The walls are us. We are the living stones. We are made out of the same stuff in the foundation; we with those foundation stones made from the cornerstone stuff.

Our lives are the making of the stone. It is because of what we are made of, and where we have been placed, that we all want to make something of ourselves.

Any one who has tried stone masonry will know just how difficult it is to get a stone to do what you want. You have to know how the stone was formed, you have to follow the layers in the stone or, when you chip parts of it off you might crush the whole thing. If you just pound on the part you want to break off you might break the whole thing into two or two hundred pieces. The mason can not do what he wants with any stone; the stone has to be, at least in part, made to take a certain shape even prior to the cutting.

As much as we try, we often find we do not know our own shape and structure. It is always our duty to try.

All our lives God makes the necessary changes. Water is the best source for this. However, this is not a quick fix process, even with a large mass of water at high speeds, still it slowly smooths away the stone. It does something that a sharp hammer could never do. It adds a beauty unlike what fire does; though hammers and fire do add beauty.

But if a stone would respond to the water it would not need the sharp hammer or the fire. Or rather, there may be a lot less cutting and burning.

At the appointed time the walls are inspected by the architect. Each piece individually. There may be some sticky muddy bricks made up with straw and sticks. They may be stuck to us like glue, perhaps they are part of the reason that we are there at all. The other parts of the wall may think that we look like the same sticky mess beside a whole other stone; a separate one. But the architect knows his blue prints and can remove it safely from the wall.

The stones hope that the ones beside them taken away will one day return. For a stone will keep the fossil of those sticks, shells, and bones, that have embedded themselves into its own identity. It can not forget; how could it with all those holes in the wall.

Because the walls are what they will be, but still not yet, some parts of the wall are sagging; some because of those muddy, sloppy bricks; some parts are falling and bringing others with them because they do not respond to the shape they are supposed to take and can not bear the weight of their place. Other parts are glorious, and we envy them. We want our piece of the wall to hug tight to the foundation and support those that will be built on.

The stones cry out, wondering what the foundation had in mind to begin with. The structure does not make sense.

Why did the foundation hold in its original plan something that looks so strange and takes so long?

History’s argument about icons flew through my mind the other day. It came at a strange time for me because I was reading some of things that Tom Wright was saying in his commentary on John. I do not think that Wright was going where my mind went, but he touched on something that sparked my thoughts.

I remember in one portion of John, at the beginning of the book he discusses how the Word (Jesus words, the words of prophets etc.) and flesh (all the things they saw him do), though in reality they are united in Jesus, are still being separated in the minds’ of His friends, relatives, and enemies. They are watching him and wanting to follow him, but not based on the reality before them. Rather, based on his miracles, words of wisdom, healings, etc; they were never looking through all those very visible things to a deeper and greater truth. Jesus did signs (icons) and people followed him because of them. He did wonders but people marched behind him for the wrong reasons. Palm Sunday and Good Friday are evidence of the fact. You have the same folk hailing him as king one day and yelling crucify him the next.

He comes with signs and wonders and he is the Image. The incarnation itself probably could have been, to some Jews, a breaking of the second commandment. It seems that Jesus own Incarnation presence poses a danger to idolatry. And like most icons we are lead away from the truth, away from the direction they are pointing because we are bent, because we see them pointing out something we want in it. These Jews in Jesus day fashioned a different Jesus. The Jesus that would give them want they thought they wanted there and then. They fashioned him using the same material (that same Jesus). Seeing the truth is not even about seeing past the icon (or sign) in a sense of subtracting out the physical bad, but rather, holding up the two and letting the flesh lead you to the Word. In the old covenant the Torah (word) lead men to Christ (flesh). In the New Covenant the Church is united with the Torah (word) and we flesh out what it means to be Christ for the world. We become the portable places where Incarnation unite and forgiveness keeps its physical resting place on earth.

So was God not being careful enough about the second commandment? I mean, people made an idol out of Jesus, and he was not. Isn’t it more important for God to be careful about these things?

“It is finished” he cried. Jesus descends into hell and the third day he is back. He reappears to his followers (what a relief), but how painful it is because they can not cling to him. He then goes away for good only to send his Spirit.

I have not been able to stop thinking about how empathy is written into the Church’s plan for Lent. Since I live in the future I have already fast forwarded to the departure of Christ and have paused there today. My mind has been there all day long.

We arrived this morning after our Easter service to find that our next door neighbors were moving. This was sad for me. I never really knew them except for a few exchanges that we shared with our children. They spoke Spanish so we never held a real conversation. They watched us celebrate our holidays and looked on with confusion; we did the same. I always wanted to get to know them but they never would give me the chance. All in all they seemed happy, but I always sensed a fear in them as if they had some secret to hide, as if I were a threat to them. I think that they did not belong to our country; they were probably illegal.

The house was already beginning to look empty as we pulled our car up. I reflected on all the faces they made with our conversations. I remember some words we shared and times when my words may have frightened them, not because I said something wrong, but if they really were illegal, it could have made them worry. They always smiled but it seemed to be more of a shield for them. I truly wanted to do something about that shield. I wonder if they ever shared the same feelings about me as I did for them.

As I brushed my teeth and looked on the dark and empty house tonight I sighed. I wish I had known them. I wish that I had loved them. They were my neighbors; they were Christ! I had envisioned our children one day playing together. I had hoped that one day our shields would drop and our hands would shake. I wondered how hard it would be to take down our privacy fences. I dreamed of our families eating together, exchanging gifts, and laughing at our cultural differences.

I have always been the type of person who wants to stay. I always want visiting friends and relatives to stay. I long for a world where neighbors stay. I know this was true for the followers of Christ. It must have been wrenching for those friends and followers who shared in Christ’s laughing, eating, drinking, working, miracles, etc. to stay while he goes. It must have been dreadful for those who betrayed, watched from distance; decided they would spend time with him tomorrow, or simply did not understand the language he was speaking, to carry on. Regardless, He was gone (as God incarnate) and those chances to share things with Him as only they could, were gone.
There is something devastating about the realization that time has passed and slipped through my fingers once more. I have always longed to experience a moment as if it could be bottled and stored, smelling it once more, drinking it, and enjoying it again and again with others. Few moments have been like that for me, but I sense it was the overwhelming consensus among the disciples and apostles. Peter himself probably wished more than any to start over with Christ and make it work better this time.

Perhaps, it was something I said that made them go. Could I have caused their home to be another temporary stop along the way? I will never have answers to certain questions, and neither will God’s people, for the moment has passed and now we must move on, but let us be moved in light of the past. Let us move and not let Him slip through our fingers without being the first one to wash his feet. For when he reappears as the gardener he will call us by our name and we will call him Lord.

The Annunciation

It's so much easier to understand the wonder and fear of the Annunciation for Mary now that I've had a baby. I think women understand it more thoroughly than men, too (if I may be so bold!).

Her response was not of hysterical crying and anger at being thus "violated", but it was excitement and humility.

This story just also reminds us that our bodies are NOT our personal property, but are God's to do what he pleases with them. We are temples, and God, if we are willing, gives us precious gifts to bear to the world. Pregnancy itself reminds women and the world that their body is not their own. She shares it with her husband occasionally, of course, but she shares it for 10 months constantly with another. Everything she eats, drinks and does affects someone else in the most direct way for 10 months. It is a sacrifice, and a gift, and an amazing miracle.

May Mary's words be mine:

My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior,
For He hath regarded the lowliness of his handmaid;
For behold from henceforth, all generations shall call me blessed (this is still true!),
For He that is mighty hath magnified me, and Holy is his name.

And his mercy is on them that fear him, throughout all generations.
He hath showed strength with his arm,
He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek.
He hath filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he hath sent empty away.
He, remembering his mercies, hath holpen his servant Israel,
As he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed forever.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost, as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.



~~ Erin

A Prayer at the Death of a Pet

By Edward Hays

Lord God,
To those who have never had a pet,
this prayer will sound strange,
but to You, Lord of all life and creator of all creatures,
it will be understandable.
My heart is heavy
as I face the loss in death of my beloved (name)
who was so much a part of my life.

This pet made my life more enjoyable
and gave me cause to laugh
and to find joy in his/her company.
I remember the fidelity and loyalty of this pet
and I will miss his/her being with me.
From him/her I learned many lessons,
such as the quality of naturalness
and the unembarrassed request for affection.
In caring for his/her daily needs,
I was taken up and out of my own self-needs
and thus learned to service another.

May the death of this creature of yours
remind me that death comes to all of us,
animal and human,
and that it is the natural passage for all life.
May (name) sleep on
in an eternal slumber in your Godly care
as all creation awaits the fullness of liberation. Amen

A Tree….. before the foundations of the world

He held in that day of beginnings the makings of a seed,
Made ready the sod with a tear-soaked smile
And watered the youth with the sweat of his hands
While breath mixed wind served life to its leaves

Innocent, wet with the sap of its birth
Flimsy and green its arms reach back in naïve praise
Its two branches enforced by three to hang great weights
His boughs made ready to bow to its cause

Its depth nursed of that same fruit it would bear
Always greeted by the Light, with a cloud,
Tenderly raised to great heights at the center of the world
Rising only to see the universe weeping on its shoulder