Wednesday in the Octave of Easter, April 7, 2021             (today’s lectionary)
Blowing in the wind
Some days, and yesterday was one of them, I feel like a curmudgeon. Like a sloth rising slowly from the sand beside its lake. Like an aging fern, brown around the edges and getting softer in the middle by the day.
A man crippled from birth was carried and placed at the gate of the temple to beg for alms. He asked Peter and John for alms, but they said to him, “Look at us.”
On those restless days I’m impatient with my body, with its aches and physical complaints that I think any day could turn into a serious calamity. I’m impatient with my grandkids, with the mud they stir up, with their laughter which is too loud, with their insistence that I be my normal, adventurous self. But I guess I can’t expect them to see inside my soul.
The crippled man did pay attention to them and Peter said, “Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have, I give you. In the name of Jesus, rise up and walk!” Then Peter took him by the right hand and raised him up.
I don’t expect, on those days, to feel at home anywhere I go, and therefore I don’t. And in fact, whatever counts as “home” is less a place to play than a place to rest, and even more a place to pray. My mind spins me around with possible scenarios of catastrophe. I wonder if anything that happens in our counseling sessions has value to anyone. The words that come to me feel soft and soggy, my ears feel plugged so I listen but hear little, my prayers are the same every time. What am I even doing, I wonder? On those days.
Look to the Lord in his strength, and seek to serve him constantly. He does not forget his covenant.
I ask Margaret about her conversations, and if her friends and family do much complaining. I complain about everyone else’s complaining, of course. On those particular days I don’t do much else. I would like to close my eyes and sleep, but I worry that everything will be the same when I wake up. Solomon’s resignation rests heavy upon me, and I think it would be good for me to read those last few chapters of Ecclesiastes soon … and very soon.
They urged Jesus, “Stay with us, for the day is nearly over.” And while he was with them eating, he took bread and blessed it, and with that their eyes were opened.”
As Easter continues into its “octave” and I fall out upon the road to Emmaus, I sorely need a meal with Jesus. The emotions and peace I felt last week as Easter approached have blown away and been replaced with dust and wind. In fact Del Rio, the lovely south Texas town I visited two weeks ago, is baking today at 103 degrees. My soul is burning in the sun.
Were not our hearts burning within us while Jesus spoke on the road to us and opened the Scriptures?
In my box of Table Topic cards there’s one that asks, “What experience in your life has helped you most to grow?” Strange but true that I would always say, “The times when I felt despair, the times when I felt old and nearly dead, the times when I had nowhere else to turn.” God, you are my only hope. God, you are never the one who leaves. God, you wait to welcome me to your table in the presence of my enemies. Every time. Every time. And I will dwell in that house, the home you make for me in your house, my Father, forever.
(Acts 3, Psalm 105, Psalm 118, Luke 24)
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