I Have Power to Lay It Down

Good Friday

No one takes [my life] from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.  I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again (Jn. 10:18).

Today, when you look upon your Savior on the cross – don’t feel guilty.  It isn’t enough.  Feel elated, feel loved, feel treasured and valuable.  No one takes my life, he said, I lay it down.  I lay it down because I love you, and I want to show you who I am; I will show you who you are; I am showing you who we are together.

Jesus is a victim, but a willing one.  The greatest love is this, he said, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (Jn. 15:13).  Today, accept the friendship offered by the one on the Cross.  That is one thing that can make today very Good.


One Hour Retreat for Holy Week

Years ago in a course on the Synoptic Gospels, an assignment changed my life.  Fr. Frank Matera instructed us to read the Gospel of Mark – from beginning to end – in one sitting.  Before we began reading, we were to forget everything we thought we knew about Jesus – to set aside all of the deeply-engrained images, long-held presumptions and preconceived ideas we had accumulated over the course of our lives.  Reading Mark’s account, we were to meet Jesus for the first time – to encounter him with open minds in this fast-paced narrative – to be confronted by the radical life and urgent demands of this Jesus of Nazareth.  It was an assignment offered in an academic setting, but it had the potential to transform us at a far deeper level.

There is a general consensus among scholars that Mark’s Gospel was the first of the canonical Gospels to be written.  It is exciting to read a text so ancient and so raw, a text that was almost certainly used as the framework for the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.  I invite you to set aside one hour sometime this week, find a quiet place, and open your Bible to the Gospel of Mark (which is significantly shorter than the other Gospels).  Use your imagination and travel through the narrative with Jesus.  Listen to him, watch him, witness his death.  Be honest with yourself about what he is asking of you.  You are a disciple, and he is your Master.  You will never be the same!

Christ Healing a Leper, by Rembrandt

Christ Healing a Leper, by Rembrandt


Lessons of the Trees #2: Salvation

I’ve been thinking a lot about Zacchaeus lately.  I’ve always related to the story of his encounter with Jesus, knowing that I too would have had to climb a tree to have the slightest hope of seeing Jesus over a crowd!  It’s a great story for kids – that’s when I remember first hearing it.  I loved to climb trees, and I could just imagine climbing up a tree, and looking down to find Jesus looking up at me.

It’s a bit of an upside-down situation.  We usually look up into the skies to find Jesus.  Even though we know Heaven isn’t in the clouds, and the presence of Jesus is much more complex (or simple) than up or down, the orientation in our minds is Jesus above, ourselves below.  But Zacchaeus, in all of his shortness, and in all of his determination to see Jesus, to figure out who he was, did something that usually only children do.  He climbed a tree, to see over the crowds, to look down and see the face of Jesus for himself.

The real surprise in the story comes when Jesus – cutting through the crowd – hones in on Zacchaeus.  He calls him down from the tree.  He wants to be a guest at Zacchaeus’ house.  And Zacchaeus is utterly transformed by the attention, by Jesus’ desire, by the brief encounter with the man passing through Jericho.

You can bet Zacchaeus scrambled down from that tree.  I don’t know how tall Jesus was, but when they stood together under the sycamore tree, they looked at one another, eye to eye.  And salvation came to the house of Zacchaeus (Lk. 19:9). 


How to Be Like Jesus

‘Learn from me’ not how to make a world, not how to create all visible and invisible things, nor how to do miracles in the world and revive the dead; but ‘because I am meek and humble of heart.’

 -- St. Augustine


The Cross in the Poustinia

Among Servant of God Catherine Doherty’s greatest legacies is her re-invention or re-imagination of the Russian custom of “poustinia.”  A poustinik, or one who was called to enter into a poustinia, was someone who heard the call of God and retreated into the Russian forest to live a life of solitude and prayer in a small, sparsely furnished cabin (his “poustinia”).  The poustinik would live in this cabin for the rest of his life, or until God called him out to speak the word he had learned in his poustinia.  The word was not the result of study or intelligence.  It was a prophetic word, the crystallized result of many, many hours of solitude.

In her spiritual masterpiece, Poustinia, Catherine describes this sparse cabin – the place where the poustinik would endure hours of loneliness and quiet, where he in some mystical way held all of humanity with him, where he encountered God in the silence:

The poustinia must be stark in its simplicity and poverty.  It must contain a table and a chair.  On the table there must be a bible.  There should also be a pencil and some paper.  In one corner are a basin and pitcher for washing up.  The bed, if bed there be, should be a cot with wooden slats instead of a mattress, a couple of blankets or quilts and a pillow if absolutely necessary….  Drinking water, a loaf of bread…the makings for tea and coffee.  Prominent in the poustinia is a cross without a corpus, about six feet by three feet, which is nailed to the wall, and an icon of Our Lady in the eastern corner with a vigil light in front of it.  The cross without a corpus is a symbol of one’s own crucifixion on it, for those of us who love Christ passionately want to be crucified with him so as to know the joy of his resurrection.

The most striking aspect of this description (besides the lack of mattress!) is the life-sized cross that dominated the small poustinia.  Catherine repeats the words of a Russian proverb:  “The cross of Jesus has two sides.”  One side is for Jesus.  And the other side, of course, is for each one of us.

The life of the poustinik may seem unattainable and even unreal to most of us.  But according to Catherine, we are all called to be poustiniks (more on this later!).  For now, it is enough to ponder – have you seen the cross on the wall of your own poustinia?  Do you turn away from it, or do you meditate on it?  Are you willing to suffer on your side of the cross, so that you may love him passionately, and know the joy of his resurrection?