Dear Friends,

The article, "On Christians's patched tunics," is being re-posted  in the hope that you will find a touch of inspiration there as we begin the grace-filled season of Lent.

God bless each of us, walking together and apart these forty days.  Let us pray for one another.  Peace, love and boundless hope in Christ.

On Christians' patched tunics

Neat. That's what we want. A neat world. Neat liturgies. Neat students. Neat families. Neat foreign policies. Neat Church.

But it's not a neat world, is it, friends? Yet, it's Christ's world, our world - with all its ragged edges of wars and unspeakable cruelties, as well as its sunsets, young loves, old loves, hope and dreams.

Somehow, the Lord's presence makes the broken pieces come together like the seamless robe tossed away on the roll of the dice. Not in the sense that we can stand back and look at the perfect harmony, as colors of our years blend into a spectacular collage. But Christ tells us not to worry about the colors that fight with one another, and patches here and there.

He likes our patches, testament to our comings and goings, the ebb and flow of our lives, with the bright colors of faith giving meaning to each hour of our days, while the grays reflect desert wanderings of a Paul looking for certainty in a cloudy mirror.

In this Lenten season, Christ walks into our lives and tells us not to worry about our robes, won by his grace purchased on a pain-filled day. Every mended seam represents our returning to him after having cut loose for some imagined toy that fell apart when we held it too close to our hearts.

The Trappist monk, Fr. Thomas Keating, in And the Word Was Made Flesh, says of Easter, "Anyone who responds to the sound of the 'Alleluia' with the sheer experience of oneness with Christ has understood the Resurrection." And, we might add, the Crucifixion, as well.

We'd like that, wouldn't we, to hear the "Alleluia" a hundred times a day - from measuring morning coffee to tucking a sleepy youngster into bed at night - to remind us there is sense to life, that Christ is not a figment of our imagination, a comfortable idea to drown out the terror of war games and the planet's starving children.

All too well we've learned that being one with Christ is not an easy get-it-done-today sort of relationship. The song reminds us: "I Keep a Close Watch on This Heart of Mine." Christ told us to watch and pray lest we enter into temptation. Thomas Merton could tell us he was right.

A myth grew up around Merton that he was some kind of Pied Piper, whose spiritual music mesmerized the young into following him into monasteries and convents across the land. Yet, it must be remembered that the Bataan Death March, the horror of Nazi gas chambers - seeing friends replaced by gold stars in window after window along home-town streets - all forced thousands of our youth to seek peace and peace-building away from Wall Street and the glitz of Hollywood.

They took Merton as their champion because he cared - cared enough to try to come to an idea from many directions - to clarify it first for himself, then for others. Lazy, he was not, and in his selfless toiling, he won their trust, as he has won that of generations since.

We could use him this day. We may not want to face it, but the Church we've known in our lifetime is dying. A new Church is already beginning to grow, like the winter wheat, to burst forth in the warmth of a yet undated spring.

The dying isn't easy. Dying should be a private experience, quiet and gentled by family and close friends. But the Church's dying is in the public square and the nation's headlines.

Our minds tell us Christ is with us, that he will be with us always and through every unknown circumstance, but, yet, sore afraid, we cannot help but recall the era of holy, great leaders, men and women, cleric and lay.

If we look around, we see such leaders are present today. It is our task to encourage their dreams, our dreams, for a resurrection into a new life in the Church. Tunics are woven of such dreams, and hard work, and sacrifice, and love, so Jesus would remind us.

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