Showing posts with the label Fragmented and fragile

Yoked to Jesus

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” †  Mathew 11: 28-30  What is the labour and burden that Jesus is asking me to deal with? Perhaps I have to let go of the compulsive burden (or is it a sort of entitlement?) that my spouse and children should choose a spiritual path that I know to be right. Jesus accompanied Judas Iscariot to the very end but never deprived him of his freedom to choose his own destiny. Jesus on the other hand, uninterrupted by Judas's choice to reject him, continues to accomplish his mission. He does become a victim of Judas's betrayal but he seldom takes on the victim's identity. In divine wisdom, Jesus chooses to die in our place (and that of Judas) in a redeeming act of love. Rather than being compelled to fix those whom God has entrusted to my headship by m

Fragmented and fragile

Fragmented and fragile I’m, that I willingly forfeit the joy of thy presence for cheap pleasure. I savour from your table all the day and quietly sneak out to devourer the rubbish as if it is a delicacy, until I’m done with it. Then I find myself far away, swept into a hostile world. My integrity, faithfulness and even existence, sinisterly questioned. I feel ashamed. The voices around me say “Stay here, we will give your unworthiness, company. I either am sipping from the malicious chalice of unrealistic pleasure or staring at it fearfully. In both the cases, this vicious chalice is my preoccupation. Deep down I long for it. The Truth fades to oblivion; knowledge takes a nap because I let them do. Truth aglow, knowledge ushers in. I see what is happening to me as if I were outside of me. The sweetness of your love enthrall my inside yet again. I can walk into your presence without a veil. You receive me with acceptance unconditional. Here I get up and walk.  The voices, still