on Padre Pio

I read a biographical story about Padre Pio and really wanted to share some of that with you. It's amazing stuff! The piece was written by John McCaffery and edited by John J. Delaney in his book entitled Saints Are Now.

Different people may give varying interpretations of the phenomena which took place in that little monastery to make it a world beacon; but about the phenomena themselves there can be no doubt, for they were witnessed, sifted, and experienced in their effects by large numbers of intelligent persons. ...The Church authorities were so reluctant to accept their authenticity that for ten entire years, in the fear that they were manifestations of autosuggestion, hysteria, deliberate deception or even diabolical possession, Padre Pio was cut off from outside contact, even by letter, and he was not allowed to confess penitents or to say Mass in public.

An eminent Roman physician, last of those entrusted with a medical examination of Padre Pio's stigmata, had begun as a contemptuous unbeliever in the seriousness of what he had been asked to investigate. But in more than 200 pages covering a 2 year period he gave a detailed account of his experiments to find a humanly explicable cause for those stigmata, and ended with a confession of failure and the conclusion that their origin and continuance could be described only to benignly preternatural intervention. He became a devoted disciple of the man whose wounds and whose psychology he had coldly, methodically, and often most harshly probed.

My own conversion came only when I reluctantly consented to go down to San Giovanni with an old friend and meet the man himself. It was the nearest thing I could imagine to meeting Christ; and in his presence all the reluctance and quasi-hostility fell away, and all the incredible phenomena became easily and even logically acceptable.

After Padre Pio joined the monastery he was found unconscious one day before the crucifix in the church gallery, where the friars conducted their community prayers and where he himself went often to pray and meditate. To his intense embarrassment, he and the friar who helped him to his cell discovered that his hands an feet were completely transfixed and bleeding. And these wounds, as well as another in his side leading to the heart, bled continuously and freshly as though newly inflicted for all of 50 years, disappearing gradually only some few weeks before his death.

For 50 years he bore the sufferings described, walking around on pierced feet and using those pierced and agonizing hands, he ate as much daily as would sustain a bird - generally a forkful of vegetables or pasta - and this because he was constrained by obedience to join the other friars at the noon meal. His drinking too was absolutely minimal; and I think it would be fair to say that the strongest of ordinary men would have died of exhaustion, malnutrition, anaemia and dehydration within a matter of months.

Most of all he spent long and strenuous hours every day, every week, every month, every year, without break or relaxation, in the confessional.

He built a hospital and at its inauguration, which I attended was scheduled an international cardiological conference. None of the famous attendees was a Catholic but all of them were deeply and sincerely impressed at the saintly man behind it all. Paul White, most courteous of men, was so moved that on greeting Padre Pio with the rest of his colleagues I remember he finished his little congratulatory speech with the uncharacteristically gauche phrase..."and congratulations Father, on your wounds." !

Miracles poured out from San Giovanni which is to say those worked through his intercession upon other people. They were innumerable; and as well as having been myself healed of serious cardiac and circulatory ills, I saw a number of the more striking miracles at close quarters.

Padre Pio had appeared to a man at his home near Florence and reprimanded him severely for his drunken ill treatment of his wife. Incredulous the man stubbornly drove all the way down to the little monastery in a spirit of disbelief and challenge, and had soon found himself upon his knees in Padre Pio's confessional. He left it one of Padre Pio's most loyal and constant devotees.

Another ex-communist I met at San Giovanni was former editor of the newspaper. To him Padre Pio had appeared when he was in the act of committing suicide and taking his little daughter with him. After that the man said " what binds me to Padre Pio is his tremendous Christ likeness."

Fr. Dominic also lived at San Giovanni. Not only had Padre Pio cured him of cancer; he had assisted Father Dominic's father in bi location on his deathbed in Milwaukee.

One man had been born blind with eyes so eaten by disease that they looked like shrivelled dried peas in his head. Those same eyes, perfectly reformed by Padre Pio, were now regarding me across the desk. But there was an interesting insert to his story.

When he implored Padre Pio to pray that his sight might be restored he had added "even if it be only from one eye." When he returned 3 weeks later, weeping with joy and to thank his benefactor for the incredible transformation, he was asked, "And so you now see again perfectly?" "Yes," he replied, "from this eye, not from the other one." Padre Pio shook his head reproachfully. "Let that be a lesson for you," he said. "Never put limitations on God. Always ask for the big grace."

There were, too, happenings which seemed at first so outlandish that, even with all the evidence of the miraculous which I had witnessed or experienced, they appeared to me to be pure legend. I am thinking especially of the story of Padre Pio's appearing in the sky during the last war and turning back an American bombing mission due to drop its bombs near San Giovanni's rotundo. I took this story to be herioc folklore in the making - until the day I met the leader of the squadron personally. It was no legend; it was just another of these facts of which I have now been attempting to convince other people, and he recounted it to Lord Eldon, lord in waiting to Queen Elizabeth, when they met in a rail compartment on their journey from Rome to San Giovanni.

http://www.mostholyfamilymonastery.com/PadrePio.pdf

Two Wolves

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, 'My son, the battle is between two 'wolves' inside us all.
One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, forgiveness, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.'
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: 'Which wolf wins?'
The old Cherokee simply replied, 'The one you feed.'

2 Desperate Women

A woman and a sick woman at that. A real outcast at that time. She’d gone everywhere to get help. It had been 12 years and that’s an eternity if you’re hemorrhaging. She’s lucky she lived that long. Today she might have been hospitalized, put on IV to replenish her fluids and eventually she’d have a hysterectomy. But then she was avoided and she just continued to get weaker. Every year she deteriorated more. She must have known she could not do this much longer. She’d been to see whoever she could see about it. There was nothing anyone else could do.
D E S P E R A T E
Maybe she’d been desperate for months. Maybe she felt herself get physically weaker. She might have begun to give up until she heard about Jesus. She heard how he had raised the widow’s son to life and how he had cured the centurion’s daughter. The widow and the daughter were both females. “Surely someone who could raise a person back to life would help me.” That’s the day she determined to find him. She heard the stories from the town’s people and she kept track of his travels. Large crowds were following him so the tracking was easy. Following was a bit harder in her weakened condition but her need drove her onward. She felt a great excitement on the day when she finally caught a glimpse of him through the crowd. Silently she argued with herself. How would she get through the dense gathering of people clamoring for his attention? What would she say when she finally got to that point where she could address him? This was a determined woman. After all those years of illness all that struggle to finally catch up to him, nothing was going to deter her now. Her desperation was that great and her belief that Jesus would be the one to help her was that strong.
She dug in and nudged her way through. Shoulder to shoulder, one person at a time. She overheard conversations as she went. The widow’s son, a sermon he had given, who his apostles were. “Do you think he’s really a Son of God?” some asked. She could see him now. Her heart rate went up. Just a few more rows of people to go. She knew she was doing the right thing. She knew she’d never get to speak to him but she reasoned it wasn’t even necessary. All she’d have to do is….
And she touched the fringe on his cloak. For a few short seconds she held on to it. He didn’t even see her because she was behind him. That’s OK.

12 years
No help
No where else to go
Her last hope

She felt the fabric of his fringe.
That was all she needed.

For me it’s not been 12 years Jesus- not even 12 months. My stress started on 9-16-07. And I need you, too. My head has been doing a lot of work to reason out the problems. My heart has found a way to protect itself from pain by avoiding stressors. So I manage until my heart is forced to deal with an issue for some reason. I’m weak. I need to depend on you, reach out to you, and feel your presence. I want my heart to feel you nearby. I feel like I’m walking through the crowd to get to touch you. In this case it’s a crowd of thoughts and activities though. I need my heart and my mind to be very still and willing to feel. I avoid that in a self protective kind of way. (I’m actually the opposite of the woman with the hemorrhage. I’m emotionally cold and all closed up.) But Jesus, I am hurting. I’m in emotional pain and need you beside me. I’ll deal with it. I’m OK if this is your plan for me right now. I’m not asking you to take it away. I only want to occasionally feel you beside me. Problem is, if I feel you then I can feel everything and that leads me to depression. I comfort myself in knowing that you know what I’m experiencing and that I am doing your will. It’s a knowledge, not a feeling though. It suffices. I guess I’m looking to you for a comfort connection.
Oddly the woman with the hemorrhage wants to feel too – to touch you so she could be healed. She did reach out and “immediately her bleeding stopped. “ Luke 8:44
Jesus’ response was “Who touched me? I know that power has gone out from me.” Verses 45 and 46.
I’m reaching out too Jesus. Not many people know what I’m going through. I’ve sought help from professionals like the woman did. The situation just keeps evolving. There’s no where else for me to turn for emotional strength. I’m reaching for you through the crowd. Reaching out to you for emotional support and for the strength to endure. Life remains busy all around me. I need to get through it in order to reach you, to touch the fringe of your cloak.
When I reach you emotionally – one day when I can- I want to hear the same sentence, “Who touched me? I know power has gone out from me.”
For now I move toward you and hope that my frozen heart melts one day so I can feel your touch again. Your will be done.

Self Confidence: A Delicate Balance

"St Paul had confidence in the message he preached because it was the message of the person Jesus Christ. 2Tim 1:12 His confidence, like ours, should not be in ourselves but in the person we believe in. This makes us humble but confident servants. If we find ourselves saying, "I" too much, we may be lacking the humility of a servant of Jesus. If we found ourselves doubting His care for us or doubting the truth of His teaching we may be lacking in confidence. It's a delicate balance.

We find our strength in the person of Jesus and our prayer relationship with him. "

Words of Wisdom from Cardinal Rigali of Philadelphia PA written in the Catholic Standard and Times June 5, 2008.

my p.s. : a little humility every now and then doesn't hurt

Is This My Home?

1 Peter 1:17 “Live your lives as strangers here in reverent fear.” If I live as a stranger on this earth I can expect to feel different from everyone who considers this their home. They’d be comfortable and I would not be. To the degree that I feel welcomed I am not a stranger. My home is not here, but I am on a journey toward it. I should expect to be misunderstood and misjudged. If I, an American female in NJ, suddenly moved to India everything would be different for me. Basics like food and climate would be readily observed. But other things like government processes, cultural norms, status of females, work styles and economy would be vastly different, too.
If in this life I am a stranger, then many accepted customs should seem foreign to me. Drug use, crime, lack of respect for life, competition, definition of success are examples of such. None of these would be easily understood, more or less accepted in my personal life. If I “live my life as a stranger in reverent fear” then I live counter culturally. I don’t incorporate myself into those norms but rebel against them. My rebellion would take the form of life in an opposite style.
Remember the prayer of St. Francis? Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is hatred, love. I wonder about how much of a stranger I am perceived to be. If my life evidences counter cultural practices I am living in reverent fear and I can expect to feel unwelcome.

I am on a journey only.
My Home is not here.

Where Is God When You Need Him?

Do you know the legend of the Cherokee Indian youth's rite of passage? His father takes him into the forest, blindfolds him and leaves him alone. He is required to sit on a stump the whole night and not remove the blindfold until the rays of the morning sun shine through it. He cannot cry out for help to anyone. Once he survives the night, he is a MAN.
He cannot tell the other boys of this experience because each lad must come into manhood on his own. The boy is naturally terrified. He can hear all kinds of noises. Wild beasts must surely be all around him. Maybe even some human might do him harm. The wind blew the grass and earth, and shook his stump, but he sat stoically, never removing the blindfold. It would be the only way he could become a man! Finally, after a horrific night, the sun appeared and he removed his blindfold. It was then that he discovered his father sitting on the stump next to him. He had been at watch the entire night, protecting his son from harm.
We, too, are never alone. Even when we don't know it, our Heavenly Father is watching over us, sitting on the stump beside us. When trouble comes, all we have to do is reach out to Him. If you liked this story, pass it on. If not, perhaps you took off your blindfold before dawn.
Moral of the Story: Just because you can't see God, doesn't mean He is not there.

On Accepting Myself

Here' what I'm learning these days. It's about letting go. I do my best and let it go. I do what I can and let it go. It actually sounds logical and fairly simple. You can only do what you can do, right? You wouldn't expect a cow to sing. You wouldn't expect a tree to fly. They each have limitations and so do I. Humility is being able to accept my own weaknesses. I must "bear serenely the trial of being displeasing to myself." To St. Therese that's the definition of holiness. To me it's been the definition of failure. With God's grace I'm moving from defining it as a failure to defining it as holiness...or at least humility. I'm learning slowly how to accept my own limitations.

Being Jesus' Twin

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I need to look and act more like you, Jesus. Show me just for today how I can make better choices so people see you instead of me. It's about looking at one person and seeing another. When you look at Susie you don't see Joey. When you look at twins Donny and Johnny you might mistake one for the other. So I have to become your twin on earth. We do have the same Father, after all. I have to learn how to finish your thoughts, enjoy the same things you enjoy (sorry, but we're not going to dress alike. I don't do togas and robes!) I have to feel like you though and not just look like you or sound like you. You forgave the soldiers on Calvery. I have to forgive a friend who betrayed me causing me pain and tears. You preached about your Father, about prayer, and about heaven. I need to be willing and eager to evangelize - not a traditional passtime for Catholics.

If I am to be your twin I really need to read your inspiried Biography - the Bible. I need to soak in every word, delve deep into each passage that describes you and imagine each scenario. Then I can put myself somewhere in the middle of each scene with you. If I'm comfortable doing that I can move onto the next step - replacing you and your words in each scene with myself and my own words. That might be feasible while we're looking at Bible scenes, Jesus. But what about today's work scenarios? Today if Maggie doesn't do her job thoroughly then I won't be able to finish my part of the report and my boss won't get it in time.

So if you were me what would you do Jesus?

This twin thing could be hard. Anyone got ideas?

Let's not give satan hope...

For me, sin is feeling tired and being short with people. It’s being impatient with lots of questions. It’s resentment toward drivers who are too slow or who cut in front of me. It’s about allowing my own schedule, To Do List, fears or problems distract me from giving attention to others.

Sin is a choice. A preference for being angry over being like Jesus. I make a clear decision to be more like satan than like Jesus. Every time I make that choice satan grows. His hope gets brighter. I don’t have to turn my whole life over to him – just one minute of the day at a time. One action at a time. One person at a time. Satan is that sneaky and he knows its that simple. He knows I won’t make a blatant choice to become a devil worshipper or to murder anyone. So he works on my last nerve to try to sway me.
But I know every moment of every day offers me a choice. The sum of all those choices is my life.

Jesus, I only have one lifetime in which to love you. Help me make right choices today.

Sin Is A Choice

Me over Jesus
Darkness over Light
Evil over Good
Selfishness over generosity
My feelings over the feelings of others


Sin is a choice
Now instead of forever
Immediate gratification instead of eternal reward
The easy way instead of the better way
Pleasing self instead of thinking of others

Sin is decision to fuel satan’s power, giving him my approval to keep up his pursuit of me. It gives him hope that one day I may fall. Fall down to him. Fall to honor him.

Jesus, help me please!

visual holiness 3

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Seraphin Gallery

visual holiness 2

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visual holiness

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050417Holycrossmaryin rocks

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Using another sense to praise God and His Creation~ join me!

Power over satan!

Walking along the path of life doing my thing. It’s a very simple thing. Feels like it’s not of great consequences in the Big Scheme of Things. (Is that the first attack?) I trip over my doubt and get distracted by the trip. Then I move on.

Walking along I resume use of my talents. While doing so I make a public mistake. It’s one that might cause others to question my aptitude to be a good example to others. I get concerned about my ability to do this well. Eventually I accept God’s grace and can move forward on the path again.

While on the path I get distracted by the pretty colors of the flowers and stop to pick one to keep for myself. After all, I’ve been on the path a while. I deserve some enjoyment, don’t I? So I sit down, rest from my journey and look around to see what else might be here for me to take. Some fruit? Maybe some colorful feathers birds have discarded. I could fill up my extra water jug. All these things are pleasant in themselves, but when I concentrate on them and not The Plan, satan wins.

Once as I was following God’s plan for the path of my life I was attacked. It was a physical attack and I was hurt. My pain replaced my plan. I could not move forward and I became sad. My physical attack was compounded by an emotional one. As I cried I wondered why God would abandon me like this.

The devil rejoiced. The ultimate success was a spiritual attack. That’s exactly where I was. My friends encouraged me. I barely listened. I thought my struggle was too big for any human to fix. I turned to Scripture. Speak to me, God! Help me, Jesus! Please.

Luke 10: 19
Romans 8:37

Jesus, do you mean that all along I had the power? Power over distractions and doubt? Power over pain and self pity? It was with me the whole time?
I kept re reading the passages from Jesus. I can trample serpents. They should be afraid of me and not vice versa. I have more power than the devil himself! He can’t MAKE me get distracted or feel powerless. HE can’t MAKE me feel self pity or loneliness. I am more than a conqueror over him and all his ways. It’s not just a win, it’s an easy win. Score 1,000 to 0. Not a chance. And I don’t have to write a letter or make a phone call to ask for help. It’s within me. Power and authority from God himself is what I’ve got in me.

I don’t have to concentrate on kicking the devil to the curb, tho I could if I wanted. All I have to do is ignore him. Don’t give him the attention he needs and craves. It’s food for him. Well he’s not getting it from me. I’ll not feed into his plan. It will shrivel away from starvation and neglect.

My strength is in the Lord. It’s in his word. It’s in his Food- the Bread of Life. That’s my mantra. The name of the munchkin in the red suit isn’t mentioned. Like the car keys I was looking for that were in my pocket all along. The eyeglasses I searched for were right on top of my head. I’ve had power and authority from the Lord all the time. I can either use it or let it atrophy like an unused muscle.

Luke 10:19 “I have given you authority and power.” I just need to believe it to be victorious.

What I Can Do!

“I’ve heard God’s voice. It is the never interrupted voice of love speaking from eternity and giving life and love whenever it is heard. When I hear that voice I know that I am home with God and have nothing to fear. As the Beloved of my heavenly Father I can ‘walk in the valley of darkness; no evil would I fear’. As the Beloved, I can ‘cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out devils’. Having ‘received without charge’ I can ‘give without charge.’ As the Beloved I can confront, console, admonish and encourage without fear of rejection or need for affirmation. As the Beloved I can suffer persecution without desire for revenge and receive praise without using it as proof of my goodness. As the Beloved I can be tortured and killed without ever having to doubt that the love that is given to me is stronger than death. As the Beloved I am free to live and give life, free also to die while giving life. “
From The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen.

Always Have Hope

www.ccrcinc.org

That’s what children do. They believe and hope despite indications to the contrary. Jesus said, “Unless you become like little children you cannot enter heaven.” So instead of noticing problems I will act like I’m God’s child. He’ll take care of it. I’m not going to worry about it. He knows I don’t know how to fix it anyway. “Do you think Bill Gates’ daughter worries when her computer doesn’t work?” (Max Lucado) I’ve always be spoiled by God in the past. I’ve never had to walk on water. Jesus always did that for me. I’ve never had to know all the answers. My Father is the teacher so when the questions come up I just need to go to Him. I can say UNCLE or I can say JESUS – either way I have to just surrender. I need to remain innocent and uncomplicated. No plotting or planning. No crying or whining.

It’s really very freeing to be an innocent child. All I have to do is stay close to my Father!

I WAS Dead.

Jesus, did you just sort of “wake up” lying in that tomb?

Your eyes flutter open but your face is covered. To move that covering your hands have to reach up. But your fingers and your nose tell you other things cover your body. Instinctively you try to move your hand up toward your face to move the cloth. Now you smell the myrrh – a smell your life began with 33 years ago. Your hand moves the cloth and fragrances away from your eyes and mouth. As you do that your hand feels tightness to it and to open your palm fully requires a stretching motion. Finally you’ve cleared your face with the help of your second hand. That hand too required that you stretch your fingertips wide to relieve the tautness of the spread.

It’s dark inside the tomb so you don’t see the scars on your palms but as you begin to awaken you also begin to remember. You remember the smell of those same fragrances from your visit to Lazarus’ tomb. Your now outstretched hand brings the scene back. The darkness that covers you confirms the memory. I was dead.

As you lie there you try to collect your thoughts.

I was dead.

The nails went through these same hands. I remember the hammer coming toward my hands and feet. The memories are all rushing back now.

The spear went through my side, Jesus recalled. Instinctively he reached to touch it. A healed scar replaced the torn flesh. And as he tried to lift his head, a smile began to grow ever so slightly on one side of his mouth. I was dead.

No crown of thorns on his head now as Jesus tries to hoist his upper body into a seated position. Buds, plants and flowers all trickle and fall away and Jesus removes the cloth that had once covered his face and body.

Seated upright his eyes try to focus and he turns his head to see where they placed his once lifeless body. The tiny smile begins to broaden into a grin. “Oh Father!” He had been buried and placed in someone’s tomb. It was someone else’s tomb because Jesus never had on for himself. Did he think he’d never need one? But he didn’t have his own house, either. “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” (Luke 9:57-58)

“Father” Only one word. After all the experiences of the past three days the only word Jesus could bring himself to speak was “Father”. In that word alone was the full realization of what happened. The union of the two in that one word was like a meteor hitting the earth. The Father, who had been watching his Son’s body return to life as closely as he watched him be scourged, crucified and die, spoke his son’s name. “Jesus!” The strength of their love for one another was spoken in those single words. It was as though a huge surprise party was about to take place and only they knew about it. Jesus’ heart began to pound. He was suddenly anxious to remove himself from the tomb entirely. (Did Lazarus feel like this?”) He place two scarred but strong feet on the ground and reached his head and arms to heaven. He couldn’t wait to meet his beloved Father. He wanted to hug him, give his Abba a big, hearty pat on the back and say, “We did it! It’s done!” Instinctively he knew that would have to wait.
He looked for the entrance to the place where he had lain. Feeling around the walls which surrounded him, Jesus came upon the big stone that stood in the way between him and The Revelation. He would not have it. He could not have a stone between himself and his disciples, his mother, redemption, his Father. No stone would do that. No simple earthly stone was going to stand in his way.
Facing the stone Jesus looked up to heaven and repeated the same word, “Father!” He places his two scarred hands on the boulder blocking Jesus’ entrance into new life and it moved, slowly at first, out of his way.

No stone.
No nails.
No devil.
No death.
Nothing could stop him.
Nothing did.

As the stone rolled away so did the night. The stone was gone, darkness and sin were gone, evil and death were gone. Day broke through and with it Light, Salvation and Redemption. It was a moment of celebration for Father and Son. The grin on Jesus’ face was replaced with a huge smile. The smile erupted into a hearty laugh. “We did it. It’s done!” Jesus tilts back his head and laughs into the sky. “Father, we’ve won! Heaven has come. The doors are open wide so all can join us! Yeah!”

Jesus catches his breath, his heart pounding with excitement. He looks around one last time before he begins the final phase of his journey. Not too far away he sees the image of three empty crosses. Although it was a sobering view, his gaze then turned to the empty tomb behind him. Empty. Cloth on the ground. Stone rolled away. Empty.

Jesus then begins to walk toward his future and ours.

Be Joyful, Christian!

Enneagram #7 I just found out that I’m a #7. I guess that’s why the following phrase strikes me.

“I do not deny the darkness. I choose not to live in it.”

-Henri Nouwen

My life as a Christian should be joyful. I am perfectly loved. I have been forgiven everything I’ve done wrong. I have a ticket to heaven eventually. I was created by a Master Artist so my inner design is inherently beautiful. I have a confidant available at my beck and call 24/7 so I never need to feel alone. I have a role model and mentor who wrote down how He handled every situation in life so I’d know how to handle mine. My Beloved is so attentive that He leaves me reminders of His presence in everyone and everything around me. I just have to make sure to be attentive to these graces. His Father and Mother are equally available and giving.
So if my strength turns to weakness or my vision gets blurry or if I become anxious, all I have to do is run to Him and surrender all that. Like the prodigal son [Luke 15” 11-32] I have a Father who is anticipating my return and ready to celebrate it in a big way.

Jesus I am grateful for your gifts and your love. I pray for all those who live with blurred vision- including myself at times. I praise you God! Alleluia!

He Is Risen!

By He Qi, China

Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Palm Sunday

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I used to hate Palm Sunday because I thought the Bible story described people who'd become hypocrites. They were throwing palm branches and praising God one day and shouting for his death the next. But that wasn't hypocrisy that was just humanity being fickle. Like me those people were unpredictable. They praised the Lord on Sunday, denied Him on Thursday and begged for His murder on Friday. They are influenced by their peers while in the crowd facing Pilate. They feared for their own safety. They were happy when they were healed and got their own needs met. Palm Sunday is the date that humanity's weakness is recognized; its unpredictability and its flightiness. And when I say humanity I mean myself.

A true disciple is faithful and constant and willing to die to self. A true disciple will trust that God has a plan and that His Big Picture is a beautiful scene. I need to decide whether I want to be a member of the crowd, a casual observer or a true disciple.

I used to hate Palm Sunday because I thought the Bible story described people who'd become hypocrites. They were throwing palm branches and praising God one day and shouting for his death the next. But that wasn't hypocrisy that was just humanity being fickle. Like me those people were unpredictable. They praised the Lord on Sunday, denied Him on Thursday and begged for His murder on Friday. They are influenced by their peers while in the crowd facing Pilate. They feared for their own safety. They were happy when they were healed and got their own needs met. Palm Sunday is the date that humanity's weakness is recognized; its unpredictability and its flightiness. And when I say humanity I mean myself. A true disciple is faithful and constant and willing to die to self. A true disciple will trust that God has a plan and that His Big Picture is a beautiful scene. I need to decide whether I want to be a member of the crowd, a casual observer or a true disciple