Sunday, August 26, 2007

Where I'm Coming From

“Lord, will only a few people be saved?”
He answered them,
“Strive to enter through the narrow gate,
for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter
but will not be strong enough.
After the master of the house has arisen and locked the door,
then will you stand outside knocking and saying,
‘Lord, open the door for us.’
He will say to you in reply,
‘I do not know where you are from.
And you will say,
‘We ate and drank in your company and you taught in our streets.’
Then he will say to you,
‘I do not know where you are from.
Depart from me, all you evildoers!’
And there will be wailing and grinding of teeth
Luke 13:23-28

Today's reading is one of parts of the New Testament that reaffirms that Jesus wasn't some kind of Rabbi Teddy Bear that was placating the masses with sweet words (ie. Christ was not a politician). Of all the lines above, the passage "I do not know where you are from" is to me the stand out, because that question needs to be answered in our hearts, consciously or unconsciously, before the time when the master locks the doors for good.

Where am I from?

I am quite sure that if I were to answer Bawlmer, I would most likely hear
"Sorry Hon, yu gots ta go"
Granted, me thinks us folks from Charm City get a special dispensation if we bring Berger Cookies, but that alone prob'ly ain'ts gonna cut it.

I am from the U.S., the land of the Free, the home of the Brave , the . . .
"You mean the country that murders 4,000 babies a day"
Oh, well yeah, but what has that got to do with me?

I am from Saint Ann's Parish, ya gotta like a good Catholic boy who attends Mass daily
"Like the Pharisees who were so proud to have others see them at Temple"
But I go to monthly confession, and pray the Rosary, and give to the . . .

Where are you from?

I am from our Fathers house, although I left, and squandered my inheritance,
I am from Your heart which, by my hand, was beaten and broken,
I am from Your arms, although I kicked and screamed to "free" myself of Your love,
I am from Your eyes, which can see my every sin, but looks on me with Mercy,
I am from here, from heaven, I am yours!

Sorry buddy, flowery prose might work for the ladies, but not Me,
Where are you from?

True, words won't do, we need to spend time in the place we are from, to know the landscape so well that we could describe every pebble we tripped on getting there, every hill that we thought we couldn't climb, every valley that our Lord walked us through.

How do we get there? um, we know the Way, first through the naturalization of Baptism, and we can freely enter into that land by receiving the Eucharist, by entering into communion with the Mapmaker of the Kingdom we are from.

Happy Trails

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