10th Trinity August September
 |
| Schnorr von Carolsfeld |
Luke 7, 11-17
And it came to pass that on
the next day Jesus went into a city called Nain, and his disciples and a large
crowd went along with him. And as he drew near to the gate of the city, they
became aware that a dead man was being carried out—the only born son of his
mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd of people from the city
accompanied her.
And seeing her the Lord felt her suffering, and
said to her, “Weep no more.”
And approaching, he touched the coffin, and
pallbearers stood still. He said, “Young man, I say to you, arise!”
The dead man sat up, and began to speak. And Jesus
gave him to his mother. Astonishment and awe seized all who were standing
there, and they began to praise God and to glorify what was here revealed,
saying,
“A prophet powerful in spirit has been raised among
us, and God has come down to us, his people.”
10th August Trinity
September 25, 2011
Luke 7:11-17
In autumn, nature presents to us two gestures. The first are
its fruits and seeds, falling to earth as nature dies back. They are an
offering of continuing life for the next season. The other gesture manifests as
the leaves, transforming themselves, offering themselves up to the living
atmosphere as a blaze of color, before they become the humus for next round.
Today’s reading presents us with two similar gestures. The
young man’s body is about to be offered up to the earth, as a kind of seed for
the earth’s future. At the same time, Christ says to him, ‘Arise’. And he
rises, both within the realm of death, and also to life on earth. He returns in
a blaze of life and speech. And this event spreads over the countryside like
the flaming colors of autumn over the land. Death and life begin to
interpenetrate one another in a process that will culminate in Christ Jesus’
own resurrection.
When the hours become
dark, we can welcome them as a time of deepening and transformation, especially
as we grow older. As Rilke says:
I love the dark hours of my being.
 |
| Smitty Caboose |
My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old
letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and
understood.
Then the knowing comes: I can open
to another life that's wide and
timeless.
So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:
a dream once lost
[1] Rainier Maria Rilke, in Rilke’s Book of Hours:Love Poems to God,
trans. by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
