The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord:

“Come, go down to the potter’s house, and there I will let you hear my words.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was working at his wheel. The vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter’s hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as seemed good to him. Then the world of the Lord came to me: “Can I not do with you, O house of Israel, just as this potter had done?” says the Lord.  Just like the clay in the potter’s hand, so you are in my hand, O house of Israel.”
- Jeremiah 18:1-6

This is another one of those biblical images which I believe that we in the 21st century have more than likely lost touch with. How many of us have been to a potter’s studio? Don’t feel bad, very few have.

“On that day there shall be inscribed on the bells of the horses, “Holy to the Lord.”  And the cooking pots in the house of the Lord shall be as holy as the bowls in front of the altar …“

-Zechariah 14: 20

This morning there was a fire on the tracks of the #7 train at Vernon Blvd. in Queens. A smoke condition in the train tunnel existed so that no trains were permitted past Hunter’s Point Sta. Trains were being turned around. I board the #7 train at 61st St and ride to Queensboro Plaza, 5 stops on the local (one stop on the express which of course due to the fire today, was not running) for those of you not on the #7 line. This leg of my trip normally takes 10 minutes; today it took well over an hour.

This morning as I stood, I tried to be respectful of all the people who were pressed up against me. We were packed in closer than sardines. I believe that I, being a rather large woman, could have picked up both of my feet and I would never have hit the floor! I would have been supported by the sheer force of everyone pressing on me!

“… God will wipe every tear from their eyes.  Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more …” Rev. 21:4

This is ‘Holy Week.’

One of the powerful images we are given in Scripture is of the woman anointing Jesus with nard.  This woman goes unnamed in several narratives; the Gospel of John names her as Mary, sister of Lazarus and Martha. I’m not so sure that the ‘who’ question is the correct one to be asking. Some narratives place this anointing event in the home of Simon the Leper. And, again, perhaps the ‘where’ question might not be the central lesson. In three narratives Jesus has made his triumphal and humble entry into Jerusalem. Jesus enters Jerusalem not in warrior-fashion on a nervous, prancing steed but rather fulfilling the prophecy of Zechariah (9:9). Jesus leaves Jerusalem and continues to be faithful to who he is—one who will stay at the home of a sinner—‘the Leper’ in Bethany, a short walk from Jerusalem. It is here in the home of the sinner that several narratives place the woman coming with her gift.

I find that the older I get and the more experienced I become in this thing called life; I find that I am blessed with a deepening comfort and joy that only my faith can bring to me.

It was only a little over a week ago, Thursday, February 28th, that I received a phone call in the morning that my brother, Randy, was now dead. Tears of great sadness welded up from my bowels, from that protected inner core of my being. Randy was my ‘little’ six-foot brother, he was what they used to call ‘a change of life baby’—mom was 45 when he was born. Randy was definitely not planned for. My older brother and I were almost to the point of leaving home; I was 15 and Larry was 18 and leaving for college when Randy was born. Dad was in the Air Force. Within two years of Randy’s birth, dad signed up to do a tour in Viet Nam. He came back and then signed up for the second tour. He was a ‘lifer’ in the military; he felt if his vast military experience could save one young person in that war situation then it was worth the trip. Mom went back to teaching school. So that left me each day to get Randy up, get him bathed, fed and off to the day-care before I went on to school. I would pick Randy up after school; take him home, play with him, cook him dinner, bathe him, help him to say his prayers and tuck him into bed. I loved Randy... a lot.

Wow! I can’t believe it’s Wednesday—again! I’m back one day from visiting mom and already I am late getting this to Vic for posting! It is amazing the movement of the Spirit during and after prayer. This blog had slipped off of my radar until I was making my daily “To Do” list after prayers this morning!

The first hour of my day is spent in prayer. I got into this practice about 15+ years ago after a conversation with a long time active member of the Prayer Circle who is now deceased, Frank Small. Frank maintained that God gives us a gift of 24 hours each day; the least, Frank felt, he needed to do was to give back to God one of those hours. It was easier for Frank to start his day with the one hour to God. This made good sense to me so I also began the practice.

It is Sunday afternoon and I have been praying and staring at my blank computer screen for the past twenty minutes, praying for some movement of the Spirit to guide me—wondering what I need to say to you today. 

Raphael, one of our maintenance personnel, came by. I asked him, “Is there anything on your mind today? What matters most to you? His immediate response was, “I always ask God for good health. If I have good health I can do anything; I respond to my love ones better.” I am struck by how universal this request to God is. Good health and loved ones are two threads that unite all human kind.