If you’re like me, ‘justice’ is an idea that stirs up a complicated mix of hope and resignation—especially lately. The pain and struggle that I see when I look at the world around me do make me long deeply for justice and healing. But they also make that healing feel so far away—barely out of reach even at the best of times.
Accept My Living Sacrifice
in the shadow of the cross
“There is a grace found in the crucifixion, a moment wherein all the ugliness and shadow of the world, corrupt political power, unbridled ambition, shame, blame, fear, and privilege meet at the cross, and all is brought to light. Yet in that exposure, we are not condemned but claimed, not destroyed, but restored, not banished but forgiven.”
– the Rev. Fr. Jered Weber-Johnson (Rector, Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist)
confessional note
I’ve been doing a 19th Annotation version of St. Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises for the last couple months with a group assembled by my spiritual director. We just finished moving through the second ‘Week’ of the Exercises, especially focused on sin’s role in our lives. I was unable to attend our biweekly check-in because I’ve been sick with a fever. But I asked my spiritual director to share this note with the small group. Thought I’d share it here…
You raised me to your cheek
Grace Nair (née Mary “Grace” Modale Pothen; d. 11 October 2018 at 4:25PM EST) and grandson Jayan Koshy (né Jayan Nair)
“When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
the more they went from me;
they kept sacrificing to the Baals,
and offering incense to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them.”
— Hosea 11:1-4 NRSV
Spiritual disciplines and the Work
We've been on vacation in Toronto for the last week. It's been a much-needed break from the stress of my work recently—exhausting in its own way, but still salutary. This past Sunday we went to Mass at a small Anglo-Catholic parish called St. Stephen-in-the-Fields. It's in Kensington Market, a neighborhood of Toronto that's known for its... eccentricity. It has a similar feel to Christiania in Denmark: hippy shops, bizarre art installations, and open drug use (mostly cannabis, but not exclusively). It's lower income than the Toronto average and can feel a bit rough around the edges.
In the moment of the beautiful
I've been reading David Bentley Hart. Partly because of my Ortho-curiosity (to borrow a term from a @paige_smith_ on Twitter) and partly because Benji's brother highly recommended him. Despite being fairly well read in Neo-Calvinist theology, my literacy of broader conversations in Christian theology is... lacking. So I'm slowly working through Hart's work, and this bit in the introduction to The Beauty of the Infinite stuck out to me:
Loving rubble - Friday, Proper 7, Year 2 (oops)
I forgot today was a feast day until I had already prayed Matins and Twitter reminded me that today we commemorate Ss. Peter & Paul. Normally I try to be meticulous about observing the feasts of those saints who are most important to me. But getting out of bed this morning was a real struggle, and I was on auto-pilot (and honestly lucky I even mustered the willpower for Morning Prayer). So I read the "wrong" lessons.