Proper 9 / Pentecost 7 / Ordinary Time 14
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VIII, Cycle A
Object:
Theme For The Day
Sometimes it is true, as Paul admits, that "we do the very thing we hate." Yet, let that not discourage us. Always there is the opportunity for a fresh start.
Old Testament Lesson
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67
The Courtship Of Isaac And Rebekah
This week's reading attempts to condense a much larger story into an appropriate size for a Sunday lection, but it ends up being a choppy and inadequate retelling. It is better to take the time and read the entire story. The story is the courtship of Isaac and Rebekah, which is a strange tale to modern ears -- conducted, as it is, through intermediaries. Abraham sends his servant to the land of his forbears to find a wife for Isaac (he does not want his son to marry a Canaanite woman). The servant, believing he has been led by the Lord to Rebekah (whom he spies drawing water at the well), has no idea, at first, that Rebekah is kin to Abraham -- an ideal candidate. He then goes to her brother, Laban, and her father, Bethuel, and negotiates with them. The greater part of today's passage is the account of those negotiations, concluding with the touching scene when Rebekah meets Isaac for the first time. Although Isaac is the patriarchal figure, the story is really about Rebekah. As we hear it, we feel for her, leaving the only family and community she has ever known to journey in faith to a distant land and marry a stranger she has never met. To the ancient Israelites, familiar with the idea of arranged marriages, this story would have testified to the durability of God's covenant -- for the Lord is making it possible for Abraham to have grandchildren, leading his servant to just the right woman. The theme of God's providential guidance is prominent throughout this passage. As the servant declares, Rebekah is "the woman whom the Lord has appointed for my master's son" (v. 44).
New Testament Lesson
Romans 7:15-25a
"I Do The Very Thing I Hate"
If any are under the illusion that giants of the faith are without inner conflict, this passage will disabuse them of that notion. In starkly honest terms, Paul shares something of his own personal battle with sin. His own actions are sometimes a mystery to him. He does "the very thing I hate" (v. 15). Sin is a malevolent power in his life that needs to be battled (v. 17). In a blunt refutation of those who cheerfully insist, "There's a lot of good in everyone," Paul declares, "nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it" (v. 18). Interpreters have long struggled to understand this passage, for it seems to contradict Paul's confident declarations elsewhere (such as 7:4-6) that those who trust in Christ are no longer slaves to sin. In fact, the apostle is only human. His honesty strengthens us for our own spiritual lives. As Martin Luther writes in admiration: "Indeed, it is a great consolation to us to learn that such a great apostle was involved in the same grievings and afflictions in which we find ourselves when we wish to be obedient to God." There is a war going on, in Paul's life, between spirit and flesh, between "mind" and "members." He opens a window into his own spiritual struggle, and we glimpse there something of our own.
The Gospel
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
"Come To Me, All You That Are Weary"
The beloved final verses of this lectionary selection -- "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest" (v. 28) -- overshadow all that comes before. In the first portion, Jesus has been lecturing the crowds about the importance of John the Baptist. No one is greater than John he says, "Yet [even] the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he" (v. 11). Jesus is ushering in a new reality, the reign of God that is so much more wonderful than anything we have come to know that everything in our world fades in comparison. Yet, inexplicably, there are those who fail to welcome this new reality. In an obscure little parable, Jesus compares his detractors to children at play, taunting one another with a playground chant, "We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn" (v. 17). He is referring to the sort of round dances that continue to be practiced at Jewish weddings: men dancing with men, women with women. His references to wailing and mourning have to do with the role of women at funerals, who would typically form a doleful, keening chorus. In both cases, the community's celebration -- be it joyful or solemn -- is under way. Inexplicably, some hang back and do not join in with the rest of their neighbors. To hold back in such a way is to insult the host, and Jesus is placing his opponents into that camp. In an omitted section, Jesus bitterly berates the people of certain cities who have rejected him despite the fact that he has performed "deeds of power" in their midst (verses 20-24). Moving on to strike a gentler note, he wonders at the way God has hidden the truth from the wise but revealed it to "infants" (v. 25). Jesus declares that he is the only way to God (v. 27). Finally, in verses 28-30, he speaks those famous words of comfort, promising rest to the weary. He also promises them a yoke, which may not sound very restful, but in fact is an accommodation of grace. Jesus is undoubtedly referring to a two-ox yoke, in which an older, more experienced animal was commonly paired with a younger one. The stronger beast would carry the bulk of the load, as the youngster would learn what its future role was to be. Jesus is graciously promising to walk through life with us in tandem, easing the burdens that weigh us down.
Preaching Possibilities
"True Confessions." Old-timers among us may recognize that title as belonging to an old pulp-fiction sort of magazine, one that contained lurid stories of women who lose their virtue, and the unscrupulous men who take it from them. Here, in the seventh chapter of the letter to the Romans, we have another sort of true confession -- one belonging to the apostle Paul:
"I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin. I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.... For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it."
-- Romans 7:14b-15, 18
Paul's maddeningly abstract here. Is he talking about some specific sin, that -- to his dismay -- he repeats compulsively, over and over again? Or, is he speaking of sin in general? Come on, Paul. Tell us more. Inquiring minds want to know.
Yet, the apostle does not tell us more. We're left to wonder. Is this tendency to "do the very thing I hate" somehow connected with the mysterious "thorn in the flesh" he mentions in 2 Corinthians 12:7? Or is it something different?
While it would surely help us to know specifically what sort of behavior Paul's talking about, we never will know for sure. And so we need to take his words as referring to sin in general, and our battle with it.
There's a part of us that wants to believe there's a point in the spiritual life when the "many dangers, toils, and snares" John Newton refers to in "Amazing Grace" are finally behind us, and we enter a period of serenity and peace. Most every autobiography produced by great Christian spiritual leaders of centuries past would indicate otherwise. The life of faith is never free from struggle and difficulty. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either lying or naive.
The Christian world was rocked, in the summer of 2007, by revelations that Mother Teresa of Calcutta, whom many Catholics consider to be their greatest saint of the twentieth century, was tormented by doubt. Time magazine published excerpts of her personal papers and diaries in which she shared intimate details of her spiritual struggles. "I find no words to express the depths of the darkness," she wrote to the archbishop of Calcutta in 1957.
Two years later, she wrote: "In my soul I feel just that terrible pain of loss, of God not wanting me -- of God not being God -- of God not existing."
"If I ever become a saint," she wrote on another occasion, "I will surely be one of 'darkness.' "
Yet, this woman who grappled so mightily with doubt and despair devoted her life to caring for the poorest of the poor and earned a Nobel Prize and the adulation of the world as she did so. Her name has become a byword for "saintly." It seems a foregone conclusion that she will be canonized eventually.
If that should happen, will Mother Teresa be considered, as she feared, "a saint of darkness"?
If so, she'll be in good company. From what we read in Romans 7, the apostle Paul could be considered just such a saint. As could figures like the Spanish mystic, Saint John of the Cross, who wrote of a persistent experience he called "the dark night of the soul," a feeling of complete abandonment by God.
"Trouble's long, but hope is longer." So goes an old spiritual. Jesus never promises his disciples an easy ride. What he promises us is a cross to bear. He also promises us strength for the bearing of it.
Mother Teresa evidently found that strength. It was something she had to learn to draw on every day, as the Israelites learned to depend on daily supplies of manna in the wilderness. Paul surely did, too. Both these giants of faith -- and so many more, throughout the centuries -- persisted to the end, continuing to bear witness to the faith and to build up the church.
Yes, there are times when we will feel discouraged that "we do not do what we want, but do the very thing we hate." Yet, each time we do, there's no remedy for it other than to bring it before the Lord in prayer and resolve to do differently next time. If we fail again, it is only a failure: another invitation to start afresh, relying on God's grace and forgiveness.
Prayer For The Day
As we seek to walk the walk of faith, O God,
we acknowledge that there are times when we are carrying heavy burdens.
We know we would do well to lay them down,
but it is sometimes hard to do so.
Those burdens feel so comfortable, so familiar.
We are not sure how we'd get along without them.
Yet, you have given us many examples of Christian faith,
stories told by others who have walked this road before us.
Help us to walk in their footsteps,
to press on in faith,
and so rededicate our lives to your service.
Through Christ we pray. Amen.
To Illustrate
"Failure," they say, "is the path of least persistence." That truth was demonstrated in the movie Chariots of Fire, in which the runner Harold Abrahams is devastated by losing a race -- the first one he ever lost. He tells his girlfriend, Sybil, "If I can't win, I won't run."
Sybil shoots back, "If you don't run, you can't win."
That's the way it is with any resolutions to make a deep change in our lives. The true test of the resolution comes not at the beginning of the discipline, but afterward.
***
After one of his failed attempts at climbing Mount Everest, Sir Edmund Hillary was knighted by the Queen for even trying. At the knighthood ceremony, the people gave him a standing ovation.
When they stopped applauding, Hillary turned his back to the audience, and faced a gigantic picture of the mountain that was hanging on the wall. He spoke to it: "Mount Everest, you have defeated me once, and you might defeat me again. But I'm coming back again and again, and I'm going to win because you can't get any bigger, Mount Everest, and I can."
***
There's an old Japanese story about two monks who were on a journey. They came round a bend in the road and found themselves on the banks of a river. There was no bridge: only a ford -- a shallow place where travelers could wade across. The monks also saw something else: a young woman, standing at the ford and looking wistfully across. This woman was dressed in a beautiful kimono and was obviously wondering how to get across without ruining what she was wearing.
She welcomed the monks as an answer to her problem. She asked them if they would be so good as to carry her across the ford. This put the two monks in a dilemma. The rules of their order forbade them from touching a woman. Yet the rules also encouraged them to help neighbors in need. Finally, one of the monks decided helpfulness trumped purity, and he hoisted the girl on his back, carrying her across.
He put her down, she thanked them, and the monks continued on their way. It was not long, though, before the other monk started complaining. He was sure his brother had made the wrong decision. He began to chastise him for breaking the rules of their order.
The other monk walked along for some time in silence, listening to his brother berate him for what he'd done. Finally he could keep silent no longer. He turned to his fellow monk, and said impatiently, "I set her down by the river an hour ago, why are you still carrying her?"
Many of us go through life carrying weighty burdens we should have set down long ago. Sometimes they're burdens of guilt, sometimes of sadness, and sometimes of frustration at opportunities missed. There are those of us who blame our parents, or siblings, or spouses (or ex-spouses) for everything; there are those of us who cherish and nurture feelings of anger, long after the original cause of the anger has faded from memory. Such are the things we must strive to set down and stop carrying.
As a wise person once said, "You'll never have a better past." We may as well set it aside and get on with the business of making a future.
***
Martin Luther King Jr. had at least one moment that could be called a "dark night of the soul." The civil rights struggle seemed to have stalled. He was beginning to question whether he'd made the right decision, risking his own life and the lives of his family in standing up against racism in America. King wrote about the experience in these words:
"One night toward the end of January, I settled into bed late, after a strenuous day. Coretta had already fallen asleep and just as I was about to doze off the telephone rang. An angry voice said, 'Listen, n_____, we've taken all we want from you, before next week you'll be sorry you ever came to Montgomery.' I hung up, but I couldn't sleep. It seemed that all of my fears had come down on me at once. I had reached a saturation point. I got out of bed and began to walk the floor. Finally I went to the kitchen and heated a pot of coffee. I was ready to give up. With my cup of coffee sitting untouched before me I tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a coward.
In this state of exhaustion, when my courage had all but gone, I decided to take my problem to God. With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud. The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory: 'I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But now I am afraid. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I've come to the point where I can't face it alone.'
At that moment I experienced the presence of the divine as I had never experienced him before."
-- told by Ron Rolheiser in "The Agony in the Garden: The Place where Angels Strengthen Us," at http://www.ronrolheiser.com
***
"Courage," says Thomas Fuller, "is fear holding on a minute longer." Sometimes that minute is all it takes. Sometimes that minute is the window the Holy Spirit needs to enter into our lives and give us fresh comfort and encouragement. Sometimes the only way we will ever persist in our faith is by acknowledging that we no longer have the strength within us to run the race and that we can only rely on the strength that comes from God.
Sometimes it is true, as Paul admits, that "we do the very thing we hate." Yet, let that not discourage us. Always there is the opportunity for a fresh start.
Old Testament Lesson
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67
The Courtship Of Isaac And Rebekah
This week's reading attempts to condense a much larger story into an appropriate size for a Sunday lection, but it ends up being a choppy and inadequate retelling. It is better to take the time and read the entire story. The story is the courtship of Isaac and Rebekah, which is a strange tale to modern ears -- conducted, as it is, through intermediaries. Abraham sends his servant to the land of his forbears to find a wife for Isaac (he does not want his son to marry a Canaanite woman). The servant, believing he has been led by the Lord to Rebekah (whom he spies drawing water at the well), has no idea, at first, that Rebekah is kin to Abraham -- an ideal candidate. He then goes to her brother, Laban, and her father, Bethuel, and negotiates with them. The greater part of today's passage is the account of those negotiations, concluding with the touching scene when Rebekah meets Isaac for the first time. Although Isaac is the patriarchal figure, the story is really about Rebekah. As we hear it, we feel for her, leaving the only family and community she has ever known to journey in faith to a distant land and marry a stranger she has never met. To the ancient Israelites, familiar with the idea of arranged marriages, this story would have testified to the durability of God's covenant -- for the Lord is making it possible for Abraham to have grandchildren, leading his servant to just the right woman. The theme of God's providential guidance is prominent throughout this passage. As the servant declares, Rebekah is "the woman whom the Lord has appointed for my master's son" (v. 44).
New Testament Lesson
Romans 7:15-25a
"I Do The Very Thing I Hate"
If any are under the illusion that giants of the faith are without inner conflict, this passage will disabuse them of that notion. In starkly honest terms, Paul shares something of his own personal battle with sin. His own actions are sometimes a mystery to him. He does "the very thing I hate" (v. 15). Sin is a malevolent power in his life that needs to be battled (v. 17). In a blunt refutation of those who cheerfully insist, "There's a lot of good in everyone," Paul declares, "nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it" (v. 18). Interpreters have long struggled to understand this passage, for it seems to contradict Paul's confident declarations elsewhere (such as 7:4-6) that those who trust in Christ are no longer slaves to sin. In fact, the apostle is only human. His honesty strengthens us for our own spiritual lives. As Martin Luther writes in admiration: "Indeed, it is a great consolation to us to learn that such a great apostle was involved in the same grievings and afflictions in which we find ourselves when we wish to be obedient to God." There is a war going on, in Paul's life, between spirit and flesh, between "mind" and "members." He opens a window into his own spiritual struggle, and we glimpse there something of our own.
The Gospel
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
"Come To Me, All You That Are Weary"
The beloved final verses of this lectionary selection -- "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest" (v. 28) -- overshadow all that comes before. In the first portion, Jesus has been lecturing the crowds about the importance of John the Baptist. No one is greater than John he says, "Yet [even] the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he" (v. 11). Jesus is ushering in a new reality, the reign of God that is so much more wonderful than anything we have come to know that everything in our world fades in comparison. Yet, inexplicably, there are those who fail to welcome this new reality. In an obscure little parable, Jesus compares his detractors to children at play, taunting one another with a playground chant, "We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn" (v. 17). He is referring to the sort of round dances that continue to be practiced at Jewish weddings: men dancing with men, women with women. His references to wailing and mourning have to do with the role of women at funerals, who would typically form a doleful, keening chorus. In both cases, the community's celebration -- be it joyful or solemn -- is under way. Inexplicably, some hang back and do not join in with the rest of their neighbors. To hold back in such a way is to insult the host, and Jesus is placing his opponents into that camp. In an omitted section, Jesus bitterly berates the people of certain cities who have rejected him despite the fact that he has performed "deeds of power" in their midst (verses 20-24). Moving on to strike a gentler note, he wonders at the way God has hidden the truth from the wise but revealed it to "infants" (v. 25). Jesus declares that he is the only way to God (v. 27). Finally, in verses 28-30, he speaks those famous words of comfort, promising rest to the weary. He also promises them a yoke, which may not sound very restful, but in fact is an accommodation of grace. Jesus is undoubtedly referring to a two-ox yoke, in which an older, more experienced animal was commonly paired with a younger one. The stronger beast would carry the bulk of the load, as the youngster would learn what its future role was to be. Jesus is graciously promising to walk through life with us in tandem, easing the burdens that weigh us down.
Preaching Possibilities
"True Confessions." Old-timers among us may recognize that title as belonging to an old pulp-fiction sort of magazine, one that contained lurid stories of women who lose their virtue, and the unscrupulous men who take it from them. Here, in the seventh chapter of the letter to the Romans, we have another sort of true confession -- one belonging to the apostle Paul:
"I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin. I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.... For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it."
-- Romans 7:14b-15, 18
Paul's maddeningly abstract here. Is he talking about some specific sin, that -- to his dismay -- he repeats compulsively, over and over again? Or, is he speaking of sin in general? Come on, Paul. Tell us more. Inquiring minds want to know.
Yet, the apostle does not tell us more. We're left to wonder. Is this tendency to "do the very thing I hate" somehow connected with the mysterious "thorn in the flesh" he mentions in 2 Corinthians 12:7? Or is it something different?
While it would surely help us to know specifically what sort of behavior Paul's talking about, we never will know for sure. And so we need to take his words as referring to sin in general, and our battle with it.
There's a part of us that wants to believe there's a point in the spiritual life when the "many dangers, toils, and snares" John Newton refers to in "Amazing Grace" are finally behind us, and we enter a period of serenity and peace. Most every autobiography produced by great Christian spiritual leaders of centuries past would indicate otherwise. The life of faith is never free from struggle and difficulty. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either lying or naive.
The Christian world was rocked, in the summer of 2007, by revelations that Mother Teresa of Calcutta, whom many Catholics consider to be their greatest saint of the twentieth century, was tormented by doubt. Time magazine published excerpts of her personal papers and diaries in which she shared intimate details of her spiritual struggles. "I find no words to express the depths of the darkness," she wrote to the archbishop of Calcutta in 1957.
Two years later, she wrote: "In my soul I feel just that terrible pain of loss, of God not wanting me -- of God not being God -- of God not existing."
"If I ever become a saint," she wrote on another occasion, "I will surely be one of 'darkness.' "
Yet, this woman who grappled so mightily with doubt and despair devoted her life to caring for the poorest of the poor and earned a Nobel Prize and the adulation of the world as she did so. Her name has become a byword for "saintly." It seems a foregone conclusion that she will be canonized eventually.
If that should happen, will Mother Teresa be considered, as she feared, "a saint of darkness"?
If so, she'll be in good company. From what we read in Romans 7, the apostle Paul could be considered just such a saint. As could figures like the Spanish mystic, Saint John of the Cross, who wrote of a persistent experience he called "the dark night of the soul," a feeling of complete abandonment by God.
"Trouble's long, but hope is longer." So goes an old spiritual. Jesus never promises his disciples an easy ride. What he promises us is a cross to bear. He also promises us strength for the bearing of it.
Mother Teresa evidently found that strength. It was something she had to learn to draw on every day, as the Israelites learned to depend on daily supplies of manna in the wilderness. Paul surely did, too. Both these giants of faith -- and so many more, throughout the centuries -- persisted to the end, continuing to bear witness to the faith and to build up the church.
Yes, there are times when we will feel discouraged that "we do not do what we want, but do the very thing we hate." Yet, each time we do, there's no remedy for it other than to bring it before the Lord in prayer and resolve to do differently next time. If we fail again, it is only a failure: another invitation to start afresh, relying on God's grace and forgiveness.
Prayer For The Day
As we seek to walk the walk of faith, O God,
we acknowledge that there are times when we are carrying heavy burdens.
We know we would do well to lay them down,
but it is sometimes hard to do so.
Those burdens feel so comfortable, so familiar.
We are not sure how we'd get along without them.
Yet, you have given us many examples of Christian faith,
stories told by others who have walked this road before us.
Help us to walk in their footsteps,
to press on in faith,
and so rededicate our lives to your service.
Through Christ we pray. Amen.
To Illustrate
"Failure," they say, "is the path of least persistence." That truth was demonstrated in the movie Chariots of Fire, in which the runner Harold Abrahams is devastated by losing a race -- the first one he ever lost. He tells his girlfriend, Sybil, "If I can't win, I won't run."
Sybil shoots back, "If you don't run, you can't win."
That's the way it is with any resolutions to make a deep change in our lives. The true test of the resolution comes not at the beginning of the discipline, but afterward.
***
After one of his failed attempts at climbing Mount Everest, Sir Edmund Hillary was knighted by the Queen for even trying. At the knighthood ceremony, the people gave him a standing ovation.
When they stopped applauding, Hillary turned his back to the audience, and faced a gigantic picture of the mountain that was hanging on the wall. He spoke to it: "Mount Everest, you have defeated me once, and you might defeat me again. But I'm coming back again and again, and I'm going to win because you can't get any bigger, Mount Everest, and I can."
***
There's an old Japanese story about two monks who were on a journey. They came round a bend in the road and found themselves on the banks of a river. There was no bridge: only a ford -- a shallow place where travelers could wade across. The monks also saw something else: a young woman, standing at the ford and looking wistfully across. This woman was dressed in a beautiful kimono and was obviously wondering how to get across without ruining what she was wearing.
She welcomed the monks as an answer to her problem. She asked them if they would be so good as to carry her across the ford. This put the two monks in a dilemma. The rules of their order forbade them from touching a woman. Yet the rules also encouraged them to help neighbors in need. Finally, one of the monks decided helpfulness trumped purity, and he hoisted the girl on his back, carrying her across.
He put her down, she thanked them, and the monks continued on their way. It was not long, though, before the other monk started complaining. He was sure his brother had made the wrong decision. He began to chastise him for breaking the rules of their order.
The other monk walked along for some time in silence, listening to his brother berate him for what he'd done. Finally he could keep silent no longer. He turned to his fellow monk, and said impatiently, "I set her down by the river an hour ago, why are you still carrying her?"
Many of us go through life carrying weighty burdens we should have set down long ago. Sometimes they're burdens of guilt, sometimes of sadness, and sometimes of frustration at opportunities missed. There are those of us who blame our parents, or siblings, or spouses (or ex-spouses) for everything; there are those of us who cherish and nurture feelings of anger, long after the original cause of the anger has faded from memory. Such are the things we must strive to set down and stop carrying.
As a wise person once said, "You'll never have a better past." We may as well set it aside and get on with the business of making a future.
***
Martin Luther King Jr. had at least one moment that could be called a "dark night of the soul." The civil rights struggle seemed to have stalled. He was beginning to question whether he'd made the right decision, risking his own life and the lives of his family in standing up against racism in America. King wrote about the experience in these words:
"One night toward the end of January, I settled into bed late, after a strenuous day. Coretta had already fallen asleep and just as I was about to doze off the telephone rang. An angry voice said, 'Listen, n_____, we've taken all we want from you, before next week you'll be sorry you ever came to Montgomery.' I hung up, but I couldn't sleep. It seemed that all of my fears had come down on me at once. I had reached a saturation point. I got out of bed and began to walk the floor. Finally I went to the kitchen and heated a pot of coffee. I was ready to give up. With my cup of coffee sitting untouched before me I tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a coward.
In this state of exhaustion, when my courage had all but gone, I decided to take my problem to God. With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud. The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory: 'I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But now I am afraid. The people are looking to me for leadership, and if I stand before them without strength and courage, they too will falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I've come to the point where I can't face it alone.'
At that moment I experienced the presence of the divine as I had never experienced him before."
-- told by Ron Rolheiser in "The Agony in the Garden: The Place where Angels Strengthen Us," at http://www.ronrolheiser.com
***
"Courage," says Thomas Fuller, "is fear holding on a minute longer." Sometimes that minute is all it takes. Sometimes that minute is the window the Holy Spirit needs to enter into our lives and give us fresh comfort and encouragement. Sometimes the only way we will ever persist in our faith is by acknowledging that we no longer have the strength within us to run the race and that we can only rely on the strength that comes from God.
