Today we observe the commemoration of Saint Margery Kempe, a presence within the Christian faith and life for a variety of reasons, not least of which how well her wailing was known to the people in her vicinity.
We have sterilized the cross. What began as a device of torture and execution now adorns bejeweled necklines, book jackets marketing to Christians, and all manner of art and decor.
As we survey the world around us, where is Jesus? Where is our Savior in the midst of rising pandemic deaths and ruthless injustice for our neighbors?
I hope Clare of Assisi and her Poor Ladies embraced the gift of humor as much as they did poverty, charity and humility.
This morning is different.
This morning in devotions, I saw myself in Peter. I didn’t reflect Pentecost evangelical Peter or stepping out of the boat Peter, but anxiety ridden at the cross Peter. Peter, how I wish I related to one of your more shining moments.
Our daughter lost her first tooth a few weeks ago. As I stared into that gaping hole in her mouth, I did the thing where you internally tear up and think, ‘where did my little baby go?’ in that wistful, nostalgic way. ‘It was only yesterday that I was holding her in my arms!’
The crazier things are in the world or just inside my head, the more I talk to Jesus.