Christ, and headed for Eternity; an Eternity of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

As we proceed through this Season of Lent, and as we move through our lives; we run into the opposites of those things. Sadness, conflict, haste, meanness, badness, infidelity, harshness, and chaos. We find that things don’t always seem to fit. Or maybe things don’t seem to fit the way we would like them to . . .

At those times when we are unable to proceed along the Way as we would desire, we find ourselves turning more and more to God. Sort of like the old line about Atheists in Foxholes.

Lent is an opportunity to de-clutter our lives. 40 (or so) days to be reborn. To re-discover what it means to be a child of God. To re-commit to following Christ Jesus — wherever that leads . . . Even if it’s not where we think we want to go.

The Way of Love — the Way of Christ — leads to the Cross.

But, as we all know, Ash Wednesday moves through Lent, to Palm Sunday, and then Maundy Thursday, and eventually Good Friday.

Lots of drama. Intense stories, memorable dialogs, shocking acts and actions. Every year, each year, more and more familiar. 

But Good Friday is not the end, and even Easter Sunday is not the end. Rather, Easter opens us into another 40 days . . . Ending with the Ascension of Our Lord . . . and beginning with the question:

“[W]hy are you standing there looking at the sky?”

Even that end is a beginning for the Apostles, and when the book of Acts ends at Chapter 28; we take over with our own mission.

Following Jesus Christ. Carrying our own Crosses. Walking along our own Way of Love with Him.

During my brief stint in the US Navy, I was trained in Chinese Mandarin; and after sloshing my way through water survival training — nearly failing the section called “drown-proofing” — I deployed to east Asia, and spent a lot of time in a lot of strange places, with a lot of strange people, and a lot of strange ideas.

I learned that, twenty-six hundred years ago; around the time that the Prophet Ezekiel was speaking to the the Israelites — who at the time were exiled in Babylon; an old man riding an ox was heading in that direction, out of China. 

Laozi – literally “Old Child” — was fed up with politics and people; wars and power. He was looking to get away from all of the mess that comes with so-called civilization. 

The guard at the western gate — recognizing him as a wise, old, philosopher — wouldn’t let him pass until he had written something down.

He wrote roughly 5,000 words (about 10 pages single-spaced) which are broken into 81 chapters. It’s titled Tao Te Ching (Dao de Jing) — or the Scripture of the Way and Virtue. And to this day is held in great esteem in Chinese folk-religion.

The 78th chapter begins:

天下莫柔弱於水，而攻堅強者莫之能勝，其無以易之。

Tiānxià mò róuruò yú shuǐ, ér gōngjiān qiángzhě mò zhī néng shēng, qí wú yǐ yì zhī.

Nothing in the world is softer and weaker than water, yet nothing can overcome it when it attacks something hard and strong.

If you’ve ever been caught in a heavy rain; you can understand this. Or if you’ve ever watched the 40 million gallons per minute that flow over Niagara Falls . . . you’d be hard-pressed to argue.

But 12,000 years ago, it all began with one drop of water from a melting glacier. And yet we see it’s effects to this day.

But I would argue — or maybe re-write — the Ancient Chinese wisdom of the Old Kid.

Because, in the light of the Gospel — Nothing in the world is softer or weaker than Love; yet nothing can overcome the power of Love . . . especially when we are talking about the Love of God poured out in Christ Jesus Our Lord.

And so, let us continue to move forward into this Holy Season of Lent. Walking the Way of Love . . . and living our lives according to the Gospel Way of Jesus Christ. 

And let us support one another . . . and transform the world we liv in . . . with the gentle power of His Love.