Reflecting on Genesis 12:1-4a

All we ask you, God, is to speak as clearly to us as you did to Abram.  Tell us to get up and wander to a new land.  We’ll pack today.   Send us down to Egypt during a famine and we’ll book our flight.  Show up at our door with two angels at your side and we’ll rush to make a huge meal for you.  Just speak to us, God.  We’re so confused.

I will make of you a great nation

How does one discern the will of God?  God speaks to us through our own history, our memory, our understanding.   St. Ignatius of Loyola counsels us to notice what gives us peace, what gives us energy, what makes us unhappy, or burdened with guilt.  To paraphrase the old physical therapist joke, Does it hurt when you are cynical, or selfish, or lazy?  Then stop doing that.

Does it feel good when you end a conversation that is sliding into gossip and meanness?  Do that some more.  Does your spirit rejoice when you are the first to apologize, or to reach out for reconciliation?  I suspect you have wandered into the very heart of God.

Like Abraham and Sarah, we sojourn in a land that God unveils to us throughout our lives.  It’s a land marked by mistakes and bitter regrets, but shot through with grace and gradual healing.  Pay attention to what makes you truly happy, truly peaceful.  Abraham, at 75, lived one hundred more years after he discerned God’s call.  Let’s all keep listening.

At what times do you feel the most connected with God?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Genesis 2:7-9; 3:1-7; Matthew 4:1-11

What a sneaky snake that serpent was.  He made his appearance in the Garden (who let him in to begin with?) and right away started lying.  That’s the thing about enemies. They take a lie and find a way to re-word it so it sounds like the truth.  Maybe they know we prefer the lie to begin with.

When the snake first encountered Eve he framed his question/lie masterfully:  What?  God told you you couldn’t eat from any of the trees in the Garden?  But Eve corrected the Enemy:  No, we can eat from all the trees except the one in the middle. If we eat from that we will die.

Now here is something you’ll never hear from a liar:  You caught me.  I was trying to stir up some drama, but you knew the truth and you knew that I wasn’t relating it correctly and you nailed me.  Sorry.  I’ll sliver away under my rock and never bother you again.

But no.  The serpent turned up the heat by telling a greater lie, which fell on Eve’s receptive ears:  You poor thing!  You certainly won’t die! Don’t you realize that if you eat from this tree you’ll be as wise as gods?  You are the victim here and I am just outraged for you.

A million years later the Tempter tried the same lies on Jesus.  But the new Adam rejected Satan, and all his works, and all his empty promises.  And at the end of these forty days we will gather at the Easter Font, renew our baptismal promises, and reject the Liar once again.

What lies do you resolve to reject this Lent?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).