Today we celebrate the beginning of Christ’s Passion- moving through Holy Week. We celebrate Christ Jesus entering Jerusalem, entering the crucible, the crucible of Holy Fire that will burn away everything not essential. For even Christ’s closest disciples had to fall away, even His own body, His own life had to burn away on the cross.

And human souls who would follow Him, we too are called to burn, to burn in a sacred fire. This is why we hear in our epistle this week, ‘Oh Man, Burning is the place of your heart…’ This purifying fire allows us to follow Him. And we are called to burn away our blame towards others, our self-centerdness, to burn away our worldly fears, our self-doubts. We are called to burn away everything that keeps us separated from Christ.

And yet, when everything is burned away, what will remain in us? What is the only thing that cannot be burned. Only flame cannot be burned away by flame. And this is why we pray in our offering, ‘in our souls be born the fire of love…’ for our hearts are meant to become a flame. We were born to be on fire. To flame with enthusiasm when all around us there is indifference. To flame with love for God when all around us there is only empty strip malls. To flame with love for human beings when hate and fear abound; To carry the flame out into the world, into politics and activism, into each and everything we encounter, work, home and grocery store. For the fire of God’s love is the only reality. Everything else is shadow.

May the flame of love burn away what is not needed in our souls. May the flame of love be the only thing left in our hearts.

Most of us have never heard of Greg Boyle. But Greg Boyle is a Catholic priest living in Los Angeles California. He leads an organization called homeboy industries which helps gangsters change their lives. When Greg was just beginning as a priest, he was sent to a little town in South America. His bishop then asked him to hold a service, a mass, high up on a mountain platue near his town so that the poor farmers in that area could receive communion. So he got his things and took the bus. And after two hours of a three hour trip, he realized he had forgotten his ritual book. He was filled with fear and shame as he realized he would have to try give the service by memory and in Spanish. To make matters worse, when he arrived there were over 200 people waiting for him to celebrate the mass. He hacked his way through it, making mistake after mistake. After it had ended, feeling like the most unworthy priest to have ever lived, he changed his clothes and put away the chalice. When he looked up, everyone had left, not a soul in sight! Already feeling like a failure, he realized that there was no one to take him to the bus stop and he would have to walk. It had just started to rain.

Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, a tiny man appeared in front of him. He was old. There were wrinkles on every part of his face. He looked like one of the farmers from that area with a hat and sandles. His feet were caked with mud. In the midst of Greg’s despair, this strange man came write up to him, smiliing and with a gleam in his eye, he said, ‘muchas gracias, padre’. This little old man then put his hands into his pockets and pulled out two hand-fulls of fresh rose petals. 

In the mud and the rain, He anointed Greg with rose petals.*

Dear friends, we can be strengthened by stories like this. For even though this kind of meeting may not have happened to us, it can remind us that perhaps there is nothing more important today then to trust that outward appearances are not the whole story. That there is a hidden world in what appears as the world. That even when we see all around us the mud and the rain of increasing turmoil, untruthfullness and despair; even when we feel like the accused adultress in our gospel this week (Jn 8) or that our efforts don’t seem to be making a difference, Christ sees differently. Christ sees our heart’s core.

May we learn to see what He sees. May we learn to feel His presence in the mud of our world, like rose petals anointing us in the rain.

*Rudolf Steiner often mentions that in our time, Christ can appear to us like a normal person, in a moment of real despair or need. He will help us and then disappear. We will think it was a normal person but in reality it will have been Him.

During this time before Easter, we celebrate death. In other words, we celebrate the process of letting go, of emptying ourselves. We celebrate moving alone through the narrow gate of transformation. And its not that we are morbid or obsessed with the negative, on the contrary, we celebrate death precisely because in Christ death becomes life.

If we have had the blessing of being with someone passing through the gate of death, it is often only when loved ones leave the room that the dying are able to make the transition from this world into the spirit. Death requires that we let go of something earthly, to die requires that we make the transition alone.

And yet, we are not so much celebrating dying at the end of life. Passiontide is the practice of dying during life.

We are called to die while we live by letting go of our blame and hate toward ourselves and others, so that the life of love can fill our hearts. We are called to die while we live by letting go of our inability to be alone, so that solitude and His constant presence awaken in us. We are called to die while we live by letting go of fear, so that we can stand at peace with the world.

Dear friends, in Christ every circumstance and situation in our lives is an opportunity to die into His life. For the open secret is, Christ is the reality in which we live.

This contemplation by Rev. Evans was inspired by Passiontide

Our altar is a water well, a well of spirit water. For why would any of us come to the altar if not to sip the spirit, to drink in something life-giving that nourishes our souls? But of course if anyone has ever peered into a well, first there is darkness. First we feel an abyss. The water well reminds us that in order to reach the life giving water, we must first enter the deep black. Passiontide, this time before Easter, celebrates that there is living water in what is dark.

In every human heart there are also places that are deep and dark. This is because we are also meant to feel empty from time to time. We are designed not know all the answers, to find ourselves lying lamenting on the ground. We are designed to feel alone. But the good news is that since Christ came, all these sources of pain are now water wells.

And yet, anyone who descends into a well does so with trust, trust that water can be found. And this is the most important thing for our journey into the blackness; that we trust even when we can’t see, even when we must fall to our knees, He is close to us! That in the depths of our emptiness, in the center of our woundedness, His living water to be found.

Courage to descend. A willingness to feel our longing for the Spirit. Trust, that the living water is in the darkness.

These are our tools for the well.

May we find Him there.
This contemplation by Rev. Evans was inspired by Passiontide

In our gospel this week, Peter imagines after experiencing the transfiguration that Christ would want him to build a tent for him. But then the father speaks. “This is my son in whom I rejoice. Listen to him!” The words of the Father were not what Peter was expecting. He thought he should get to work and build. But what was needed was simply listening to and rejoicing in Christ. Within every one us is also a Peter. For so often our expectations of what we think is wanted, gets in the way of hearing what is actually needed. So often what we think someone wants, gets in the way of rejoicing and listening to who they really are. We build up expectations in our minds, imagining other peoples motivations, intentions, what they might be thinking. We create stories in our minds to justify ourselves, our judgements our stance.  And yet, if we take a moment, like Peter, to look deep into our hearts core, perhaps we too can hear the Father speaking to us:  Be silent, let go of your expectations, listen to the Son. For Christ is always with you. Rejoice in Him.  This contemplation by Rev. Evans was inspired by the Transfiguration.

A very wise man, Viktor Frankl once wrote…

“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances….”

In the darkness of a concentration camp, Frankl awoke to this truth that our essential humanity lives in how we choose to meet what we are given – that every human soul is truly free.

And yet, at the same time, we are not free. We are not free to choose what comes to us in our lives. We are not free to select the sufferings and blessings that choose us and shape us with their weight and light. What we would choose to happen in our lives is often very different from what is needed. Nevertheless the deeply liberating reality is that no president, no company, no enemy, no illness can ever take from us the capacity of our spirit to choose how we meet what is.

Dear friends, let us remember that our battle is not with what is, our battle is whether or not we can bring dignity to what is. Our battle is whether or not we can connect with the presence of Christ in what is, weather or not we can bring love to what is; no matter how desperate or how dark what is may be.

Its flu season. And with it has come coughing, sneezing, aching, so many of us feeling lousy. But still, we bring ourselves, sicknesses and all, to the altar. We come to the altar for the Spirit, we come because we find The Healing Medicine.

And yet, even after communion our sickness remains. For we pray ‘Oh Christ, sick is the dwelling into which you are entering, but through your Word my soul becomes whole.’ This prayer does not say that my dwelling becomes whole, it says my soul becomes whole. The dwelling remains sick. For in communion we can all experience that we are not all at once made into a perfect being, free from all illness, magically and completely transformed. And even if we do experience healing by His power, there is always another aspect of our being that remains untransformed. For just as in our gospel today (wedding at Cana) the water was transformed but not its containers, communing with Christ in our time means to receive wholeness into the dwelling of our sickness. Communion with Christ is to be healed and at the same time be sick.

Dear friends, the Christian path means to carry His health in our sickness- His light in our darkness. And in these times when our karma has determined that division and hate will only increase, let us remember that it is not about escaping this sickness or finally solving it, following Christ means to carry His love in the midst of this dark. Therefore we can truly pray, “Oh Christ, sick is the dwelling into which you are entering, but through your word our soul becomes whole.”

Not only do we celebrate the Three Kings on Epiphany, we also celebrate the Epiphany in the river Jordan- The baptism of Jesus. Because just like the Star of Grace that blessed the kings with its light, the Holy Spirit blessed Jesus with Christ’s light in the river Jordan.

And yet, as important as the baptism of Jesus is, being blessed by the light would be nothing on its own. Without Jesus giving himself to the death on the cross for the life of the world, the light He received at the baptism would have no meaning. Without the three kings being able to give their gifts to the Holy Child, receiving the light of the Star would have been for naught. The point is, the gifts we receive only become meaningful in as much as we are able to give back.

For all Epiphanies lead to one thing: the joy of giving something, of offering something, however humble, that has meaning for someone. Let us remember, that our old age is fulfilled in the end, not by what we have achieved or received, our lives are fulfilled only by the spiritual joy of giving for the life of the world.

Dear friends, in these times of political turmoil, unsolvable fears and anxieties about the future, epidemics of terror and violent oppression across the globe, let us remember again that the real world is not what we see on the news. Let us remember that the true world is being brought to life in this painful darkness by the Christ-filled giving of the human heart.  
This contemplation by Rev. Evans was inspired by The Baptism.

Whenever beginnings come, whenever we celebrate beginnings, they always bring wishes and new resolutions. Beginnings remind us of what can be, of what is possible. Perhaps we know how important beginnings are because in the beginning was the word. Because God lives in Beginning-ness.

And yet, we all know how hard it is to follow through on a new beginning- how hard it is to accomplish a resolution. How often have we decided that we would like to change, only to find after much struggle and tears that our efforts alone are not enough?

In this new year, dear friends, let us indeed courageously resolve to transform! But let us remember that true change never comes through our efforts alone. Real transformation is always a gift- a gift that comes, so long as, the spiritual world deems us ready. Let us remember that change always requires a ‘Yes’ from us as well as a ‘Yes’ from the angels. And there is real peace if we can accept the wait.

Perhaps the only thing we can ever really do to help ourselves is not to refuse God’s grace, to say yes to the divine gift, when it comes.

After a long day out in the winter world, we make our way home. We brave the freezing air, endure the biting wind. But as soon as we come to our house, as soon as we turn our door-handle and step inside, the harsh cold will be left behind, the light will come on, we will feel the comfort of coming home; in this world, we are kept alive by the warmth and peace of home.

And yet, this world is not our home. For we are spiritual beings on a journey in and through the material world. The homes we have with four walls and a door are but faint reflections of another home – a true home – a spiritual home for every human soul. And the Christmas service is meant to bring our souls into relationship with this true home. We are called to courageously feel through the altar, through the words of the priest and the candles, our true home; the Spirits healing light of grace streaming into us.

Dear friends, at Christmas we celebrate our spiritual home that has come into our material world. Not only do we celebrate what happened 2000 years ago but we celebrate Emmanuel today – God with us now. The Christ has appeared in the realm of earth. Let us come close to Him. Let us lift our hearts to receive His comforting warmth- even when it is dark. For He is the Spirit-Sun at midnight. Christ is our true home.