This year Christ will have to meet me where I am – in a locked room with a little bit of fear and a lot of mourning. And Christ always does that, always meets people where they are. This Easter I unite myself with the loved ones of Jesus on the first Easter, and I trust that I will receive what they did: the joy, hope, peace, and presence of Christ risen in our midst.

Maybe it’s fitting that the well-choreographed grandeur of these days just got messy and chaotic. Our suffering is not a scripted Passion Play but an unfolding bit by bit of uncertainty, growth, helplessness, and trust. Maybe this year more than ever before we’ll be able to bring the Passion events to heart and see how they unfold in our own lives.

After the health crisis has subsided, we might, like Lazarus, come stumbling, bound and bleary-eyed, out of the tomb of our seclusion. We may not know what to make of the new life that emerges, but how we respond is up to us.

God always shelters in place. God goes out to the far reaches of the universe, but God also dwells within each of our hearts. As we shelter in place, we can look within ourselves and see how God is doing the same thing – sheltering in the place within us.

God is present to the reality of who we are. God is certainly in our midst. When we are present to reality instead of resisting, we catch a glimpse of who God is.

Before going forth translates to a step forward, it’s an opening of the heart. It’s an energetic movement, one that opens us to others in love and relationship, one that calls us beyond what’s comfortable to risk something new.

Humans are made to care for the earth and they are made from the earth. Hear more about the creation story in Genesis and care of creation in this beautiful audio reflection by Sister Fidelis Tracy.

The love that God calls us to is a holy, gritty kind of love that encompasses neighbors and enemies, as well as ourselves.

No choices we make are beyond God’s redemption. Even when we make bad decisions, God loves us.

The light that we each set on a lampstand is not perfect; in fact, our light tends to be fractured in places. But it’s ours, and it shines well enough. Likewise, the favor of our faith may not always be impeccable, but it’s in good taste.

God calls each of us beloved and doesn’t need a spectacle to let us know that God loves us. God uses the events of our daily lives to nudge us, to let us know that we’re in the presence of holiness.

Like the Magi, we have each other as travel companions. Community at its best stands together beneath the night sky, gazing at signs from God, and following where they lead. So together let’s discern the way we should go So together let’s discern the way we should go.

This family is holy because they’re like us, living in insecurity and fear and circumstances beyond their power. They’re holy because they kept going, trusting God and loving each other.

The birth of the vulnerable, needy Christ child is the most profound, important sign that God has given humanity. God became finite and shows us infinite love; God became needy and shows us God’s Providence; God became poor and shows us abundance.

If you were to envision a world in which your deepest desires were manifested, what would it look like?

Come on, everybody! Let’s act right and wake up! God is inviting you and me into this holy, still, gentle, waiting season of Advent. Let’s open ourselves, seeking God in all things because God wants to be found.

Christ the King reflects the paradox of who Christ is – divine and human, infinite and limited, profound mystery and ordinary as bread, all-powerful and all-vulnerable.

When it feels like the world that we know is crumbling around us as something new but indistinct is emerging, we can breathe into the discomfort because we know that we are deeply loved.

Vulnerability is not a bad thing; it’s a human thing, even a God-like thing. Each of us is a mix of giftedness and brokenness. The more deeply I come home to that reality, the more genuine I can be, trusting God and others to love me in my brokenness and sin. And I can love people as people, not seeing some of them as “the oppressed,” but as one with me in the great human community, the beautiful, broken body of Christ.