Pause for Prayer: SATURDAY 5/28

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46 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for text book answers but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote the following in response to his question. I know that writing this helped me and I believe it helped my friend, too. As we celebrate the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, perhaps you'll find these words helpful as you pause for prayer today...


BREAD

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born.

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't out there, in the field
but in your frailty, your brokenness,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you will be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one 
you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat.

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch.
And the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you - life.

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind and water
all rising to life in bread.

Then came One
who broke himself like a loaf
and we heard
in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for all who share
in the breaking of the bread.

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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A reflection in anticipation of Corpus Christi

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(This is a homily I preached several years ago.  I thought it might be helpful in preparing to celebrate the feast of Corpus Christi this weekend.  I especially wanted an opportunity to share with you (below) what St. Augustine had to say about the Eucharist.)

“You are what you eat.”

At least that’s what people say.

In fact, they’ve been saying that since 1826 when a Frenchman,
Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, wrote,

"Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are."
Dis-moi ce que tu manges et je te dirai ce que tu es.

(Everything always sounds better in French!)

The feast of the Body and Blood of Christ
celebrates the sacramental reality of Christ’s presence
in the gifts of bread and wine we offer every time we celebrate Mass,
- what we eat and drink when we celebrate the Eucharist.

What does the spiritual food we share at Mass 
tell us about who we are?

Christ is present at Mass in several ways in the liturgy.
He’s present in our very gathering, our coming together to pray.
He himself told us,
“Wherever two or three are gathered in my name,
there am I in the midst of them.” 
(Matthew 18:20)

He is also “present in the Word, 
since it is the Lord himself who speaks
when the scriptures are read in the Church.” 
(CSL no. 7)

And most important of all,
he is present in the sacramental supper of this table
where we are nourished by the sacrifice he offered
on the altar of the Cross.
Christ, present, truly, in the bread and cup of the Eucharist…

But what do we mean when we say that?

Back in the 4th century, people asked the same question
and St. Augustine gave them this answer:

What you see is the bread and the chalice;
that is what your own eyes report to you.
But what your faith obliges you to accept is that
the bread is the Body of Christ  
and the chalice the Blood of Christ...
How is the bread his Body?
And that which is in the chalice - how is it his Blood?
Those elements, brothers and sisters, are called sacraments,
because in them one thing is seen, 
but another is understood.
What is seen is the corporeal species
but what is understood is the spiritual fruit...
You yourselves are the Body of Christ and his members.
If you are the Body of Christ and his members,
it is your own mystery that is presented 
at the table of the Lord,
you receive your mystery.
To that which you are -- you answer: "Amen..."
For you hear: "The Body of Christ!" and you answer: "Amen!"
You hear: "The Blood of Christ!" and you answer: "Amen!"
Be a member of Christ's Body, then,
so that your "Amen" may be the truth.

In St. Augustine’s effort to help us understand the comfort that is ours
in believing that Christ is truly present in the Eucharist,
there comes also a challenge,
to believe not only that the bread and wine become
the body and blood of Christ,
but to believe also that, indeed, we are to become
what we eat and drink:
we are to become the true presence of Christ
breaking ourselves like bread to nourish our neighbor;
pouring ourselves out like wine in outreach to those in need.

Like a coin, a host as two sides:
we receive a mystery that we already are and are challenged to become.
We receive our own mystery which is the mystery of Christ.

And like a glass, a chalice may be half empty or half full:
and we are called to empty ourselves out for one another
so that we might know the fullness of God’s grace within us.

We are what we eat and drink...

All of this in a morsel of bread, in a sip from a cup:
but this bread is the Bread of Life,
and this cup is the Cup of Salvation.

And that is why we approach the altar, the sacrament at Communion
with attentive reverence for what, for whom we are about to receive.

That is why we hold our hands prayerfully as we come forward,
and why we don’t greet others along the way
while coming to the altar.

That is why we return to our places after having received,
singing the Communion song,
giving thanks to God for such a gift.

That is why we would never think of receiving Communion
and then walking right out of church to beat the crowd:
it is never polite to eat and run,
and that is especially true at the Lord’s table.

On this feast of the Body and Blood of Christ we remember that
“we are what we eat - and drink”
and our Supper here is a taste of the feast promised us in heaven.

Pray with me that with every celebration of the Eucharist
we will more deeply reverence the real presence of Christ
in the sacrament we receive
and become, more and more,
the mystery we receive,
the mystery we are,
the mystery of the Body of Christ.

CC2013
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Music and Word for the weekend: Corpus Christi

This widget above includes 20 songs (chant, choral, instrumental, classical, country, spirituals, contemporary) for prayer in preparation for celebrating Corpus Christi (the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ) this coming weekend.  Something for everyone here: Byrd, Elgar, Bernstein, Mozart, Chant, Wainwright and more.

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Listen to the music as you read and ponder the scriptures for this Sunday.  You'll find the texts and commentary on them here.  And if you're bringing children to church with you, check the hints for helping them prepare to hear the Word, too.

The first two scriptures for Corpus Christi are brief: a passage from Genesis reminding us of when Melchizedek offered gifts of bread and wine and the 1 Corinthians account of the Last Supper, the oldest such account in the New Testament. In the gospel (Luke) we have the story of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes.

There's no better way to prepare for Sunday worship than to read and study the scriptures we'll hear proclaimed at Mass.

The widget above is also on the sidebar for your prayer and reflection between now and the celebration of Corpus Christi.

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Pause for Prayer: SUNDAY 6/3

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47 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for text book answers but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote the following in response to his question. I know that writing this helped me and I believe it helped my friend, too. This weekend we celebrate the feast of The Body and Blood of Christ remembering, gratefully, the gift Christ left us in the Breaking of the Bread.  Let's pause and pray...


BREAD

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born.

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't out there, in the field
but in your frailty, your brokenness,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you will be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one 
you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat.

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch.
And the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you - life.

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind and water
all rising to life in bread.

Then came One
who broke himself like a loaf
and we heard
in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for all who share
in the breaking of the bread.

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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Pause for Prayer: SUNDAY 6/6

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This is a piece I post every year... 50 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for a text book answer but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote this prayer/poem in response to his question. I know that this helped me articulate my faith in the Eucharist and I believe it helped my friend, too. As we celebrate today's feast of Corpus Christi, here's my 50 year old reflection on the breaking of bread...

BREAKING BREAD

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born...

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't out there, in the field
but in your frailty, your brokenness,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you'll be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one 
you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat...

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch.
And the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you - life...

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind and water
all rising to life in bread...

Then came One who broke the bread
and was broken for us, like a loaf,
and we heard in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for all who share
in the breaking of the bread...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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Pause for Prayer: SUNDAY 6/18

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46 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for text book answers but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote the following in response to his question. I know that writing this helped me and I believe it helped my friend, too. As we celebrate the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, perhaps you'll find these words helpful as you pause for prayer today...


BREAD

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born.

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't out there, in the field
but in your frailty, your brokenness,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you will be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one 
you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat.

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch.
And the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you - life.

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind and water
all rising to life in bread.

Then came One
who broke himself like a loaf
and we heard
in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for all who share
in the breaking of the bread.

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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My bread poem

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Over 40 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for text book answers but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote the following in response to his question. I know that writing this helped me and I believe it helped my friend, too.

As we prepare to celebrate the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ this weekend, perhaps you'll find these words helpful for your prayer. Some musical background for your reflection?  Check the widget at the top of the sidebar!


Bread

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born.

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't in the field
but in your fragile frailty,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you will be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat.

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch
and the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you: life.

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind, water
all rising to life in bread.

Then came One
who broke himself like a loaf
and we heard
in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for those who share
in the breaking of the bread.

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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A world-wide hour of prayer with Pope Francis

This coming Sunday, the feast of Corpus Christi, Pope Francis will lead a special hour of prayer before the Blessed Sacrament at St. Peter's in Rome and has invited diocesan cathedrals and parish churches around the world to join him.  Pope Francis has two particular intentions for us pray for in this hour:

The first intention is: “For the Church spread throughout the world and united today in the adoration of the Most Holy Eucharist as a sign of unity. May the Lord make her ever more obedient to hearing his Word in order to stand before the world ‘ever more beautiful, without stain or blemish, but holy and blameless.’ That through her faithful announcement, the Word that saves may still resonate as the bearer of mercy and may increase love to give full meaning to pain and suffering, giving back joy and serenity.”

The second intention is: “For those around the world who still suffer slavery and who are victims of war, human trafficking, drug running, and slave labor. For the children and women who are suffering from every type of violence. May their silent scream for help be heard by a vigilant Church so that, gazing upon the crucified Christ, she may not forget the many brothers and sisters who are left at the mercy of violence. Also, for all those who find themselves in economically precarious situations, above all for the unemployed, the elderly, migrants, the homeless, prisoners, and those who experience marginalization. That the Church’s prayer and its active nearness give them comfort and assistance in hope and strength and courage in defending human dignity.”

And that's a lot to pray for: a purification of the Church that she might more genuinely announce the Lord's Word and all those who are suffering, especially those who live in the margins of our society.

The time difference between Rome and the rest of the world makes it difficult to schedule the hour of prayer at precisely the time when Francis will praying at St. Peter's.  In my parish we'll have an hour of prayer before the Blessed Sacrament on Sunday evening from 7:00-8:00 p.m.  The hour will include scripture, songs, time for silent prayer and reflection and will close with Benediction.

Check in your parish or among neighboring parishes to participate in the world-wide effort.  So many are grateful for the ministry of Francis as pope and chief shepherd of the Church.  This special hour is a wonderful way to express our gratitude to God for the gift of such a man and our unity with him in prayer.

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Pause for Prayer: SUNDAY 6/23

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48 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for text book answers but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote a poem in response to his question. I know that writing this helped me and I believe it helped my friend, too. I've tweaked the original over these nearly 5 decades and below you'll find the latest rendition. This weekend we celebrate the feast of The Body and Blood of Christ remembering, gratefully, the gift Christ left us in the Breaking of the Bread.  Let's pause and pray...


BREAKING BREAD

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born...

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't out there, in the field
but in your frailty, your brokenness,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you will be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one 
you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat...

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch.
And the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you - life...

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind and water
all rising to life in bread...

Then came One
who broke himself like a loaf
and we heard
in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for all who share
in the breaking of the bread...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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Pause for Prayer: SUNDAY 6/11

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This is a piece I post every year on Corpus Christi Sunday,

         the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ...

51 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for a text book answer but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote this prayer/poem in response to his question. I know that this helped me articulate my faith in the Eucharist and I believe it helped my friend, too. As we celebrate today's feast of Corpus Christi, here's my 51 year old reflection on the breaking of bread...

BREAKING BREAD

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born...

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't out there, in the field
but in your frailty, your brokenness,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you'll be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one 
you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat...

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch.
And the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you - life...

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind and water
all rising to life in bread...

Then came One who broke the bread
and was broken for us, like a loaf,
and we heard in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for all who share
in the breaking of the bread...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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Pause for Prayer: SUNDAY 6/7

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44 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for text book answers but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote the following in response to his question. I know that writing this helped me and I believe it helped my friend, too. As we celebrate the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, perhaps you'll find these words helpful as you pause for prayer today...


BREAD

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born.

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't out there, in the field
but in your fraility, your brokenness,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you will be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one 
you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat.

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch.
And the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you - life.

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind and water
all rising to life in bread.

Then came One
who broke himself like a loaf
and we heard
in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for all who share
in the breaking of the bread.

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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Pause for Prayer: SUNDAY 6/22

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The reflection for today's Pause for Prayer is a bit longer than usual - I hope you'll bear with me...

More than 40 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for text book answers but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote the following in response to his question. I know that writing this helped me and I believe it helped my friend, too.

As we celebrate the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ this weekend, perhaps you'll find these words helpful as you pause for prayer today.  Need some music to help you pray?  Look right here.


Bread

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born...

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't in the field
but in your own fragile frailty,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you will be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat...

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch
and the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and by now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you: life...

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind and water
all rising to life in bread...

Then came One
who gave himself, broken for us,
and we heard
in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for those who share
in the breaking of the bread...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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Pause for Prayer: SUNDAY 4/26

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49 years ago when I was in the seminary, a good friend asked me what I believed about the Eucharist. I knew he wasn't looking for a text book answer but rather for what was in my heart. I wrote this prayer/poem in response to his question. I know that this helped me articulate my faith in the Eucharist and I believe it helped my friend, too. This weekend the gospel tells the story of two disciples making their way to Emmaus on the first Easter Sunday afternoon.  A stranger joins them and they speak of what's been happening over the last couple of days.  The two don't realize that the stranger is the risen Jesus until the end of the day when they sit down at table together and they recognize him in the breaking of bread.  Here, then, is my 49 year old reflection on the breaking of bread...


BREAKING BREAD

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You have to listen with all of you
to hear the white-green shoot
pushing, rubbing, scraping up through
cool, moist earth: wheat being born...

It's a comforting sound when, finally,
you hear it and you know the growing sound
isn't out there, in the field
but in your frailty, your brokenness,
in you...

Then fear comes over you:
you'll be torn inside, again, until it hurts
and this may be the time
when growing leaves behind
the one you think you are,
harvesting the one 
you were made to be...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

You don't have to listen so closely
to hear the wind shuffle its way
through fields of wheat
so you have to look very carefully
to see it's not the wind after all, but simply
wheat brushing against wheat,
wheat supporting wheat,
wheat enjoying wheat,
wheat embracing wheat...

The rustling becomes a symphony
of meeting, knowing, touching, growing:
wheat reaching out to wheat
not with fear, not with flushed face,
but only with the need to touch.
And the sound of reaching
is strong, enveloping, alive!

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

Grinding grains of wheat: harsh,
breaking, crushing sounds,
a not soft noise - hard.
And now you don't want to hear
wheat being crushed:
it just doesn't look like wheat anymore
and maybe the explosion in you
wasn't a matter of life but...

water is cool
and now it is all around you:
bubbling and swirling
in flour ground of wheat
and now you're not surprised to know
you're listening to blood filling your veins,
flowing all through you - life...

And just before the fire consumed us, too,
we found bread: one beautiful brown loaf
of wheat, wind and water
all rising to life in bread...

Then came One who broke the bread
and was broken for us, like a loaf,
and we heard in the cracking and tearing of the crust
the Word of life grown, ground and given
for all who share
in the breaking of the bread...

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a grain of wheat,
but if it dies, it bears much fruit...

CC2013

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