Be present to the scars

Have we come home? Or are we still in the rush of the day - in the road, in the office, still waiting for an interview, or just lost after a few tough words with our loved ones? We are in a churning disk to be thrown out any time to unknown directions. Even amidst the offers of success and prosperity, we are pushed into yet another competition, at times exhausted. 

Let this evening take us to a newer capacity to form a consolation in our struggles. A life that is messed up, lost, or unachieved; a life that turned against our dreams - all these bear the touch of our tears and sighs. We are what they have shaped us. Let us come home, this evening. Being tender to ourselves, our feelings, sinking moments - let us be simply present to them. In our minds, let's allow all those who have shaped our present, for both good and bad, to be present with us. Perhaps in the dim light we can see the scar of tears that they too bore on their lives. They have come through great tribulations. Rarely anyone can claim an absolute success, but an evening grace offers an image of Christ being formed in us. We do bear the scars of our falls, but can we be a healer? Can we be a quiet, anointing light - a steady radiance that shines from within our brokenness.

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sanctuary of our own lives

As the sun goes down let us raise an altar. The Bible has examples of building new altars or rebuilding the fallen altar. We find the graciousness of our life as life longs for its fruition in offering itself. Gather the life events, build an altar. “What can I offer? What can I bring to God, hoping for continued guidance and grace?” Let us offer whatever we are. It is acceptable. A sincere and wholehearted giving is what is important. This willingness to engage honestly with our inner selves, to confront our struggles and embrace our capacity for love and compassion, this is the true sacrifice laid upon the altar of our lives. They are precious, and approach them as so sacred that they reveal to us the heart of God. Here the altar turns to be a sincere conversation with the divine. Then there is a sanctuary of our own lives. As the night deepens, let this closeness with ourselves and with God be our evening offering.

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sacramentality in human living

 As evening is near and we feel the weight of the day, of our life, we may have asked why God does not just fix our struggles and sufferings.  At times thoughts about God bring more questions than answers. We expect goodness and sweetness everywhere, but we do not always find them. The night can feel bitter as we struggle with our own pain or witness the deep sufferings of others. It can seem like God stands far away when he is most needed, as silent observer of our loneliness and injustice.

Every injured living creature looks miserably and helplessly for mercy and empathy. We don’t find God coming to fix these griefs. God is present not only in beauty and glory, but also in our ugliness and failures, not as victorious but as a sufferer. God the giver of life and full of goodness seem to be a useless God. God suffers in our pains; God also brings consolation into them by our compassion. There is a sacramentality in human living. When we live mercy, kindness, or forgiveness, we are not just being good people; we are revealing a divine presence. Our empathy and shared experiences are not just natural traits; they are the very way God’s love becomes truly visible in the world. Being near to a sick person, we offer a sacramental presence of God to the sick, giving an experiential reality of mercy of God when we show mercy. Sincere living of beatitudes becomes real brightness in the dark when the grace begins to extend to where the frailty of God appears. God’s revelation happens in reality as the grace in us turns to be a blessedness even when God seems to be absent and useless.

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ailing body into a river of grace

Evenings have a way of taking us inward, our thoughts, and feelings. As the day is over, we often become more aware of our pains and the quiet struggles within us; hidden shames and silent battles. Time seems moving slow.  We long for a gentle hand to hold ours, for a comforting presence, for healing, and for renewed strength. Sometimes, the approaching night can increase our anxieties, our disappointments, loneliness, and pain. Perhaps, the stillness of the evening can help us to leave them into further depths.

Let us ask God to help us immerse our ailing body into a river of grace. Healing is not just about medicine and rest; it is also about a deep, inner peace, grace through pass over the moments of pain and suffering. In moments of pain, let us trust in a love that holds us close. Let us find the courage to forgive ourselves and the world, and to hold onto hope even when we are still in the dark, daring to walk ahead. At times we may be attached to our sickness or emotional pain. It is important that we permit ourselves to be healed. It is okay to let go of our hurt and allow ourselves to be healed. Even in our deepest loneliness and pain, there is a grace that doesn't demand a perfect surrender and devotion, but a warm love that simply settles over us. This love might gradually give us the freedom to permit to let go of our hurt and allow ourselves to be healed. It is the grace that helps us to endure our hurts and death, but to find them as holy grounds in our pilgrim journey. Let us gather strength and courage to descend to the depths of self-emptying moments. This is not a distant light of a dream, but a comforting presence that walks with us into the night, making a home in our hearts.

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Rereading life through grace

 As a day is spent, in the moments of evening, all that is left are smoke and ashes. We are afraid to dream because certain loss of precious things has shattered our light. Perhaps there has been betrayal, or deep rejection. There was no shining cloud to lead, and no fire appeared in the dark. All our securities, certainties, and comforts are challenged, because our sense of self, of belonging, was so deeply attached to what is now missing. This experience of loss truly compels us to reshape our personal world. We begin to regather our memories, retelling our story with grace.

 Jesus reinterpreted the pain of the disciples on the way to Emmaus. When we are alone with our thoughts in the quietness of the evening, we can tell him to stay with us. Experience the consolation of the Holy Spirit and cultivate self-compassion, moving beyond the self-blame that so often accompanies loss. Being in grace, trusting in God, we can confront our painful emotions. This prevents suppression and helps us integrate the loss into our life story. Our fears, brokenness, temptations, and even the matters of our sins can be transformed into the most sincere prayers of the heart. We develop a deeper capacity for empathy, self-awareness, and kindness. It is about more than just surviving loss; it is about emerging with a strengthened sense of purpose.

Picture of life

We all have a picture of our lives, an image that tells the story we have lived. Darkness is woven into this picture, and we see this images in different colours and depths. We might add deep colours and shades of black lines, picturing them in dark shades. I have become lonely, very rude, life is lost, unable to enter into society, I am not comfortable with others, … many are the lines we have drawn to the picture.

Even in this darkness, does God see this picture? Does he know the fabric of these colours? Evening came and then morning came, and God found it was good. That was God’s pattern of history. All our stories, our pictures are joined to God’s history. See the grace descending deep into the fabric of the painting, to the roots of our life. Feel the consoling and comforting grace touching our bitter pains and tears. There will be a mercy sprouting and flowing from our own hearts into our pains. Darkness offers an embracing mystery over our black shades, and grace dissolves them into peace, turning our life into an anointing grace.

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