Daily Dose (April 22 – 25)

TUESDAY APRIL 22 — Rest in Peace Pope Francis. And thank you. With your life and your words, you kept pointing us toward the light. Thank you for not shying away. Thank you for showing up. Thank you for reminding us that fear is not the final word. Thank you for reminding us that cruelty and hatred are not the final word. Thank you for caring for the “least of these”. And thank you for speaking out tirelessly for the marginalized, and for migrants, and for the health of the planet.

This is Pope Francis’ final homily (read by Cardinal Angelo Comastri), in Saint Peter’s Square on Easter Sunday, April 20, 2025.
“Mary Magdalene, seeing that the stone of the tomb had been rolled away, ran to tell Peter and John. After receiving the shocking news, the two disciples also went out and — as the Gospel says — ‘the two were running together’ (John 20:4). The main figures of the Easter narratives all ran! On the one hand, ‘running’ could express the concern that the Lord’s body had been taken away; but, on the other hand, the haste of Mary Magdalene, Peter and John expresses the desire, the yearning of the heart, the inner attitude of those who set out to search for Jesus. He, in fact, has risen from the dead and therefore is no longer in the tomb. We must look for him elsewhere.
This is the message of Easter: we must look for him elsewhere. Christ is risen, he is alive! He is no longer a prisoner of death, he is no longer wrapped in the shroud, and therefore we cannot confine him to a fairy tale, we cannot make him a hero of the ancient world, or think of him as a statue in a museum! On the contrary, we must look for him and this is why we cannot remain stationary. We must take action, set out to look for him: look for him in life, look for him in the faces of our brothers and sisters, look for him in everyday business, look for him everywhere except in the tomb.
We must look for him without ceasing. Because if he has risen from the dead, then he is present everywhere, he dwells among us, he hides himself and reveals himself even today in the sisters and brothers we meet along the way, in the most ordinary and unpredictable situations of our lives. He is alive and is with us always, shedding the tears of those who suffer and adding to the beauty of life through the small acts of love carried out by each of us.
For this reason, our Easter faith, which opens us to the encounter with the risen Lord and prepares us to welcome him into our lives, is anything but a complacent settling into some sort of ‘religious reassurance.’ On the contrary, Easter spurs us to action, to run like Mary Magdalene and the disciples; it invites us to have eyes that can ‘see beyond,’ to perceive Jesus, the one who lives, as the God who reveals himself and makes himself present even today, who speaks to us, goes before us, surprises us. Like Mary Magdalene, every day we can experience losing the Lord, but every day we can also run to look for him again, with the certainty that he will allow himself to be found and will fill us with the light of his resurrection.
Brothers and sisters, this is the greatest hope of our life: we can live this poor, fragile and wounded existence clinging to Christ, because he has conquered death, he conquers our darkness and he will conquer the shadows of the world, to make us live with him in joy, forever. This is the goal towards which we press on, as the Apostle Paul says, forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead (cf. Phil. 3:12-14). Like Mary Magdalene, Peter and John, we hasten to meet Christ.
The Jubilee invites us to renew the gift of hope within us, to surrender our sufferings and our concerns to hope, to share it with those whom we meet along our journey and to entrust to hope the future of our lives and the destiny of the human family. And so we cannot settle for the fleeting things of this world or give in to sadness; we must run, filled with joy. Let us run towards Jesus, let us rediscover the inestimable grace of being his friends. Let us allow his Word of life and truth to shine in our life. As the great theologian Henri de Lubac said, ‘It should be enough to understand this: Christianity is Christ. No, truly, there is nothing else but this. In Christ we have everything’.
And this ‘everything’ that is the risen Christ opens our life to hope. He is alive, he still wants to renew our life today. To him, conqueror of sin and death, we want to say:
‘Lord, on this feast day we ask you for this gift: that we too may be made new, so as to experience this eternal newness. Cleanse us, O God, from the sad dust of habit, tiredness and indifference; give us the joy of waking every morning with wonder, with eyes ready to see the new colours of this morning, unique and unlike any other… Everything is new, Lord, and nothing is the same, nothing is old’ (A. Zarri).
Sisters, brothers, in the wonder of the Easter faith, carrying in our hearts every expectation of peace and liberation, we can say: with You, O Lord, everything is new. With you, everything begins again.”
Amen. Thank you Pope Francis.

WEDNESDAY APRIL 23 —

The Sunday-school teacher asked her 10-year-old students if they would be willing to give $1,000,000 to missionary work for children and families in need.
“Yes,” they all screamed in unison.
“Very good. Would you give $1000?”
“Yes!”
“Good.  Would you give $1?”
The class responded, “Yes,” except for one young boy, who sat silent.
“Why didn’t you say yes?” the teacher asked.
“Because,” he stammered, “I have a dollar in my pocket.”
Okay, that’s honest.
Napoleon reminded us, “Nothing is more difficult, and therefore more precious, than to be able to choose.”  And because of that, freedom always works better in speeches, than it does in practice. Because if I choose, I offer my heart freely. I’m all in.
What a “gift” to embrace, as we grieve not just the passing of a pope, but the loss of a holy witness who taught us that to see sacramentally is not to withdraw from the world, but to offer his heart and to love the world more fiercely. Thank you, Pope Francis.
And yet (speaking from my gut), with a world that feels upside down and precarious, I can sure relate to the little guy. I can be good with answers and debate prep about what I would do with the million. But when you’ve got “a dollar in your pocket,” there’s a parting of the ways in what we “believe” and how we live.
Of course, I am still “free” to contribute, give, care for, risk, go out on a limb, let go, to live unshackled.
I am free—embracing the power of the resurrection—to say that fear and shame and cruelty and hatred and mercilessness are not the final word.
However, when I let fear win, I live with my hand over the dollar in my pocket, and I am stuck. And we all know the litany here; the reasons we find it difficult to remove our hand, and the reasons that keep us stuck are fueled by fear—fear of failure, or feeling “not enough”, the need for perfection, the tyranny of “should,” and worry about what “they” think?  (Did it ever occur to you that we’ve never actually met “them,” but they still control our lives? Go figure.)

This week I’m carrying with me John O’Donohue’s encouragement, “On this Easter morning, let us look again at the lives we have been so generously given and let us let fall away the useless baggage that we carry – old pains, old habits, old ways of seeing and feeling – and let us have the courage to begin again. Life is very short, and we are no sooner here than it is time to depart again, and we should use to the full the time that we still have. We don’t realize all the good we can do. A kind, encouraging word or helping hand can bring many a person through dark valleys in their lives. We weren’t put here to make money or to acquire status or reputation. We were sent here to search for the light of Easter in our hearts, and when we find it we are meant to give it away generously. The dawn that is rising this Easter morning is a gift to our hearts and we are meant to celebrate it and to carry away from this holy, ancient place the gifts of healing and light and the courage of a new beginning.”

Today we spent time in the district of Worcestershire, with “Quiet Garden” friends. The Quiet Garden Movement was started by my friend Rev. Philip Roderick, a network of beautiful gardens and outdoor spaces for prayer, stillness, contemplation. I’ll share more about Quiet Gardens in upcoming Sabbath Moments. Today, savoring time, visiting gardens, talking about making spaces where people can say no to the noise, and find their heart and souls resettled and replenished. Oh, and I’m smiling big because I met a new flock of sheep in Patrick’s orchard.
Onward together my friends, spilling light in a broken world.

THURSDAY APRIL 24 — “Sisters and brothers, especially those of you experiencing pain and sorrow, your silent cry has been heard and your tears have been counted; not one of them has been lost!… The resurrection of Jesus is indeed the basis of our hope. For in the light of this event, hope is no longer an illusion…. That hope is not an evasion, but a challenge; it does not delude, but empowers us.” Pope Francis (Easter, 2025)

This week we’re invited to embrace and internalize (literally, take to heart) the resurrection invitation to be a messenger of hope, courage, resilience and inspiration. I do know this, if I don’t internalize the invitation, I will live my life playing small (yes, a way of being disengaged—or “neutral”).
When fear wins, we underestimate our capacity to make a difference, even with what we consider a small portion.
But what if we feel we are insignificant?
Here’s the deal: whatever the amount, it is enough.
Enough for empathy and compassion.
Enough for caring for the marginalized and brokenhearted among us.
Enough to offer tenderness, grace and healing and sanctuary to a fallen world.

Okay. But what does that look like?
I mean, what concrete real-world choices can be made?
Let’s start with this from José Andrés. “Build longer tables, not higher walls.”
I like that. Build tables. I can do that.
In the Gospels, Jesus loved a party.  And he partied with some very eccentric and outlandish people. And he wasn’t too concerned about public opinion, or impressing the right crowd.
Remember the party with the woman who wasn’t invited, the conspicuous outsider? Notice this: Jesus never talked to an outcast or untouchable, because Jesus didn’t “see” an untouchable. He saw only a child of God that he was madly in love with.
No wonder freedom is not easy.  It scares us half-to-death to be seen, to be invited and to be loved in this way, and then to share that gift.
Think about the power that this party represents.
Everyone is welcome at the table.
Everybody is invited.
Everybody.

And, the good news: This freedom—the permission and empowerment to choose—cannot exist in a vacuum.  Judaism teaches us that we need to see beyond “redemption.”  When the Jewish people were set free from slavery in Egypt, the point of the story (for us today) is not just that we are free, but what we do with that freedom. The story says, “Let my people go, so that they may reflect God.”
Wow. So, we live unabashed. By not withholding, we let the grace and light that is within us, spill.
Yes. Welcome to the table.
And this from Barbara Butler Bass. “Jesus loved meals. They knew that. They’d shared so many. Go back through the gospels and see how many of the stories take place at tables, distributing food, or inviting people to supper. Indeed, some have suggested that Jesus primary work was organizing suppers as a way to embody the coming kingdom of God. Throughout his ministry, Jesus welcomed everyone — to the point of contention with his critics — to the table. Tax collectors, sinners, women, Gentiles, the poor, faithful Jews, and ones less so. Jesus was sloppy with supper invitations. He never thought about who would be seated next to whom. He made the disciples crazy with his lax ideas about dinner parties. All he wanted was for everybody to come, to be at the table, and share food and conversation.”

Let us take with us the inspiration of Sojourner Truth: “Life is a hard battle anyway. If we laugh and sing a little as we fight the good fight of freedom, it makes it all go easier. I will not allow my life’s light to be determined by the darkness around me.”

FRIDAY APRIL 25 —

“We have to get our hearts to feel again… The globalization of indifference is a very ugly disease.” Pope Francis in a 60 Minutes interview in 2024.
Yes. And Amen.

Preparing for the Pope’s funeral, there have been quotes and stories circulating that I am gladly and gratefully taking to heart.
One of my favourites is the four minute speech which led to the election of Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio of Buenos Aires as Pope twelve years ago. In his pre-conclave speech to the other Cardinals, he used the popular image from the Book of Revelation of Jesus standing at the door and knocking. But in an unusual and inspired way he turned the image around.
“Obviously, the text refers to his knocking from the outside in order to enter but I think about the times in which Jesus knocks from within so that we will let him come out. The self-referential Church keeps Jesus Christ within herself and does not let him out.”
But what if, he said, Jesus is knocking for us to come out instead?
To join him in the world outside?
A Church which does not come out of herself in order to spill the good news becomes self-referential, and then gets sick.
I love that this is not an assignment but an invitation. Recognizing that it may not feel easy, because we will need to let go of the comforts that shield us.
In Evangelii Gaudium Pope Francis wrote: “I prefer a Church which is bruised, hurting and dirty because it has been out on the streets, rather than a Church which is unhealthy from being confined and from clinging to its own security.”

No. Coming out is not easy. Desmond Tutu has always inspired me. “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”

This week we’ve been embracing (taking to heart) the resurrection invitation to be a messenger of hope, courage, resilience and inspiration. I do know this, if I don’t internalize the invitation, I will live my life playing small (yes, a way of being disengaged—or “neutral”).
When fear wins, we underestimate our capacity to make a difference with empathy and compassion, caring for the marginalized and brokenhearted among us and offering grace and healing and sanctuary to a fallen world, wrapped in Pope Francis’ approach of “tenderness and balm”.
Rest in Peace Pope Francis.

And in yesterday’s Sabbath Moment, I quoted Diana Butler Bass, but called her Barbara. My apologies to Diana. Have any of you ever had a word in your head, and then your memory plays wonderful games with you and the word cannot be found? Ahh yes.

Prayer for our week…
Breaking through the powers of darkness
bursting from the stifling tomb
he slipped into the graveyard garden
to smell the blossomed air.
Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,
that I have journeyed far
into the darkest deeps I’ve been
in nights without a star.
Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,
that fear will flee my light
that though the ground will tremble
and despair will stalk the earth
I hold them firmly by the hand
through terror to new birth.
Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,
the globe and all that’s made
is clasped to God’s great bosom
they must not be afraid
for though they fall and die, he said,
and the black earth wrap them tight
they will know the warmth
of God’s healing hands
in the early morning light.
Tell them, Mary, Jesus said,
smelling the blossomed air,
tell my people to rise with me
to heal the Earth’s despair.
Edwina Gateley

Photo… The wisteria is heavenly as Spring unfurls its wonders. And I can’t get enough of the brick and stone work here. In the village of Chalfont St. Giles, England