Reconciliation

I am reading Richard Lischer's book pictured above. The subtitle is "The Language of Reconciliation in a Culture of Violence." Rich Lischer is one of those people who you want to listen to. He teaches homiletics (preaching) at Duke Divinity School in Durham, NC and he has written several books. My favorite book by Lischer is "The Preacher King: Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Word That Moved America."

In "End of Words" Lischer writes, "...Contemporary preachers cannot help but notice a growing dissonance between message and sensorium, between gospel and the all encompassing sea of words, images, and ideologies within which we attempt to communicate it [the gospel]." I am connecting these words of Lischer's with my own pondering about how ministry or creativity can happen in the midst of the barrage of media, and "busy life distractions" which fill our days. Perhaps our Italian friends have the right idea - close everything in the early afternoon and rest, listen to our interior life, visit oneanother, or create something before going back to work.

How can we hear Jesus saying "Blessed are the peacemakers" in a sea of violent images which come our way day after day? Can we hear St. Catherine of Siena saying to Pope Gregory XI, "Act like a man, go against your advisors and do what is the right thing?" Really hearing these words in the midst of an overwhelming culture of greed might encourage me to stand up to what is wrong. Rocking the boat is scary. Is there any way left in our self - focused culture for going against popular opinion? Can we hear St. Francis saying, "Where there is hatred, sow love?" The fields of my own heart produce more and more reasons why I shouldn't love. Sowing love is dangerous because it might yield change in me. I might have to be forgiven by someone I don't want to like. Or I might have to forgive someone and then find that I do like them! This is scary stuff and I believe it is the work of reconciliation.

This is a picture taken from Mt. Subasio above Assisi. These are the snow covered mountains north of us (thankfully).

And, as I sort of tidy things up to get ready to fly back to the US tomorrow, here is a poem I wrote about our rainy day in Siena. It was evening as we made our way back to the car and hard to find our way.

Siena

Bowed heads;
stone steps slick with rain;
missed turns.
Out of the stormy evening
she appears with hand extended.
Long skirt
sweeping our way;
covered head
lifted to the right.

Lost is broken;
the missed street found -
straight ahead.
Turning

each time with “grazie” on our lips;
realizing
in each hand offered that St. Catherine
is alive
in her people.