a trash-bag of thoughts and things that swim in the mind of a wandering fool-for-Christ, a.k.a. taong-grasa-para-kay-Kristo wannabe... "If indeed aspiring to be free and happy and deliberately poor, simple, unfit for career advancement, and just a mere human being who is fully aware of his being so is really a case for the asylum, then please count me in! This is what being a fool-for-Christ truly means! I would willingly forgo a leg and an arm to even get anywhere near being one!"
Friday, February 26, 2010
WHO WOULDN'T? - 2nd Sunday of Lent
“Honey, there’s no easy answer that will take your pain away. Believe me, if I had one, I’d use it now. I have no magic wand to wave over you and make it all better. Life takes a bit of time and a lot of relationship.”
“Mackenzie, the truth shall set you free and the truth has a name; he’s over in the woodshop right now covered in sawdust…”
-Papa “Elousia” to Mackenzie, The Shack
What transpired for only a few fleeting minutes that glorious afternoon seemed like years for the awestruck disciples. In fact, it not only felt like it would go on forever, it evoked sentiments of wanting to linger there on that blessed spot for all eternity. “Master, how good it is for us to be here for we can make three tents” says the dumbfounded Peter.
And who wouldn’t pray the same? Who wouldn’t beg the Lord a little more time when everything seems fine and time is running short? Who wouldn’t wish things would remain the same forever when one is able to fulfill his Sunday duties, and consistently assuage the pangs of his self-indulgence-induced guilt by always having a few loose change handy for the occasional beggar and every god-forsaken-ragamuffin who virtually thrives at the doorsteps of every church because business is good and health even better? Who wouldn’t cheerfully albeit mindlessly declare to Jesus: “how good it is for us to be here?”
But the Master’s way is the way of the cross. His wounds are our healing, his passion, our safekeeping. His glory lies not in the feverish swaying of palm branches and the roaring hosannas. His kingdom was not inaugurated on that hill where bread and fish have flowed aplenty. His dominion will not forever consist in an endless stroll atop bodies of water, there where clueless people imagine they would be engaged by him in an eternal game of storm-bashing and wave-halting sprees. It would definitely not be a one, big Shot Put game of mountain hurling and geographical rearranging. His kingdom is not of this world. His glory is His cross.
And so it shall be for his disciples. And so it shall also be for each one of us. He came not to wave the magic wand over us in order to banish our every ailment. He came to journey with us. He came to suffer with us, in us, for us. He came that we may have a friend that would be willing to go through it all with us, so that we may not lose our way and make it safely back home.
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