Received like Christ

Let all guests who arrive be received like Christ, for He is going to say, "I came as a guest, and you received Me" (Matt. 25:35). And to all let due honor be shown, especially to the domestics of the faith and to pilgrims…In the reception of the poor and of pilgrims the greatest care and solicitude should be shown, because it is especially in them that Christ is received. Rule of St. Benedict

Today I brought over a gentleman that will be occupying a bed in Edmonton, Alberta's Hope Mission shelter. He is close to our family. I just appreciated how welcome a couple of the staff people made him. How humour and good natured banter relieved for him the awkwardness, shyness, and newness of the place and situation.

"I came as a guest, and you received me."

Great Big Mercy

“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him…And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.”

Gospel logic says that mercy leads to light and that condemnation is the domain of darkness. Darkness always condemns itself. Condemnation is a self-infecting virus, a circular plague of mutual condemnation. This was the way we were. Lovers of darkness and condemnation.

God sent the Son and exposed our way of fashioning a world through condemnation. A great big mercy that wakes us up to great big light.

Life Conditioner

For just as the Father has life in himself… (John 5)

There is an episode in the movie "Proof" where the prim sister was explaining how a certain conditioner would give her hair life. Playing off the prim sister was of course the irascible sister who informed her that in fact hair is dead tissue and therefore no matter how amazing the conditioner, it was unlikely to give her hair life. The best any conditioner can do is put a good gloss on what is dead.

This sounds too obvious but one of the advantages of growing older is a growing clarity about my contingency. That is, I'm steadily coming to know who I am in relation to everything around me. Coming to recognize that the things that look secure probably aren't. Coming to know through trust-experiences that it's not me that gives, opens up, and sustains life for myself. Coming to see that on my own steam I am, at best, hair conditioner.

And the happy by-product here is the concomitant ability to see what things make for life and what things are merely gloss. Another name for this "by-product" is freedom.

Perhaps simply moving in this freedom is one of the best things we can offer because it can't help but point back to the One "who has life in himself".

Starbucks Log The Gift

A young man, late teens, early twenties, small, wearing oversize pants and two hoodies, shuffled in through the glass doors at Starbucks. He spied one of the purple cushioned chairs and moved toward it. Dropping a clear plastic garbage bag containing a some balled up clothes, he slumped down and sank into the chair.

He looked as though he was outside for the night–a cold, rainy and windy night. In a few minutes his chin found his chest, his eyes shut, a grey cotton hood fell over his forehead concealing most of his face, and his body rested, motionless.

Five minutes later a slightly plump, black haired lady with a soft face, set down a coffee and a small paper bag with what I supposed was a muffin, on the squat round coffee table beside the chair where the young man was sleeping. She placed a card on top of the bag.

A few minutes later a waiter came over, reached down and nudged the young man's shoulder. When he opened his eyes the waiter told him he was sorry, but that he just couldn't sleep there.

The youth was still struggling for an awake state when he saw the gift beside him. He picked up the note, and blinking, scanned it, then studied it. Conscious of me looking over at him he raised his head. I smiled. His cast his eyes back down and trained them on the coffee. A moment passed, too curious, I asked him what the note said. He hesitated but pulled it out of his pocket. It was a business card. He read the handwriting on the back of it, "If you want to get clean call me." I got up and went over to see what business the lady owned or perhaps represented. The title on the card said, 'Jewish Family Services'.

When I sat back down the youth asked if it was me. I assured him no, and described the black-haired lady. He asked if I knew of the agency. I said I didn't but did know about a place called Hope Mission. He stared out the window a moment then picked up his large plastic bag, dropped in the muffin, twisted it closed and slung it over his right shoulder. Holding his coffee in his left hand, he raised it to me, and walked back out the glass doors into the grey morning.