Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
St. Francis Prayer sung by Sarah McLachlan
Monday, March 22, 2010
The Pastor’s Ass
The Pastor’s Ass
The Pastor’s Ass
The Pastor entered his donkey in a race and it won.
The Pastor was so pleased with the donkey that he entered it in the race again and it won again.
The local paper read:
PASTOR’S ASS OUT FRONT.
The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the Pastor not to enter the donkey in another race.
The next day the local paper headline read:
BISHOP SCRATCHES PASTOR’S ASS.
This was too much for the Bishop so he ordered the Pastor to get rid of the donkey.
The Pastor decided to give it to a Nun in a nearby convent.
The local paper, hearing of the news, posted the following headline the next day:
NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN.
The Bishop fainted.
He informed the Nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey so she sold it to a farmer for $10.
The next day the paper read:
NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10.
This was too much for the Bishop so he ordered the Nun to b uy back
the donkey and lead it to the plains where it could run wild.
The next day the headlines read:
NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE.
The Bishop was buried the next day.
The moral of the story is . . . being concerned about public opinion
can bring you much grief and misery . . even shorten your life.
So be yourself and enjoy life.
Stop worrying about everyone else’s ass and you’ll be a lot happier
and live longer!
Thursday, March 11, 2010
March 11, 2010 - Listening as Spiritual Hospitality - Henri Nouwen
-------- Original Message --------
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To listen is very hard, because it asks of us so much interior stability that we no longer need to prove ourselves by speeches, arguments, statements, or declarations. True listeners no longer have an inner need to make their presence known. They are free to receive, to welcome, to accept.
Listening is much more than allowing another to talk while waiting for a chance to respond. Listening is paying full attention to others and welcoming them into our very beings. The beauty of listening is that, those who are listened to start feeling accepted, start taking their words more seriously and discovering their own true selves. Listening is a form of spiritual hospitality by which you invite strangers to become friends, to get to know their inner selves more fully, and even to dare to be silent with you.-- Ben Timmons Organizational and Technology Consulting 3858 65th Street Sacramento, Ca 95820 Drben54@gmail.com (916) 599-3838 (Cell and Pager) (916) 457-2295 (Voicemail and Land Line)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
March 10, 2010 - Our Unique Call from Henri Nouwen
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So many terrible things happen every day that we start wondering whether the few things we do ourselves make any sense. When people are starving only a few thousand miles away, when wars are raging close to our borders, when countless people in our own cities have no homes to live in, our own activities look futile. Such considerations, however, can paralyse us and depress us.
Here the word call becomes important. We are not called to save the world, solve all problems, and help all people. But we each have our own unique call, in our families, in our work, in our world. We have to keep asking God to help us see clearly what our call is and to give us the strength to live out that call with trust. Then we will discover that our faithfulness to a small task is the most healing response to the illnesses of our time.
Share your thoughts on this reflection. These reflections are taken from Henri J.M. Nouwen's Bread for the Journey. Join our Lenten book discussion, starting February 17th.
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Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Shy-Anne Hovorka
Monday, March 8, 2010
From Earth Prayers, by Thich Nhat Hanh
From Earth Prayers, by Thich Nhat Hanh
Do not say that I’ll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.
Look at me: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird whose wings are still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope,
the rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.
I am the mayfly metamorphosing in the
surface of the river.
I am also the bird which, when spring comes,
arrives in time to eat the mayfly.
I am a frog swimming happily in the
clear water of a pond.
I am also the grass-snake who,
approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
I am also the merchant of arms, selling deadly
weapons to Uganda.
I am the 12-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after
being raped by a sea pirate.
I am also the pirate, my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.
I am a member of the politburo, with
plenty of power in my hand.
I am also the man who has to pay his
“debt of blood” to my people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.
My joy is like spring, so warm it makes
flowers bloom in all walks of life.
My pain is like a river of tears, so full it
fills up all the four oceans.
Please call me by my correct names,
so that I can hear all my cries and my laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are but one.
Please call me by my correct names,
so I can become awake,
and so that the door of my heart be left open,
the door of compassion.
