“Brothers and sisters: since we have been justified by faith we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith to this grace in which we stand, and we boast in hope of the glory of God.
And hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. For Christ, while we were still helpless, died at the appointed time for the ungodly. Indeed, only with difficulty does one die for a just person, though perhaps for a good person one might even find courage to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.”—Romans 5: 1-2, 5-8
_____
I listen to the second reading, and it hits a particular way. My mind had wandered, but its reading draws me back.
“Indeed, only with difficulty does one die for a just person, though perhaps for a good person one might even find courage to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.”
I’ve struggled this Lent. Of the goals and resolutions that I’ve set—I’ve struggled, failed, or regressed in all toward which I’ve aimed.
God and Word remind, God loves us even in our failings, frustrations, and judgment against ourselves (whatever they may be). We are still given grace. We are still loved. Imperfect—but in faith—we may still boast in hope of the glory of God.
While acts are a piece to our judgment, our faith and continuing to strive and live as we are called that is the greater part. God knows our trials, temptations, and snares he allows for life and enemy to arrange. Without these, our spirits never grow.
So, we’re tried. So, we fail. Knowing we cannot do it all alone, we’re reminded and refocus back to God—grace, peace, and mercy for even our failed and sinful selves.
I needed to hear that today and thank God for its speak.
Even after, mind wanders. I look at a child and young mother sitting two pews ahead. The little boy has a pacifier, bright brown eyes, and hair still filling in. He alternates from stand and shifting wander on the floor to reaching back for his mother’s arms to be held or rested on her lap.
I’m reminded of my own children when they were so, two older men who always sat behind and made faces and played peek-a-boo. You knew when it began, for their small still bodies suddenly sprung to life—bouncing high then dipping in hide beneath the back of row, tucking low before spring again and often elicited sound of glee.
It doesn’t seem that long ago, but our oldest two are fifteen now, and from being small enough to hide and tuck whole body in seat of pew, my oldest son is six-foot-one and stretching and climbing high above my not-quite five-foot-ten.
Time flies.
In offering of the sign of peace, there are two college age boys behind us. I remember back to Masses of my once-college days. Downtown, in a small city, there was little parking when one went out. There was a church at the top of a hill, Saint Mary’s, and a parking lot that always had space—because it was for congregants only.
I lived the last of those years drinking and living full what world presses and promotes as spirit of such age. Saturday nights, I always parked in back corner of the lot before walking to the bars. That way, no matter what happened—however bad hangover or depression of the spirit—I had to go to Mass: and I did.
I was not living the Word of God. Still I went, and still I believed, though my actions did not show that it was so.
“God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” Reflecting now, I see that it was so.
One of the reasons I chose the school was for the Chapel at its center, even though, in later years, hung over, I went more often to the smaller church upon a hill.
It hasn’t been a great Lent for me—if seeking to boast how well I’ve done in perform of fasts and resolutions.
But the failings keep us humble. They return us back to God.
That’s what I feel today, listening, reflecting, mind wandering through present and pasts.
I am grateful for HIS grace in which we stand.