A Shepherd In The Field

The celebration of the Virgen of Guadalupe, the mother of Jesus, is December 12th. For my faith, race, and culture, it is more than a date on the liturgical calendar; she represents life and hope. She appeared to a poor and indigenous Juan Diego who held no status or position. She appeared as a dark-skinned woman dressed in Mesoamerican clothes and spoke Nahuatl, Juan Diego's mother tongue. In the indigenous tradition, the sash on her dress indicates she is with child. She appeared to those the world rejects. It is the Good News of Jesus Christ. She provides the hope of Jesus for those society relegates to the margins, all those who are different. That may be why we hold her close to our hearts. She profoundly affects everyone she encounters. Rich and poor, young and old, healthy and sick, comfortable and troubled, saint and sinner. My grandmother used to say that if people denigrate or knock you down, La Virgen gives you the strength to get up with the pride of who you are and kee

As in water face reflects face, so the heart of man reflects the man. Proverbs 27:19 There was a woman in the Old City in Jerusalem, and she was beautiful. Perhaps 83 years old, and her head was covered in the traditional Muslim shawl. She sat on ancient, wet stone steps selling vegetables. It was cold and raining, and I sensed she knew that few of those from those foreign lands would smile, nod their head or look at her. They were too busy rushing to take a selfie at Golgotha or eager to buy that unusual gift from Jerusalem.   She was an immigrant in her own land. One of the nameless, faceless Holy Land objects. But if those who walked by took time, they would notice that her face told a story of pain and joy, hope and loss, love and death. God's hand had painted a story of life on a weathered canvas made of flesh. I was struck by humanity's fragility and the spirit's resiliency.   In my March letter, I asked if our Churches "look like Jesus?' During the followin

As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness; when I awake I shall be satisfied, beholding your likeness. Psalm 17:15 I pray you are covered with Christ as we journey through the Holy Season of Lent. I am struggling over the lingering question: Do our churches and faith look like Jesus? Can we say yes? I am not speaking of looking like Jesus architecturally or artistically (e.g. carved in stone, Tiffany stained glass, Jesus covered in gold or European Jesus).  I wrestle with something more profound. If someone walks through our door, will they find a place where they belong? Will the person wearing dirty clothes feel they belong? Will the immigrant who does not speak English or the single mother or father with three screaming kids? Maybe that guy who smells like alcohol and needs a shave. Anyone who does not look, think, act, or talk like us. This is a time of Lenten reflection, and we all like to believe we welcome everyone.We know that despite the smiles, and the quick wave,

   We are entering the Holy Season of Lent, and grief is on the far side of the celebration. It has been three years since everything changed with Covid. Many people have lost loved ones over the past three years. My wife lost a sister and I lost a brother. Loss is never forgotten, and the pain, while lessening, never disappears. In fact, the loss never really leaves you. This Lent, we can encounter the holiness of grief and allow ourselves to grieve for those we lost yesterday, last month, last year, or 20 years ago. Talk to someone or seek help in addressing your grief. Turn it over to our Lord. Let us also remember those we lost. In remembrance, the light of Christ will break through our tears. Jesus suffered, died, and rose again to new and eternal life. With Christ, we grieve, but our promise is that we are part of his divine life. Through the Holy Spirit, we share in Christ’s victory over death. For people of faith, life has changed, not ended, when one dies. This Lent, allow yo