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The Last, The Lost, The Least and the Little

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Chad Bird - a preacher I follow on Instagram, recently wrote about Matthew 25: 31-46 . And he quotes author Robert Capon as saying that Jesus appeared in the guise of those who were ‘the last, the lost, the least, and the little’.  How blessed I am, for I have been last, I have been lost, I have been the least and I have been little - and in all this, I found that He was truly with me, within me and in those who were comforting me. Every day I learn more and more that suffering and pain is the doorway to experiencing God.  So, God’s not in the joy? Of course He is, as God so clearly and beautifully tells us in John 10:10 ("I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.") But, in the joy, we tend to look outward. There are distractions that keep us from looking at God, there are celebrations that continuously ask us to move our gaze from Him; and above all, there is always the threat of the 'me' and the 'I'.  But, in suffering, we look inw
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He is Risen, Alleluia! (Happy Easter!)

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Born in a Catholic family, Easter vigil has been a part of my life forever. The earliest memory I have of the Easter Vigil service is being around six years old and sitting next to my mom at the Immaculate Conception Cathedral, Pondicherry (or St. Paul's Kovil - church- which is locally just called 'Samba Kovil!). There were streamers and lots of decorations. I think we might have been late for mass, because we were sitting outside in the courtyard. Six year old me was excited to be outside at midnight; the sights and sounds were mesmerising - women in silk, men in their tailored shirts and pants (because in the early eighties that was the norm!) and children in their shiny frocks and pattu paavadais.  I have a very clear memory of asking my mom what was happening and why the church was decorated. "Jesus is coming back" she had replied in hushed tones.  "Tonight?" I had asked, shocked.  "Yes, he's going up to heaven tonight" she had said, motio
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Good Friday

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There is pain in my heart that ebbs and flows and I fall exhaustedly on your chest like my children fall on mine. But is my pain even atomically comparable to yours, Jesus?  I move my gaze from my pain to your bleeding hands and feet as the nails tear through skin, flesh, tendon, ligament and muscle. I fix my eyes on the blood dripping from your crown of thorns. My eyes are on the ripped flesh on your body from the scourging and flogging. I look and behold the pierced side dripping blood and water.  What is my pain but a speck, a dot, a dust on the horizon, barely even decipherable.  Your pain, Lord, gives me life. You saved me. You chose me. You loved me so much that you walked to your death of your own accord. What more could I ever want but to be so loved, so cherished and SO WANTED by my God.  You died in my place. And for this I am forever and for all eternity grateful. 
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Lent Begins. Ash Wednesday - 2024

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This year, on Ash Wednesday, Lent began with hope. The sermon was beautiful as Father Semon encouraged us by reminding that Lent is not a season of suffering, but a season of spiritual renewal. That this is a time to choose to do away with our sins and draw nearer to God.  For me, the exhortation to remember those who are discarded by society to live at its periphery, toeing a fine line between being human and being nothing was especially touching. This coincided with a book that I'm reading - The Abyss, by Jeyamohan, which is the story of such human beings; the description of life for the 'discarded of society' was so agonising, that reading the first few pages had already torn my heart apart.  This Lent, as I gaze at my Crucified Christ, I ask God to reveal Himself to me. To truly understand the sacrifice of His Son that has given me the right to call God my Fatherly Mother and Motherly Father. 
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