Imagine for a minute that someone you loved dearly was found to possess a certain antibody that contained the answer to a vaccine for Covid 19.
Imagine that this person was your son. Imagine that in order to save the entire world from this virus that has caused so much death and destruction he would have to give his blood, ALL of his blood to create the vaccine that would cure the world.
Imagine making this heart wrenching decision, but knowing that your son’s memory on earth and soul would live on forever in heaven. In order to save humanity you allow this unfathomable event to take place. You allow the sacrifice of your son for the sake of the human race.
Imagine that each year on the anniversary of your son’s sacrifice millions of people take time to remember your son, and give praise for the sacrifice you and he made for sake of the world. But imagine also that millions of people don’t stop, even for a minute. They are saved but they do not give thanks, they do not pause to pray a prayer of praise. They don’t even care.
This Good Friday, remember the sacrifice that our Lord made for you. Remember to pause and offer praise to him for giving you life. His sacrifice is what has made it possible for us to live. His sacrifice is what gives us hope for more than this world can offer.
This was adapted from a story told to me by a Youth Minister friend of mine. It is not original, but I thought worth passing along.
A song I used to hate, a prayer I now cannot stop praying, and a banquet I cannot wait to attend.
Personal Reflection · Psalm 23
I have had this song stuck in my head for a few weeks now.
You know the Marty Haugen song from the Gather hymnal? The one that is sometimes played or sung at a pace so slow a turtle could beat it? Well, it is sort of like artichokes. I used to hate that song when I was a kid, but now I love it.
In case your mind still has not triggered what I am talking about, here are the lyrics to the refrain:
Shepherd me, O God,
beyond my wants,
beyond my fears,
from death into life.
The lyrics are taken straight from Psalm 23, and it is a pretty solid Lenten psalm. I can pretty much imagine King David writing this on his balcony while strumming his lyre sometime around 980 BC, praying that God would release him from whatever craving he was having at that moment. Maybe it was Cheetos or some other form of gluttony, or maybe it was a prayer to release him from something much stronger, like Bathsheba. Who knows? But whatever King David was thinking when he wrote those lyrics, he was clearly suffering from some sort of addiction and begging for a way out.
Addictions have been around for a long time, people. God can help.
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Maybe you do not feel like you are addicted to anything in particular, and if that is true, hooray for you. I mean that sincerely. But we are all guilty of placing things before God in our lives.
Here is the thing. One of my Lenten sacrifices last year was to give up buying myself anything new. No new clothes, no new furniture, no new anything. Needs only. No special Starbucks splurges. Not even on Poshmark. Instead of feeling freedom, however, I felt bombarded by wants. So I kept praying:
Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants for new clothes.
Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants to be skinny.
Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants for 42-inch cabinets.
Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants for a home addition.
Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants to be liked by everyone.
Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants to be beautiful by the world's standards.
Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants to be right all the time.
Oh, that last one. That one is really hard to pray.
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The verses in the song go on quite beautifully, describing how God will shepherd us away from our own desires and give us His instead. Then in the fourth verse, the psalmist reminds us of one of the greatest promises ever spoken:
You have set me a banquet of love in the face of hatred,
crowning me with love beyond my power to hold.
I just love this. Did you hear that? We give up what we want, and we receive something so much better. A banquet of love from our Lord, and a crown of love beyond our own power to hold. (Does it at least come with a neck brace?)
My prayer in writing this post is that the next time you hear this classic Glory and Praise psalm sung during Lent, instead of groaning because you realize it alone adds at least another seven minutes to Mass, I hope you will say a quiet prayer and think about what you need God to shepherd you away from.
And then start dreaming about your banquet of love.
