By washing the disciples’ feet, Jesus does not diminish his authority. Rather, he shows them a new way of exercising authority, a new way of being with others that is characterized by humility, compassion and loving service. Br. David Vryhof invites us, and the Church, to follow in these radical footsteps.

Br. Keith Nelson invites us to the experience of Holy Week as a time of vulnerability, allowing ourselves to experience the paradoxical binaries at the heart of the Gospel and our own lives: “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain. But if it dies, it yields a rich harvest.”

In this world gone crazy, Br. James Koester unfolds the kind of life we are called to live, the kind of witness we are called to give, indeed the kind of martyrdom to which we are pledged by our baptisms: the witness of a love which is prepared to lay down its life for another.

Reading the story of Lazarus, Br. James Koester uncovers the shortest verse in the Bible and the dream of God: that we might have life in abundance. Jesus weeps today, because many of his friends live entombed by grief, despair, hopelessness, and disappointment. He asks, "What tomb are you living in today?"

In this sermon from the radical practices series, Br. Luke Ditewig declares that hospitality, the welcoming of strangers, is not about entertaining. It is about saving lives, for our journeys are challenging and we need each other.

What is the spirit of the Law? Br. David Allen imagines what that baseline for the Law might be and encourages us to observe it.

Where you find yourself worrying, or overwhelmed, or powerless in the face of hostile power, take Jesus at his word. He leaves us with his gift of peace. Make your fears your offering to God. Resist the delusion you must wait until all is well around you for you to know peace within your own heart. Jesus promises us peace, something which Saint Paul discovered was paradoxically true as he faced his own impending death.He called it “the peace which surpasses understanding.”

John 4:5-42

The story of the Samaritan woman has been a powerful draw for me ever since I began to pray with scripture.  It’s probably my favorite gospel story.  Yet, I have never been able to say why that is so.

I’m guessing that it is something about the character of the woman and her story.  A story that I understand to be the story of a woman who is the quintessential outsider.  A woman who can only exist at the boundaries of her own society.  In it, but not of it.  This woman, who has had five husbands and now fornicates with one who is not her husband,lacks essential respectability.  And simultaneously, she is a religious pariah to the dominant religious establishment that surrounds her and her homeland.  This woman who can only exist at the margins.  Outside the bounds that hold both respectable society and respectable religion together.

The outsiders’ story, the story of the alienated, the story of people marginalized by both religion and society form central themes in the biblical narrative.  Scholars from a wide variety of disciplines,in studying the stories of the Bible,often claim that this is the central narrative of the entire biblical text.  Bible stories take up the theme again and again of who stands in God’s favor and who does not and why that is so.

In our own day, in a climate of fear and foreboding, people generally and religious people particularly,remain caught in that narrative.  A narrative in which orientation to both self as well as bearing and orientation toward others rests heavily on our ability to say how we are not like other people.

And then there is Jesus.

What can we say?

As catholic Christians, we believe that Jesus is the very incarnation of the Divinity itself.  We’ve liked saying that Jesus shows us the face of God.Except that he doesn’t show us the face of God.  Not really.  Because like Moses, we can’t see God’s face.  We can’t even begin to imagine what God is or what God is like.  Both thought and language fail us.

But Jesus does show us a face.  And I think the face that Jesus shows us is the face of Love.Not any love but First Love; primordial love.  Love that brings forth creation.  The original source of all that is and that will be.  Jesus shows us the fountainhead of Love.

And what does the face of Love look like?

It looks like many different things in today’s story of this encounter at Jacob’s well.In today’s gospel, the face of Love appears as a man flush, hot, tired, hungry and thirsty.  Love is a vagabond, wandering, preaching the good news of primal love from one backwater village to the next in a backwater province of the Roman State.  Traveling across a countryside at times welcoming and at other times hostile.

And in today’s story, Love finds itself in alien territory.  Today Love is beginning to allow religious identity that holds others at bay to be undone.  Today Love begins to unravel for us the old stale formulas and human inspired-rivalries.  Love perceives that they won’t work because they have never worked.  Theold narrative depends on people set in opposition to one another.  Love knows that it is never going to get us back to where we long to go; to the one place we all long to return to.  To before the original narrative began to unravel.  On the day when a piece of fruit taken from a tree in a garden opened human eyes to shame and guilt.  Shame and guilt that forces us to cover our nakedness and hide.Love knows that we will never get back as long as religion and society continue to make God an idol that serves its needs by keeping God puny, jealous, vengeful, miserly, and one-sided.

Fear and guilt inexplicably generated out of the created order in a woman and man eating a Tree’s fruit.  It is not going to go away unless something changes and changes radically.  So what does Love do?  Love speaks because Love must speak.  Love speaks to a lowly woman of Samaria.  A woman doing a common, mundane ordinary thing like filling a water vessel.  The lowly woman[...]

Matthew 11.28–30

There is within us all a very sacred place, a gift of stillness, light, and love central to our being. We could call it our heart or soul or the indwelling of Christ. It’s at once a point of utter nothingness, while also giving birth to all things in heaven and on earth. It’s a place capable of holding with infinite gentleness both incredible beauty and terrible pain. Against all reason, it’s the place God chooses to call home, and so it’s our home, too. It’s the place where Christ is born, and from where we share Christ’s love and compassion in the world. It’s God’s eternal Kingdom within us, our common inheritance as children of Light.

Very often, though, it seems so difficult to even visit this place, let alone claim our inheritance. We live our lives as if in a dream, where we’re separate from God and from all there is, and often we don’t even realize we’re dreaming. But then something happens, we start feeling restless, a part us senses our perpetual slumber, and we desire something more: to awaken to God’s Loving Presence, and dwell in that sacred place. And our Beloved God is encouraging us all the time, tirelessly offering this generous gift. Unfortunately, we tend to slumber deeply, but there is a way of being more receptive to this gift, and it’s truly very, very simple.

It may even be hard to believe that so simple a thing can help us enjoy this gift of peace and joy in the eternal life of each moment. How simple? Well, I can sum it up in just one word: rest.

Now, the kind rest I’m talking about is a bit subtler then, say, taking a break from doing stuff, although it could include that. Of this particular kind of rest, Julian of Norwich writes: “For He is the Very Rest. / God wishes to be known, / And it pleases Him that / We rest in Him; / For all that is beneath Him / Will never satisfy us. / Therefore no soul is rested / Til it is emptied of all things / That are made. / When, for love of Him, / It is emptied, / The soul can / Receive His deep rest.”

Julian’s message on this deep rest is timely in this season of Lent, with our focus on readying ourselves for participation in Jesus’ resurrection through our baptism in Christ, a process of dying to self or self-emptying. This kind of rest, the kind Jesus offers us by taking his yoke and learning from him, is a rest we experience at the core of who we are, in the very depths of our being. But this begs the question, why aren’t our souls resting in the first place? Why all the restless weariness and heavy burdens? Well, the question of “why” is probably best left to our Beloved Holy One, but it seems to me that in the first place we were resting, in our first naiveté of the garden of Eden before taking that fateful bite out of the apple.

And then, suddenly, we think we know everything, distinguishing good from evil, this from that, and it might seem to work for us for a while. But then the restlessness sets in, and there’s a nagging feeling, perhaps not so much in words, that there’s something we’ve forgotten. The most important spiritual truths always feel like remembering, like a restoration of something lost. Remembering to receive God’s deep rest is like waking up from our slumber and noticing that peace and joy beyond our understanding are already here, and have been the entire time.

Staying asleep, though, can be very attractive, because in our dreams we’re in total control. We imagine we control things like our safety, our worth, and whatever goes into the self-image we present to the world. This makes the dream of separation and sin deceptively alluring, and it’s why we so resist be roused by God’s invitation.

Still, there is eternal peace and joy on the line. Who wouldn’t want to relinquish the illusion of control if this pearl of great price is at stake. Why would anyone resist the call to rest in this beautiful, sacred place within us filled with nothing except Christ’s light and love. Well, there is one small catch, one tiny detail [...]

Br. Jonathan Maury explores Jesus' interaction with Nicodemus, especially the concept of being "born anew" and "born from above." He invites our prayer for those who are to be baptized, as well as a renewal of our own Baptismal Covenant, as Lent draws near to Easter.