Mark 10:45

Tag: Scriptural Reflection

  • The “Talking Cure”

    The “Talking Cure”

    Friday of the Third Week of Lent

    Hosea 14:2-10; Mark 12:28-34

    I’ve noticed in my spiritual life that sometimes my problem isn’t finding the time or place to pray. It’s finding the words. I have things on my mind, feelings I want to express, but as I approach the tabernacle, words simply fail me. I sit there thinking, “Well?” and wonder if God is saying the same.

    Those are the times I’m likely to say, “Lord, I can’t find the words. I don’t know what to say.” But even going that far seems to break the spiritual ice. Even if slowly, words start flowing after that, and I feel better.

    At least for me, saying something – basically, anything – seems to help.

    It turns out that I’m not alone. Psychologists discovered over a century ago that peoples’ inner wounds began to heal when they found a way to put into words whatever they were carrying, be it guilt, regret, fear, or failure.

    They called it “the talking cure,” and you’ve probably seen it your own life. I think we all have. There’s something about speaking the truth out loud, rather than keeping it inside, that causes pain or anxiety to loosen its hold on us.

    Of course, long before either we or psychologists came across it, God already knew it. We hear it in the reading from Hosea when the prophet says, “Return to the Lord your God…Take with you words.”

    That’s it. “Take with you words.” Not “Bring sacrifices,” “Make sure everything inside you is fixed,” or “Prove that you’ve changed.” All He asks is that they “bring words” – that is, speak to Him.

    It worked then and works to this day. When we go to Confession, we do exactly what Hosea describes. We bring words. “I have sinned,” “I have failed,” “I could have done better.”

    And something remarkable happens. The burden we carried begins to lift; not just psychologically, but spiritually. Best of all, God answers our words with the most merciful and healing words of His own: “I absolve you.”

    Of course, it isn’t just about removing guilt. It’s also about love. Remember what Jesus said today in the gospel when asked about the greatest commandment. He said, “love the Lord your God with all your heart.”

    That’s the goal of Lent – to love God more and more deeply. That doesn’t begin with grand gestures or perfect prayers, but with the smallest step: finding the words and bringing them to God.

    As Hosea said, take with you words. Come back and speak to Him again.

    —

  • The Point of the Law

    The Point of the Law

    Wednesday of the 3rd Week of Lent

    Deuteronomy 4:1, 5-9; John 6:63c, 68c; Matthew 5:17-19

    On a break during Canon Law class, the professor told me about a case he studied years before.

    On one side was a priest whose behavior showed a blatant disregard of Canon Law. He acted as if it simply didn’t apply to him. On the other side, the prosecuting priest was just as extreme in the opposite direction. He clung so tightly to the letter of the law that he almost made it an end in itself.

    The professor said that every clergyman must remember above all the last canon in the Church’s law. Its final line says this: ‘The salvation of souls must always be the supreme law of the Church.’ “So remember,” Father said, “when you deal with people, the law isn’t there to control them or to be ignored. The law exists to save souls.”

    That’s exactly what Christ teaches in today’s Gospel. When he says he has not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it, our minds might jump to the Pharisees or others, who treated the law as an end in itself. But I believe he was also thinking of people who lived as if God’s commandments were optional.

    Maybe, before my mind jumps to anyone else, I should take a look at myself. Are there times in my life – like when I do something wrong – that I look the other way, make excuses, or go easy on myself? And are there other times when I’m hard or unforgiving – say perhaps when someone offends me or someone I love? The truth is, I don’t have to look very far to find that I myself live on both sides of the continuum; I am both priests Father talked with me about.

    All the more reason for me to remember Father’s lesson – the law exists to save souls, to give life. The Gospel Acclamation said it so well – His words are Spirit and life (John 6:63, 68); medicine for the soul and meant to bring us all to everlasting life.

    So when Jesus says he has not come to abolish the law but fulfill it, he’s reminding us of something simple but very profound: God did not give us his commandments to control us or offer suggestions. He gave them to save us.

    With that in mind, here’s a way we can live out the gospel this week: Choose one commandment and bring it to life in a small, concrete way. For example, if it’s the Fifth Commandment, speak gently in a situation in which you might otherwise speak in anger. If it’s the Seventh Commandment, be honest yet gentle, even if that’s inconvenient. In all things, let the law guide you to life, not weigh you down.

    When we do such things, our actions show the world that the most important thing is that the law points the way to Jesus, who himself is the Way.

    And the Truth.

    And the Life.

    —

  • Being a “Keeper”

    Being a “Keeper”

    Monday of the 3rd Week of Lent

    2 Kings 5:1-15ab

    When I was a boy, our family car stopped running while Dad and I were visiting one of his friends. A big, powerful engine… completely frozen. Dad and his friend tore the engine apart and discovered the problem: a tiny metal piece called a “keeper” that held a piston in place. Just a little part, no bigger than your fingertip. But without it, the whole engine was useless.

    Again and again in Scripture, God works through small voices:

    • A shepherd boy defeats a giant.
    • A widow’s two coins outweigh a fortune.
    • A child’s lunch feeds a crowd.
    • And today, a little slave girl starts the miracle that heals Naaman.

    I think the lesson is clear. We should never dismiss someone because they seem insignificant. God chooses whomever He wills, not whoever makes sense to us.

    The slave girl is a perfect case in point. On the one hand, she had no power, no position, no influence. On the other, she did have the courage to speak the truth she knew: “If only my master would go to the prophet in Israel…”

    Because she spoke, a man was healed. And that healing began with something very small: one person willing to speak, and another willing to listen, even to someone he could have easily ignored.

    This raises two questions for us:

    First: Who are the little voices in my life? Who might God be speaking through that I tend to overlook? A child… a spouse… a friend… a stranger… even someone who irritates me.

    Second: To whom might I be the little voice? Maybe God wants to use one small word from me – a word of encouragement, an invitation, a reminder about prayer, a quiet act of kindness — to start something good in someone else’s life.

    Sometimes the engine of grace in someone’s life is waiting for one tiny “keeper”— one small voice willing to speak. Let us ask Almighty God for the grace to hear that voice ourselves, and to be that voice for others.

  • Coming to the Well

    Coming to the Well

    3rd Sunday of Lent

    John 4:5-42

    During Lent, the Church quietly leads us through the great needs of the human heart. In the first three Sundays, we encounter three of them: Faith, hope, and love.

    On the first Sunday of Lent, we saw how faith is tested in hunger and isolation. Physically, Jesus was alone and weakened by a long fast; spiritually, though, he was as strong as ever and never alone. Why not? Because his union with the Father remained intact. The same is true for us; faith strengthens and sustains us. Without it, we are weak and alone.

    Then on the second Sunday of Lent, we saw how hope is strengthened despite the trials we face. At the Transfiguration, the disciples were given a glimpse of who Jesus really is. This was the sign that says, “Suffering is not the end. Glory is real.” Hope in Christ prevents discouragement; without it, suffering becomes meaningless.

    Now, on this third Sunday of Lent, we come to the well, as does the Samaritan woman. No hunger, no glory, just thirst. But not for water. No, something much deeper. In her case, I think it’s for dignity and belonging. She comes to the well alone during the heat of the day, when it’s deserted. Why? It’s hard to believe it’s by her choice. Perhaps she has been shunned by the townspeople on account of her several marriages. If so, that would be worst of all. As someone once observed, the worst loneliness isn’t being alone; it’s being with people who make you feel alone.

    Although it’s hard to be fully in touch with her circumstances, I think we can all understand isolation and loneliness. A recent survey has found that, despite all the connections we make on our cellphones and computers, loneliness in our society is widespread, especially among young people.

    How can this be? There may be many reasons, but one thing is clear: when God is removed from the center of life, something essential is lost. As the Church reminds us these first three weeks of Lent, without faith in God, we mistrust; without hope in Him, we despair; and without the love of God, we remain alone, no matter how many people are around us. As a culture, we thirst like the Samaritan woman does: for communion, for belonging, and above all for grace – the only thing that can make us whole – for grace is participation in the life of God.

    Our Lord’s response is instructive for us. Aware of her circumstances, what does he do? Well, first look at what he doesn’t do: He doesn’t give her rules or command her to repent. No; he gives her himself. And that encounter restores what is lacking in her life – dignity, truth, and belonging.

    That is charity. That is the love of God.

    And look at the effect! In these brief few minutes under that hot Mediterranean sun, a woman who arrived at the well alone leaves her water jar behind and runs back to the town. A moment ago, it was as if she was hidden; now, she is not only making herself seen, but also heard – by bringing people to Christ.

    That kind of transformation is waiting for each of us, and shows us the importance of Baptism. The virtues of faith, hope, and love infused in us by God at our baptism aren’t simply things that are “nice to have.” Without them, we live surrounded by people, yet untouched at the center. With them, communion with God and each other is not only possible, but is ours for the asking.

    But that means we have to ask. How? Well, as with the Samaritan woman, Jesus waits at the well. Where’s that? Right here, in the tabernacle. As St. Josemaria Escriva once said, “When you approach the tabernacle, remember that Jesus has been waiting for you for centuries.”

    Knowing that, I invite you this week – today if you like – to come and make one deliberate visit to the Lord. Sit right here in the church. Stay five extra minutes after Mass today or during the week. Or, visit him in the Adoration Chapel. Whichever you do, tell him honestly where you thirst. If you don’t know, tell him that, too. Ask him to show you those places in your life, and help you with them.

    Then listen. He will speak.

  • Full of Emptiness

    Full of Emptiness

    Monday of the 2nd Week of Lent

    Daniel 9:4b-10; Luke 6:36-38

    Visiting a newly built Catholic church, I asked my host why it was so plain and unadorned. He replied that the planning committee chose a Buddhist-inspired design to help people “come to emptiness” in prayer.

    Later, a priest commented on that idea. He said, “The problem with that kind of design is that our goal as Catholics is not to come to emptiness. Just the opposite! We are to come to the fullness of life in Christ.”

    Of course, emptiness has value. We need to empty ourselves of sin. We see that in the reading from the Book of Daniel. He stands before God and confesses, “We have sinned.” Daniel doesn’t blame others. He humbles himself, empties himself of pride.

    That kind of emptiness is holy; it makes room for mercy.

    But emptiness is not the final goal, fullness is. And in today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us how fullness comes: Give, and gifts will be given to you… a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing (Luke 6:38). In the marketplace of his day, a merchant would press and shake the grain to make sure the measure was full, not skimpy. Then it would be poured into the fold of the buyer’s garment.

    Jesus is describing overflowing abundance.

    But notice the order: Give, and you will receive. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Be merciful as your Father is merciful.

    We may think we’ll be full if we protect ourselves; measure carefully; give only what feels safe. But Jesus says the measure we use on others will be used on us.

    That isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. If we measure generously, forgive generously, and show mercy generously, God will do the same to us.

    So, today the question is simple: Where am I measuring tightly? Who needs my mercy? Who am I still judging instead of forgiving?

    We empty ourselves of sin, yes. But we fill ourselves with Christ by giving. And when we dare to give generously, we find that God’s generosity is infinitely greater: packed together, shaken down, and overflowing.

  • Three Reasons to Thank God

    Three Reasons to Thank God

    Wednesday of the 1st Week in Lent

    Jonah 3:1-10; Psalm 51:3-4, 12-13, 18-19; Luke 11:29-32

    Today we heard again from that beautiful penitential psalm, Psalm 51. David’s yearning for forgiveness is plain, but I think equally plain is his desire to feel the restoration of joy that follows it. We can hear it in lines like, “Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have crushed rejoice… Restore to me the joy of your salvation” (Psalm 51:9, 12). Contrition blossoms into the thanksgiving of a joyful heart.

    I’m sure the people of Nineveh felt that same joy after heeding Jonah’s warning and coming to repentance. I’m also sure that many of us, after leaving the Confessional, feel it too.

    In that spirit, my advice based on these readings is to take a moment today to thank God in three ways.

    First, thank God for the signs He has sent you. Nineveh had Jonah. The Queen of the South had Solomon. Who did you have? I can think of so many – my parents, the nuns, priests, and laypeople who taught me, the priests who formed me, the bishop who ordained me, parishioners who pray for and sustain me. Let us thank God for all those He put in our lives who brought us to faith, formed us in it, or have encouraged us to keep trying.

    Second, thank God for the times He has made you a sign to others. You might think, “Hey, I’m no sign. I’m just an ordinary person.” So was Jonah! Did you notice the first reading began by telling us this was the second time God sent him? The first time, Jonah ran away! Still, despite his failings, God used him. Jonah needed God’s strength (we call it fortitude) and so do we. It takes strength to stay married, to forgive, to keep praying despite setbacks. Those are all signs to others, and you’ve done them. And because you did, others have seen that faith is not just possible, it’s life giving. Thank God!

    Finally, thank God for the Sign that is greater than all others. In the gospel, Jesus said, “Something greater than Jonah is here.” Indeed! Here, at Mass, is something far, far greater than Jonah or Solomon. Of course, the sign isn’t a prophet pointing or warning; it is our Lord’s true, total, and abiding Presence. Yes, Nineveh had a preacher, but we have the Eucharist. They had a warning, we have Mercy Himself.

    No wonder the gospel acclamation urged us to return to God. There is no better place to thank Him – in His House, and before His Eucharistic Face.

  • By Heart, From the Heart

    By Heart, From the Heart

    Sunday of the 6th Week in Ordinary Time

    Sirach 15:15-20; Psalm 119:34; 1 Corinthians 2:6-10; Matthew 5:17-37

    Years ago, I served on the pro-life committee of the parish I attended. At one meeting, I noticed that the more we talked about changing the law, the less comfortable one of our members became. When asked why, she said, “I don’t want to focus on changing laws. I want to focus on changing hearts so the very idea of abortion becomes unthinkable.”

    While I believe there’s room for both, I understood what she meant. And I hear echoes of that perspective in the Gospel today.

    The writers of the New Testament don’t portray Jesus as just another wise man offering good advice. St. Paul calls him the wisdom of God (1 Corinthians 1:24). And that means he is uniquely able to reveal what the Law was always meant to do.

    So when Jesus says, “You have heard it said… but I say to you…”, he isn’t correcting Moses. He’s reaching beyond the letter of the Law to its heart.

    That’s why he moves from “Do not kill” to the anger that leads to it, and from “Do not commit adultery” to the disordered ways we too often look at or relate to one another. He isn’t dismissing the Law — he’s uncovering its deepest purpose.

    And what is that purpose? Love. Love is the heart of the Law – both love of God and love of neighbor. It’s true that the purpose of having laws is to keep us from wrongdoing, but it’s also true that a heart formed in love makes wrongdoing unthinkable. Jesus is calling us to live not just under the law, but from the heart and by heart.

    When we learn something by heart, we don’t just memorize it. We absorb it so deeply that it becomes part of us. That’s what Christ wants. He’s not asking us to merely memorize commandments, but to learn goodness by heart. He knows that if we do that, then obedience to God’s law will show through the goodness that flows from our hearts.

    So how do we learn goodness by heart? I think the Psalm for today said it best: Give me understanding, that I may observe your law and keep it with all my heart (Psalm 119:34). OK then, what is understanding? Understanding is a gift of the Holy Spirit that shows us how the truths of our faith apply to our daily lives. We can cultivate that gift by taking the time every day – perhaps in the evening, or just before bed – to look back on our day and ask ourselves some questions: What good did I do? What did I fail to do? Did I live as though I remembered, as Sirach said in the first reading, that the eyes of God are upon me? I might fool myself into thinking I’m alone sometimes, but remember Sirach. The all-seeing God is always watching.

    The goal of keeping that in mind isn’t to frighten myself into obedience or putting together a list of the commandments I’ve broken – although such a list is useful. No, the goal is to identify what lies at the heart of my behavior. What are my attitudes about life, the people around me, and myself? Do I take people or things for granted? How do I respond when the going gets tough, or when someone really needs me? As I come to understand myself better, I can resolve to make changes where I need to.

    Of course, this takes time. None of us arrives overnight. But Christ, who is Wisdom itself, patiently writes God’s law on our hearts — through prayer, the Eucharist, forgiveness, and the daily practice of charity.

    Yes, it requires effort on our part. But over time, loving God and loving our neighbor becomes less a burden and more an instinct.

    That isn’t abolishing the Law. That is the Law fulfilled — in a heart made like Christ’s.

    —

  • Overcoming Familiarity

    Overcoming Familiarity

    Wednesday of the 4th Week in Ordinary Time

    Mark 6:1-6

    When Abraham Lincoln first met Frederick Douglass, he didn’t think much of him. He certainly didn’t regard him as an equal; to the contrary, he believed that Douglass had nothing to teach him. But over time and repeated meetings, Lincoln came to see that Douglass, while not educated the way he was, possessed a moral clarity and insight on the issue of slavery that he himself lacked. He came to depend on Douglass for advice. At Lincoln’s second inauguration, when policemen barred Douglass from coming near, Lincoln insisted that he stay. In fact, he took Douglass by the hand and said, “There is no man in the country whose opinion I value more than yours. What do you think of my speech?”

    Because Lincoln opened himself to listen to Frederick Douglass, a deeper truth was allowed to shape history. Sadly, this was not the case with the people of Nazareth, who allowed familiarity with Jesus to harden their hearts to the point that God was left with no room to work. As Mark tells us, he was not able to perform any mighty deed there (Mark 6:5).

    We all know the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt, but I think it can also breed dismissal. The people of Nazareth dismissed the idea that Jesus had anything to teach them; as far as they were concerned, they already knew everything worth knowing about him.

    I can’t really criticize them. I’ve seen a similar attitude at times in myself. Because I’ve studied theology a lot, read many books and articles, and taken many classes, I get tempted to think, “OK, now I think I know everything I need to know about God.” If you’ve ever had similar thoughts, I urge you to remember this gospel passage, for that’s exactly the kind of thinking that closes the door to God, giving Him no room to work in us or through us.

    Our faith thrives on openness, and the key to openness is humility. That’s what brought Lincoln around – the humility to recognize his own limits, and to start listening where he least expected wisdom to be found.

    Today’s gospel presents us with the same choice. It’s not whether Jesus has power, but whether we will allow him to teach us again; perhaps through Scripture passages we’ve heard many times before, a person we think we already understand well enough, or a moment that feels ordinary.

    The people of Nazareth could not move past asking, “Isn’t this the carpenter?” The question for us is simpler and more unsettling: Have we already decided who Jesus is, and stopped listening?

  • Take the Underdog

    Take the Underdog

    Memorial of St. Agnes, Virgin and Martyr

    1 Samuel 17:32-33, 37, 40-51

    I’m not a gambler, and in my case, I shouldn’t be. Why? Because I love to root for the underdog. I can’t help it. That little one out there with virtually no chance—I’ll take them every time.

    That puts me in good stead not only for David against Goliath but also St. Agnes against the power of Rome. I mean, what chance does either one really have? Here is David – young, untrained, no armor, no sword – up against a mighty, giant Philistine warrior. And there is Agnes – young, no power, no status, no protection – up against a brutal Roman world. By any human measure, neither one stands a chance.

    But we’re not dealing with human measures, and we’re not dealing with chance; we’re dealing with God, who empowers those who place their trust in Him. Yes, David is brave, and that goes a long way, but true strength is a lot more than that; it’s knowing whose battle this really is. As David says, “The battle is the LORD’s.” And yes, Agnes is also brave, but her true strength is knowing that she belongs to Christ, that He is her only refuge.

    Both could have chosen a kind of protection the world offered, but neither one did. David refused Saul’s armor because it wasn’t his strength. Agnes refused the false armor of social status, safety, or compromise, because those would cost her fidelity to Christ. For David, Agnes, and all who trust in Him, God is their champion, their hope, and their protection.

    Trust in God remains a challenge to this day. We may not face the warriors or empires these two did, but our battles are no less deadly. We try to pass on the faith to our children and grandchildren in a culture that finds Christianity irrelevant; we face illnesses, or the loneliness or fatigue of age; we are tempted to believe that anything we do for God is too small to matter.

    Let the examples of David and Agnes remind us today of three things:

    1. God never waits for us to be strong or confident enough. He reveals His strength precisely where we are weak.

    2. The holiness He has called us to is not about having power. It’s about refusing to give our heart to anything or anyone other than God.

    3. God doesn’t ask us to be fearless in our struggles. What He asks is that we push beyond our fear to faith, for that alone is the assurance that, no matter what the world thinks of our chances, with Him and in Him, we are never defeated.
  • I Cannot See What I’m Looking At

    I Cannot See What I’m Looking At

    The 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time, B

    Isaiah 49:3, 5-6; Psalm 40:2, 4, 7-8, 8-9, 10; 1 Corinthians 1:1-3; John 1:29-34

    As we look across the Bible, certain themes tend to keep showing up. One example shows itself today; it’s something I call, “I cannot see what I am looking at.” What is that? Well, in story after story, book after book, we find that a person’s significance or calling is completely unrecognized until someone discerns and names it. Think of King David. No one – not his family, his friends, not even the great Samuel himself – realized that this unassuming little shepherd had been chosen by God to lead Israel.

    There are many others – Gideon, Samuel himself, Queen Esther, Moses – showing this same pattern. God’s work is right there, people are looking right at it, but nobody sees it until someone points it out. And that someone is usually God Himself.

    What got me thinking about that was the mysterious line in the gospel spoken by John the Baptist: “I did not know him.” He says it twice! But weren’t they cousins? Did the two kids never hang out? Didn’t John leap in his mother’s womb when Jesus’s pregnant mother walked in? What’s going on?

    It’s that theme. John couldn’t see what he was looking at. Yes, he saw Jesus, perhaps many times, but not until the Spirit revealed it to him did he come to recognize who Jesus was. That’s why, after the Spirit descends, John says, “Now I have seen and testified…” In other words, “Now God has shown me.”

    It isn’t that we’re spiritually blind or refusing to see. Rather, as St. Paul said, we see, but through a glass, darkly. Samuel saw David, God saw a king. Gideon looked at himself and saw a weak man, God saw a warrior. Esther saw a crown, God saw a champion. In every case, human eyes were open, but understanding was closed. Recognition of God’s work requires revelation, not mere human insight.

    The lesson for us is simple, and very fitting for these weeks we call “Ordinary Time.” We hear the word ‘ordinary’ and think ‘plain, unremarkable.’ But ‘ordinary’ in Church time means ‘counted’ – the first week of Ordinary Time, the second, etc. In fact, Ordinary Time is far from plain or unremarkable; it’s the challenge of learning to see, with God’s help, what is already right in front of us.

    What’s the challenge? Familiarity. We actually see too well. We hear the start of a familiar reading or Eucharistic prayer and are tempted to think, “Oh, I know this one,” and tune out. Or we get so used to looking at one another that we don’t see the treasure each of us really is. Perhaps worst or all, we’re so used to seeing ourselves that we look in the mirror and think, “What’s the big deal? There’s nothing extraordinary about me.”

    That certainly isn’t what God thinks. Each time Scripture is read is a new time; we are different than last time, the situation is different, God is speaking to us right now, where we are. Each Eucharistic prayer brings us spiritually to the eternal moment of the crucifixion of Christ; he is dying that we might have life. Each person, ourselves and those around us are, in his eyes, infinitely precious; well worth dying for. And he loves each of us so much that he wouldn’t make the world without us.

    So, we fall victim to the same trap that many do in the Bible: we cannot see what we’re looking at. And we won’t see it unless the Spirit reveals it and we are attuned to it.

    Attuning to it means starting with some hard questions. What am I looking at every day but not recognizing? Where is God present around me but unnamed? Whose dignity or vocation am I overlooking — including my own?

    Just as John needed the Spirit to recognize Jesus, we need the Spirit to recognize grace in even the most “ordinary” places. But we also need humility. As John said, “I did not know him,” so we might say, “Lord, I don’t always know you. Please, help me see.” That says the plain truth: Faith isn’t about figuring God out or discovering something new, but realizing how God is already here. What’s missing isn’t information, but recognition.

    Perhaps the Baptist helps us out here, too. In a little while, we’ll hear words so familiar that they almost pass right through us: “Behold the Lamb of God.” John said that because he recognized (at last!) who was standing in front of him. Every time we hear them at Mass, the Church helps us do what John did — name what we would otherwise miss. What Father is holding is no longer bread, and this is no mere ritual. This is the Lamb who takes away the sins of the world. He is here, right in our midst.

    Finally, we are meant to take that revelation with us as we go, and make it make a difference in the world. Where is Christ? He’s in the people next to us, the people at the store, on the street, at school, at work, or wherever we are. We look at them, but do we see them? And as for ourselves, when you look in the mirror, see Christ, who desires to work in you and through you.

    John said, “I did not know him.” Let us say, “Lord, I don’t always recognize you, especially when you come quietly, in those deceptive, ordinary ways. Please send me the Holy Spirit again. Help me see what I’m looking at.”

    —