That is "mess" not "Mass." Mess as in messes. As in puddles of tears and stains on clothing, and the flowers crushed with enthusiasm. I've often mused on how God makes some of the most amazing things rather messy. Eating for example. While there is much I do to limit the hazards, inevitably there is waste and dishes that follow the culinary satisfaction. Children are often the definition of messy, starting with their birth. Yes it is beautiful, joyful, a miracle of God - the most powerful thing most women ever experience - but I can't agree with those who claim it's not messy. Those raw days with the newborn too: the bleary eyes, frumpy clothes, and baby leaks don't lend a aesthetic beauty to the scene, but rather a human one. It is the deep beauty of love poured out for another. The cross was extremely messy, gruesome, and horrifying to look at. Many of us in our tidy American churches have rather clean looking crucifixes (for which I'm grateful) but the end result is rather sanitary looking. The crucifixion was not remotely sanitary, only those numb could bear to look upon it without being overcome with tears and shock by the horror. Yet in meditating upon it and consuming it's power we are given life.
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JpgA mother, pondering what it means to be loved. CategoriesArchives
March 2017
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