#Donnie2Dolls #TariffWAR is going to #Cost His #BrainLESS & Poor Red States #Disciples A lot of #EconomicPain.
However, the #MAGACultMorons still Believe their #FalseOrangeGod is the worlds Best #BusinessMan
đş Notice How The #CultofMAGA Blame #Politics or âAnti-Patrioticâ Left Wing Americans Anytime Someone #Disagrees with #DonOLDCHUMP
Explore the profound meaning of Maundy Thursday. We remember Jesus's call to love one another and his humble act of washing the disciples' feet, even Judas's. Discover how our are called to embody this divine love in our lives. #MaundyThursday #HolyWeek #JesusLove #LoveOneAnother #Humility #Disciples #Faith #Christianity #SpiritualJourney #DivineLove
Quote of the day, 10 May: Pope Leo XIV
This reflection is drawn from a homily delivered by Pope Leo XIV while serving as Apostolic Administrator of the Diocese of Callao, Peru. Preached on the Second Sunday in Ordinary Time, 17 January 2021, he invites the faithful to renew their relationship with Jesus.
The readings we have heard at this Mass for the Second Sunday in Ordinary Time invite us to return to the beginning of our life of faith, to take a look at how we are living our relationship with Jesus.
In the Gospel, Jesus begins a dialogue with a question. He says to the disciples of John the Baptistâwho will later become His own followersââWhat are you looking for?â (Jn 1:38).
What are you looking for? What am I looking for? These are the first words of Jesus in this Gospel passage. We can say that the encounter with Jesus begins with a question: What are we looking for in life? What are we looking for in Jesus? The response of the two disciples is: âRabbi, where are you staying?â As if to say, Where can we find you?
This question is very important for our livesâperhaps more than ever in these timesâwhen we must seek the Lord and live our faith in new ways.
This questionâWhere can we find you? Where are you staying?âexpresses a desire present in the hearts of all of us, of every human beingâat least of those who seek something beyond the surface. Those who want to understand the true meaning of life and want to encounter God because they feel that need, that restlessness, that desire to live in union with the Lord.
When Jesus responds to the disciplesâ questionââWhere are you staying?ââHe answers: âCome and seeâ (Jn 1:39).
The Lord calls us to follow Him, and if we follow, we will truly see wondersâeven in the midst of suffering and pain and so many difficulties.
The Lord invites us to stay with Him, just as He did with the disciples of John. These disciples discover in Jesus the Lamb of God, the fullness of truth. Thatâs why Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter, when he realizes he has found the Messiah, goes and finds his brother and says, âWe have found the Messiahâ (Jn 1:41). And then Peter too comes to know Jesus.
We want to live with Christ, to follow His exampleâHe came to serve, not to be served. To live our faith especially through this experience of encountering Christ, through His Wordâreading the Word of God, asking the Lord to enlighten us, to give us the capacity to hear His voiceâthrough the Word and through other people who accompany us on the journey.
May the Lord help us to fulfill it, to be faithful, to live out this commitment He has asked of us. May we be faithful Christians, bearing witness with our livesâbecause we have already encountered Jesus. And now He wants to call us once again to accept that invitation: âWhere are you staying?â
âCome and see.â
Pope Leo XIV (Robert Francis Prevost, O.S.A.)
Prevost, R.F. 2021, Homily for the Second Sunday in Ordinary Time, Diocese of Callao, 17 January. Available at: https://www.diocesisdelcallao.org/noticias/mons-robert-prevost-escuchando-la-palabra-de-dios-descubriremos-nuestra-vocacion
Translation from the Spanish text is the bloggerâs own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.
Featured image: Pope Leo XIV (Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, O.S.A.) greets the faithful from the central balcony of St. Peterâs Basilica following his election as Supreme Pontiff on 8 May 2025. Image credit: Š Mazur/cbcew.org.uk (Some rights reserved).
⏌ Reflection Question ⏌
Have I made space to hear Jesusâ voice in Scripture and respond to His invitation to âcome and seeâ?
⏌ Join the conversation in the comments.
#disciples #followingJesus #JesusChrist #PopeLeoXIV #service #unionWithGod #vocation #witness
The Woman Who Found Redemption: My Journey from Darkness to Light
6,560 words, 35 minutes read time
I stand before you now, no longer the woman I once was. You may have heard stories about meâwhispers in the wind, murmurs in the temple, or perhaps you know me from what has been written about me in the Scriptures. Mary Magdalene, the one from whom Jesus cast out seven demons. But thereâs so much more to my story than just that. You might hear this and think you know what happened, but trust me, you donât. I was not the woman you think I was, nor was I the woman I wanted to be. And, honestly, Iâm not sure I ever knew who I truly was, until that moment.
Before the darkness consumed me, before the whispers turned to screams within my mind, I was simply Mary, a woman of Magdala. Our town, nestled on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee, was a vibrant hub. The clatter of commerce filled the air â fishermen mending their nets, merchants haggling over prices of dried fish and grains, the exotic scents of spices brought by traders from distant lands. My family, though not of the highest standing, was comfortable. My father, a respected fisherman, taught me the rhythms of the lake, the way the light danced on its surface, the signs of an approaching storm. My mother, a woman of quiet strength, instilled in me the traditions of our faith, the comforting cadence of the Psalms.
We lived in a modest but sturdy home, the whitewashed walls reflecting the relentless Galilean sun. I remember the scent of baking bread that often wafted from our small kitchen, the rough feel of the fishing nets I sometimes helped mend, the warmth of the Sabbath candles casting long shadows on the walls as my family gathered for prayer. I had dreams, as young women do. Dreams of a loving marriage, of a family of my own, of contributing to the life of our community. I was headstrong, perhaps too much so, with a restless spirit that often chafed against the expected roles for women. I yearned for something more, though I couldnât articulate what that âmoreâ truly was. Perhaps it was a deeper understanding of the world, a sense of purpose beyond the daily routines.
Then, slowly, insidiously, the darkness began to creep in. It wasnât a sudden invasion, but a gradual erosion of my inner peace. At first, it was just unsettling thoughts, whispers at the edges of my awareness that I couldnât quite grasp. They were like shadows flickering in my peripheral vision, always just out of reach when I tried to focus on them. But these whispers grew louder, more insistent, morphing into voices that were not my own. They mocked, they accused, they filled my mind with chaos and confusion.
It felt as though something alien had taken root within me, twisting my thoughts, turning my desires into something ugly and uncontrollable. My own will seemed to weaken, replaced by an inner turmoil that dictated my actions. I would lash out in anger at those I loved, say cruel things I didnât mean, driven by a force I couldnât comprehend. My moods swung wildly, from moments of hollow gaiety to deep, crushing despair. I was a prisoner within my own mind, a puppet dancing to the strings of these unseen tormentors.
The societal stigma was a heavy burden. In our close-knit community, whispers spread like wildfire. I became the subject of hushed conversations, pointed fingers, and averted gazes. People spoke of curses, of divine punishment, of a soul tainted by sin. The women in the marketplace would draw their children away as I passed. The men would offer pitying glances mixed with fear. I was an outcast, labeled as âunclean,â someone to be avoided. The isolation was agonizing, a constant reminder of my brokenness. Even within my own family, though they tried to be supportive, I could see the fear and the strain in their eyes. They didnât understand what was happening to me, and their helplessness only amplified my own despair.
Desperate for relief, I sought out every avenue I could find. I visited the local healers, their remedies of herbs and poultices offering no solace. I consulted the village elders, their prayers and pronouncements feeling hollow and empty. I even turned to those rumored to practice magic, clutching at amulets and chanting incantations, but the darkness within remained unmoved. My wealth, inherited from my father, became a tool in this desperate search, but it bought me nothing but false hope and fleeting promises. The more I sought a cure, the more entrenched the torment seemed to become. It was a vicious cycle, my desperation only feeding the power of the darkness that held me captive.
Looking back, I can see the threads of my own making in this tapestry of suffering. My ambition, that yearning for something more, had at times led me down paths that were not wholesome. I had sought validation in fleeting pleasures, in the approval of those whose values were shallow. There was a pride within me, a belief that I could navigate life on my own terms, without truly seeking the guidance of God or the wisdom of those who walked in His light. This self-reliance, this desire to control my own destiny, had perhaps created an opening for the darkness to enter. It wasnât just the external forces; it was the internal vulnerabilities, the unacknowledged emptiness that the demons seemed to exploit.
Then, He came. Jesus. The memory of that first encounter is etched into my soul. He walked into Magdala, not with the pomp and circumstance of a visiting dignitary, but with a quiet authority that drew the eye and stilled the restless energy of the town. There was a light about Him, an aura of peace and compassion that was unlike anything I had ever witnessed. His eyes, when they met mine, held no judgment, only a profound understanding. It was as if He saw past the broken exterior, past the torment that twisted my features, and saw the wounded soul within.
I donât know how He knew the depths of my affliction, but He did. Perhaps it was the way I flinched from the touch of others, the frantic energy that radiated from me, or the haunted look in my eyes. But He looked at me, truly looked at me, and in that gaze, I felt a flicker of something I hadnât experienced in years â a moment of stillness, a break in the relentless storm within.
He spoke, His voice calm and resonant, cutting through the cacophony in my mind. He didnât shout, didnât recoil. He simply spoke words of authority, words that seemed to vibrate with a power that was not of this world. And as He spoke, I felt a wrenching within me, a violent shaking as the demons that had held me captive for so long began to resist. It was a terrifying and yet liberating sensation. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a glimmer of control returning.
One by one, He cast them out. I canât describe the sensation fully â it was like a physical expulsion, a tearing away of something dark and clinging. With each departing spirit, a wave of relief washed over me, a lightening of the oppressive weight that had burdened me for so long. The voices that had tormented me fell silent. The chaos within began to subside, replaced by a fragile but growing sense of peace. By the time He was finished, I felt⌠empty, but in a way that was clean, pure. The darkness was gone, and in its place was a void that, for the first time, felt like it could be filled with something good.
Was I deserving of such grace? Absolutely not. In my darkest moments, I had felt utterly worthless, a vessel of corruption. Why would this man, this holy man, waste His time and power on someone as broken as me? It defied all logic, all societal expectations. But that was the essence of His being, wasnât it? He didnât come for the righteous, but for the sinners. He didnât offer healing based on merit, but on boundless compassion. He saw not what I was, but what I could be. His grace was a gift freely given, a light shining into the deepest recesses of my despair.
When the healing was complete, a profound shift occurred within me. The emptiness that remained was not the void of torment, but a space yearning to be filled with the source of that healing. I knew I could not return to my former life. The allure of fleeting pleasures had vanished, replaced by a deep understanding of their emptiness. The hole in my heart, the one I had tried to fill with wealth and influence, now pointed towards Him. He was the answer, the missing piece I had unknowingly been searching for all along.
Without hesitation, I followed Him. There was no grand deliberation, no weighing of pros and cons. It was an instinctive pull, a recognition of the only true north in my suddenly clear sky. I didnât question His path, His teachings. I simply went where He went, listened to His words, and absorbed the light that radiated from Him. He was the living water to my parched soul, the bread of life to my starving spirit.
For those who have never known the suffocating grip of inner darkness, it is impossible to convey the depth of my gratitude. It was as if He had reached into the abyss and pulled me back into the light. I wasnât just freed from the demons; I was freed from the self I had become under their influence. I was given a second chance, a clean slate upon which to write a new story. And that story, I knew, would be His.
I became one of His devoted followers, traveling with Him and the others through the dusty roads and bustling towns of Galilee. I witnessed miracles that defied human understanding â the blind seeing, the lame walking, the lepers cleansed. I saw the compassion in His eyes as He healed the sick and the authority in His voice as He commanded evil spirits to depart. But more than the miracles, it was the way He treated people, the way He saw the unseen, the marginalized, the outcasts, that truly amazed me. He spoke to women with respect and dignity, something unheard of in those times. He ate with tax collectors and sinners, offering them a path to redemption. He saw the inherent worth in every soul, regardless of their past or their societal standing.
He allowed us, the women who followed Him, to be a part of His ministry in ways that were revolutionary. We provided for His needs and the needs of His disciples out of our own resources. We listened to His teachings, asked questions, and learned alongside the men. He never looked down on me because of my past. He never reminded me of the darkness that had once consumed me. He accepted me fully, loved me unconditionally, and trusted me to understand and share His message.
I remember the gentle wisdom of His parables â the sower scattering seeds, the lost sheep being found, the prodigal son returning home. These stories, seemingly simple, held profound truths about Godâs love, His forgiveness, and the nature of His kingdom. They resonated deeply within me, a soul that had felt lost and now was found. He taught us to love our enemies, to forgive those who wronged us, to seek the kingdom of God above all else. These teachings were a balm to my wounded spirit, guiding me towards a way of living that was rooted in love and compassion.
My relationship with the other disciples and the women who followed Jesus was a tapestry woven with threads of shared experience and growing faith. With Peter, James, and John, there was a sense of awe and respect for their closeness to Jesus, their willingness to leave everything to follow Him. Sometimes, there were misunderstandings, moments when their earthly concerns clashed with Jesusâ spiritual focus, but there was always a core of devotion that bound them together.
The women â Joanna, Susanna, Salome, and others â became my sisters in faith. We shared a unique bond, having experienced the societal constraints placed upon us and finding liberation in Jesusâ presence. We supported each other, shared our burdens, and encouraged one another in our newfound faith. We often discussed His teachings amongst ourselves, trying to grasp the deeper meanings and how they applied to our lives. There was a quiet strength in our collective devotion, a silent understanding of the transformative power of His love. Mary, His mother, held a special place among us, her quiet dignity and unwavering faith a constant source of inspiration. I often sought her out, finding solace in her gentle wisdom and the shared experience of loving Jesus.
Then came the day the shadows gathered, the day He was betrayed. The memory of the soldiersâ torches cutting through the night, the harsh clang of their armor, still sends a shiver down my spine. The fear that gripped us was palpable, a suffocating blanket of dread. They took Him away, the one who had brought light into my darkness, the one who had given me a life worth living. I stood with the other women, a silent, horrified witness to His arrest. We wanted to intervene, to fight, to somehow protect Him, but we were powerless against the might of the Roman Empire and the fury of the Sanhedrin. All we could do was watch as they led Him away, our hearts heavy with foreboding.
The day they crucified Him was the day the world seemed to tilt on its axis. We followed, a small, heartbroken group, as He was forced to carry the heavy cross through the jeering crowds. We saw His face, bruised and bloodied, yet still bearing a trace of that familiar compassion. We stood at the foot of the cross, our tears mingling with the dust and the blood. We watched Him suffer, each nail driven into His flesh a fresh wound in our own hearts. The weight of our helplessness was crushing. We knew He was innocent, yet we could do nothing but bear witness to His agonizing death. It felt as though all the hope He had ignited within us was being extinguished with each labored breath He took.
The joy of the Passover meal we had shared with Him just days before, the sense of anticipation and fellowship, now seemed like a distant, almost dreamlike memory. The night of His arrest had shattered our understanding of everything. The men, the strong, bold disciples who had pledged their loyalty, scattered in fear. Peter, the rock, the one He had entrusted with the keys to the kingdom, denied even knowing Him, not once, but three times. I saw him later, his face etched with a grief that mirrored our own, the weight of his betrayal a visible burden. We were all afraid, huddled together in the upper room, the doors bolted against the unknown dangers that lurked outside. The one who had been our protector, our guide, was gone, and we feared we would be next.
In that fear, the world felt cold and empty. Words of comfort were hollow, prayers felt weak and unanswered. All I could do was weep, a deep, guttural sorrow that seemed to have no end. The days between His death and the dawn of the resurrection felt like an eternity, a bleak and desolate landscape of grief. How could He be gone? How could the one who had shown us the very essence of love and grace be taken away in such a brutal manner? The questions swirled in my mind, unanswered, fueling my despair. The hope He had planted within me felt like a fragile seedling buried under a mountain of sorrow.
His teachings, once so vibrant and life-giving, now echoed in my memory with a painful irony. âI am the resurrection and the life,â He had said. But how could that be true when death had so decisively claimed Him? Without His physical presence, we felt lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. All I could think of were His final moments, His pain, the injustice of it all. I didnât know how we could possibly go on without Him. The future stretched before us, a vast and terrifying unknown.
The morning of His execution, the sky was a bruised and angry purple. I watched, with a horrified fascination, as they led Him to Golgotha, the place of the skull. The jeers of the crowd, the callous indifference of the Roman soldiers, the sheer brutality of the act â it was a scene that will forever be seared into my memory. They offered Him wine mixed with gall, a cruel mockery of comfort, which He refused. Then, the unthinkable happened. They nailed His hands and feet to the rough wood of the cross, the sickening thud of the hammer blows echoing in the stunned silence. I saw them lift Him up, His body suspended between heaven and earth, a testament to the cruelty of humanity and the depth of His sacrifice. My heart shattered into a million pieces. He was innocent, yet He suffered the most agonizing death imaginable. He was dying for us, bearing the weight of our sins, our darkness.
I stood at the foot of the cross, rooted to the spot by a grief so profound it felt physical. His suffering was unbearable to witness, yet I couldnât tear my eyes away. And then, amidst His torment, He spoke His first words from the cross, a cry that tore through the heavy air: âEli, Eli, lema sabachthani?â âMy God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?â His native Aramaic, spoken in such raw anguish, pierced the very heavens. In that moment, I felt a sliver of His abandonment, not by us, His followers, but by His Father. It was a depth of loneliness I could scarcely comprehend.
A stunned silence fell over the crowd as the sky began to darken, a premature twilight descending upon the land. The earth itself seemed to mourn, a low rumble vibrating beneath our feet. Then, His voice, though weak, still carried a note of divine authority: âI thirst.â It wasnât just a physical thirst for water, I knew. It was a deeper longing for the completion of His mission, the fulfillment of the sacrifice He was making. He had taken upon Himself the sins of the world, and in that moment, He bore the full weight of that burden.
Then, with a final, deliberate act, He uttered the words that would forever echo in eternity: âTetelestai â It is finished.â The work was done. The debt was paid. The barrier between God and humanity, erected by our sin, was broken. It was as though the universe itself held its breath, waiting for that moment to pass into the annals of time.
But even in those final pronouncements, His love and obedience shone through. With His last breath, He whispered, âFather, into Your hands I commit My spirit.â And then, He was gone. The light that had illuminated our world was extinguished. I couldnât believe it. He was truly gone.
The earth convulsed beneath our feet, a violent tremor that shook the very foundations of our world. And then, a sight that defied understanding: the curtain of the temple, the massive veil that separated the Holy of Holies from the outer court, was torn in two, from top to bottom. It was a symbolic act, a divine tearing away of the barrier that had separated God from His people. His presence was no longer confined to a sacred space; His Spirit was now free to dwell among us.
And then, the graves opened, and the dead rose. It was a terrifying and awe-inspiring sight, a glimpse into the power of His death, a foreshadowing of the ultimate victory over the grave. But in the immediate aftermath, the finality of His death was overwhelming. He, who was life âŚitself, was gone.
Yet, even in the depths of my inconsolable grief, a tiny spark of hope flickered within me, fueled by His own words, His promises. âI am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me will live, even though he dies.â But in that moment, shrouded in darkness and despair, it felt impossible to grasp. How could the one who had given me life now be dead?
The morning of the third day dawned with a heavy, oppressive stillness. Driven by a desperate need to honor His body, to perform the last rites of burial, I made my way to the tomb. The other women, their faces pale and drawn with grief, accompanied me. As we walked through the silent streets, a new fear began to take root. The tomb was guarded. Roman soldiers, their expressions stern and unyielding, stood watch. Would they even allow us near? Would they desecrate His memory further? And the stone⌠the massive stone that sealed the entrance. How could we, a small group of grieving women, ever move it? These anxieties gnawed at my heart, but the need to be near Him, even in death, was stronger than any fear.
When we arrived, our breath caught in our throats. The stone was rolled away. It defied all logic, all expectation. My mind reeled, a cold wave of panic washing over me. Had someone stolen His body? Had they subjected it to further indignity? I stood there, paralyzed by a mixture of fear and confusion. I peered into the dark recess of the tomb, and it was empty. The linen cloths, neatly folded, lay where His body should have been. It was a sight that made no sense, deepening the mystery and the dread.
But then⌠I turned, and there He was. Standing just a short distance away, bathed in the soft light of the early morning sun. At first, I didnât recognize Him fully. Perhaps it was the tears blurring my vision, or the shock that had numbed my senses. I thought He was the gardener, the one who tended the grounds around the tomb. My voice, thick with unshed tears, trembled as I asked, âSir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have put Him, and I will get Him.â My only thought was to find His body, to give Him the respect He deserved.
And then, He spoke my name. Just one word, but it resonated through me like a lightning strike: âMary.â It was His voice. The familiar cadence, the gentle inflection, the love that echoed in that single syllable. In that instant, the scales fell from my eyes. The gardener vanished, replaced by the radiant figure of my Lord. My heart leaped within me, a joy so profound it was almost unbearable. âRabboni!â I cried out, my Aramaic bursting forth in a torrent of love and recognition. I reached out to Him, wanting to hold Him, to cling to the reality of His presence.
But He held back, a gentle sadness in His eyes. âDo not cling to Me,â He said softly, âfor I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to My brothers and say to them, âI am ascending to My Father and your Father, to My God and your God.ââ His words were both a gentle rebuke and a momentous commission. He was alive, but His time with us in this earthly form was not yet fully restored. He had a greater purpose, a return to the Father. And He entrusted me, the woman who had been healed from darkness, the one who had witnessed His death, to be the first messenger of His glorious resurrection.
I stood there, trembling with awe and disbelief, the weight of His words settling upon me. He was alive! Death had not held Him. The darkness had been conquered. The promise He had made had come true. The despair that had clung to me for days vanished, replaced by an unshakeable hope. The resurrection wasnât just about Him returning to life; it was about the promise of new life for all who believed in Him.
I ran, my feet barely touching the ground, to find Peter and John, the other disciples who were closest to Him. âI have seen the Lord!â I exclaimed, my voice filled with a joy that could no longer be contained. âHe is alive!â I poured out the story of my encounter, the empty tomb, the figure I had mistaken for the gardener, and the sound of His voice calling my name.
They were initially skeptical, their grief still a heavy shroud upon their hearts. Peter and John, driven by a mixture of disbelief and a flicker of hope, rushed to the tomb themselves. I followed, my heart pounding with anticipation. I watched as John, being the younger and swifter, reached the tomb first but hesitated at the entrance. Peter, ever impetuous, went straight inside. They found the linen cloths lying there, just as I had described, and the burial shroud folded neatly by itself. The sight stirred something within them, a dawning realization that this was no ordinary grave robbery.
Peter and John left soon after, still wrestling with the implications of what they had seen. But I couldnât tear myself away from that sacred place. I stood outside the tomb, tears of joy and wonder streaming down my face. And then, He appeared again, His presence radiating peace.
âWoman, why are you weeping?â He asked gently.
Still caught in the wonder of it all, I replied, âSir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have put Him, and I will get Him.â
Again, He spoke my name, âMary.â And this time, there was no mistaking Him. It was truly Him, alive and whole.
âRabboni!â I cried again, reaching out to embrace Him.
âDo not cling to Me,â He repeated, His voice filled with tenderness, âfor I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to My brothers and say to them, âI am ascending to My Father and your Father, to My God and your God.ââ He entrusted me, a woman, a former outcast, to be the primary witness to His resurrection, a testament to His radical love and the overturning of societal norms.
I went again to find the disciples, my heart overflowing with the incredible news. This time, my conviction was unwavering, my joy infectious. The despair that had clung to us in the days following His crucifixion was shattered by the glorious reality of His resurrection. It wasnât just a miracle; it was the ultimate victory over death, a promise of eternal life for all who believed.
His resurrection had not only restored my Lord to life; it had restored my soul. The darkness that had defined me was gone, replaced by the radiant light of His love and the unshakeable hope of eternal life. I didnât just follow Him because I had been healed. I followed Him because I had witnessed the impossible, because I had seen death itself defeated. I had seen love and mercy triumph over the greatest evil, and I knew then that my life would forever be dedicated to sharing this truth.
I wasnât just a witness to His resurrection; I was reborn through it. The old Mary, the tormented and lost woman of Magdala, had died with Him on that cross. The Mary who stood before the empty tomb, who heard His voice call her name, was a new creation, filled with purpose and an unyielding faith. Jesus had pulled me from the deepest darkness, and in His victory over death, He showed me that no sin was too great, no burden too heavy for His love to conquer.
The miracle of His resurrection was not just a singular event; it held a profound and universal meaning. He had shown us that death was not the end, that there was hope beyond the grave. His victory was not only for Himself but for all of humanity, for the broken, the lost, the ones who had stumbled and fallen, just like me. In that moment, I knew that I would never be the same again. Neither would the world.
But even after His resurrection, my journey didnât end. It wasnât just about basking in the joy of that first encounter; it was about continuing to live in the light of what He had done for me. As the days passed, I remained among His followers, just as He had instructed us. We gathered together, sharing stories of His appearances, our hearts filled with a mixture of joy and anticipation. We waited, prayed, and hoped for the promise of the Holy Spirit, just as Jesus had told us before He ascended to the Father. There was a palpable sense of something divine about to happen, a new chapter unfolding that we could not yet fully comprehend.
And when Pentecost came, the promise was fulfilled in a way that exceeded all our expectations. We were gathered in the upper room, perhaps the same room where we had shared that last Passover meal with Him, when suddenly, there was a sound like a rushing wind, and tongues of fire appeared, resting on each of us. The Holy Spirit filled us in a way that was both overwhelming and transformative. It was as though a divine power surged through us, igniting a fire within our souls. We began to speak in other tongues, languages we had never learned, yet we could communicate the wonders of God.
Pentecost wasnât just a moment of personal transformation; it was the birth of the Church, the beginning of a movement that would change the world forever. I could feel the Spiritâs presence in me and around me, urging us to go beyond the walls of our homes, to step out and preach the gospel to all who would listen. No longer would we be waiting in the shadows for Him to return; now, we were called to carry His message of love, redemption, and eternal life to every corner of the earth. I had experienced Jesusâ resurrection and His transformative power in my life, but now I experienced the full force of His Spirit, uniting us all in a shared purpose and mission. It was as if He had not left us alone at all; He had empowered us to do greater things than we could have ever imagined.
I traveled, often in the company of those who had been closest to Jesusâthose who had shared the pain of His crucifixion and the joy of His resurrection. Alongside me was John, whom Jesus had called His beloved disciple, a man whose love for the Lord was as deep and unwavering as the sea. And Mary, His mother, her quiet strength and profound understanding a constant source of comfort and wisdom. It was a bond that transcended everything we had known beforeâan unspoken commitment to share the love of Jesus and to keep His message alive. Together, we had witnessed the greatest sorrow and the greatest joy, and now, we shared a common purpose. The grief of losing Him on the cross was still a scar upon our hearts, but in the radiant light of His resurrection, the hope He had given us now became our fuel, our driving force. We had been entrusted with a sacred missionâto spread His gospel, to heal the sick in His name, to preach salvation to the lost, and to teach others to live in His love.
We no longer just mourned the loss of the man we had loved; we celebrated His glorious victory over death. We knew that He had come to give us life, abundant and eternal life that could never be taken away, and through the power of the Holy Spirit dwelling within us, we could now offer that same life-giving message to others. I could see the Spirit working in us and through us, giving us a courage and strength that was not our own, enabling us to face the challenges and opposition that inevitably arose. And though the road was often difficult, the tangible presence of the Holy Spirit was undeniable, a constant reminder that we were not alone.
The world around us had begun to change, slowly but surely, touched by the ripples of the resurrection and the power of the Holy Spirit. And we, His followers, were irrevocably changed. John, with his powerful words and unwavering faith, Mary, with her quiet strength and profound understanding, and Iâwe were all transformed by our encounter with Jesus and the indwelling Spirit. We were now part of something far greater than ourselves, a movement of love and redemption that was beginning to take root and spread throughout the land. We knew that what we were doing was not just about preserving a memory; it was about ushering in the Kingdom of God and sharing the life-altering message of Jesus Christ with a world desperately in need of hope.
Together, we faced many trials, enduring persecution and misunderstanding, but we also experienced countless moments of divine intervention, miraculous healings, and profound encounters with those whose lives were touched by the message we carried. And though it often felt humbling and even impossible to comprehend, every day, I felt myself becoming more like Him, reflecting His love and compassion in my own actions and words. Through the continuous work of the Holy Spirit within me, I was not only following Jesus but striving to embody His teachings in my heart, mind, and spirit. The words He had spoken to us before His deathâabout loving others as He had loved us, forgiving those who trespassed against us, and making disciples of all nationsâtook on a new and urgent meaning. With the Holy Spirit as our guide and empowerer, we knew we were fulfilling His command, one soul at a time.
But we understood that our journey wasnât solely about proclaiming the message to the far corners of the earth. It was equally about cultivating the inner life, about becoming the people He had called us to be: loving, faithful, and unyielding in our conviction. The Holy Spirit had ignited a fire within us, a fervent desire to see His Kingdom come to fruition in our lifetimes, and we could no longer remain silent. We had personally experienced His boundless love, His transformative grace, and His glorious resurrection, and now we were compelled to share that life-changing truth with everyone we encountered.
I walked often in the company of John, his steadfast presence a constant source of strength. He was the disciple who had leaned on Jesusâ breast at the last supper, the one whom Jesus had entrusted with the care of His mother, Mary. Johnâs love for Jesus was a deep and abiding wellspring, a love that did not waver even in the face of the worldâs harshest opposition. He continued to proclaim the truth of the gospel with unwavering boldness, even when it cost him dearly. And beside him, Mary, the mother of Jesus, was a pillar of quiet strength and profound wisdom. She had already endured the unimaginable pain of watching her son suffer and die, but she had also experienced the unique and deeply personal joy of His resurrection. Together, we were united in our purpose, bound by our shared love for Jesus and empowered by the Holy Spirit to press onward in His name.
Now, our lives were not simply about following the memory of Jesus; they were about actively living out His teachings, embodying His love, and extending His grace to a world still shrouded in darkness. And though we missed His physical presence with an ache that never fully subsided, the Holy Spirit was with us in a way that we had never imagined, a constant companion and guide. It was as though He had never truly left us at all; His presence was more profound, more tangible in the Spirit than it had ever been in the flesh. And that was the moment everything truly shifted for meâwhen I realized that Jesus had not only saved me from my past but had also given us the greatest gift of all: His Spirit, which would empower us to do even greater things than He had done.
As for me, I never sought earthly recognition or accolades. My deepest desire was to be a faithful servant of Christ, a living testament to His transformative power. I knew that my story, the story of a woman rescued from darkness and brought into His marvelous light, had a purpose within His grand narrative, and that was more than enough. I had been healed by Him, loved by Him, and entrusted with the sacred task of sharing His message with the world. That was the only honor I ever needed.
Now, I stand before you, not as a woman lost and broken, defined by her past afflictions, but as a woman redeemed, transformed by the boundless grace of God. He took my darkness, my mistakes, my suffering, and through His death and resurrection, He turned it into a story of hope and healing. If you can hear my words today, I want you to know that you, too, can experience that same healing, that same liberation. You, too, can be freed from whatever binds you, whatever darkness consumes you, just as I was. Jesus didnât come to save the perfect, the righteous. He came to seek and save the lost, the broken, the ones who know their desperate need for a Savior. And if you are willing to open your heart and accept Him into your life, He will change everything.
I may not be the woman I once was, the woman defined by seven demons and a shadowed past. But I am also not the woman I once thought I could be, striving for a fleeting sense of worth in a world that offered only emptiness. I am His. I am a child of God, redeemed by His grace, empowered by His Spirit, and called to share His love. And that, my friends, is the only identity that truly matters, the only identity that will last for eternity.
D. Bryan King
Sources
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.
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âProne to Wanderâ: Into the Tomb
Psalm 114:7-8 Tremble, O earth, at the presence of Abba God, at the presence of the God of Jacob, who turns the rock into a pool of water, the flint into a spring of water.
Introduction
A day of silence. A day of eyes dampened with doubt, confusion, fear, anger, and even despair. Itâs not just the women who cry; the men cry, too; no one is exempt from the overwhelming barrage of emotions that comes when hopes are dashed, expectations go up in flames, and faith feels shattered. The one whom they loved, the one whom they followed, the one whom they would die forâso they claimedâhad been killed, and his body lay in a sealed tomb, guards flanking the massive stone. They didnât even have time to prepare his body properly before the Sabbath moon rose gently in the sky reminding them that what was was no longer âŚ
In the silence of that Sabbath, thoughts of what happened, how could this be, what was it all for, is this really it paraded about the minds of the disciples as they forced themselves to rest, no recourse to business of banal tasks to keep their minds occupied. They were stuck in this moment of death, like Jesus in that tomb. The extra layer for some (all?) is that they didnât stick around, defend, follow Jesus all the way⌠They ran, denied, hid, betrayed. Their consciences were plagued with loss and confusion and burdened with the uncomforting, weighted-blanket of failure and guiltâheavier for some, lighter for others. These precious souls (no matter their guilt and failure, their denial and betrayal) had to endure the sun-down to sun-down plus a few more hours to receive the actual ending of the story. On this night, all those years ago, the disciples of Christ sighed, wiped away tears, and wondered what it was all about⌠Death, and all its children, held them hostage like Christ sealed in the tomb.
On this night, all those years ago, the disciples died with Christ. What they didnât know was that the story wasnât as over âŚ
Romans 6:3-11[1]
In Romans 6, Paul anchors the silence of Saturday into the death of Good Friday and the life of Easter Sunday. For Paul, those who follow Christ follow him in the ways they speak and act and through deep identification with Christ even if it means going into the tomb with Christ on Good Friday. For Paul, this identification with Christ in Christâs death is the key to the identification with Christ in his resurrected life. For Paul, this is how believers participate in the entirety of the Easter event, from beginning to end, from death into new life. In other words, our Romans passage is a clear distillation of what is happening as we transition from death to life through the silence of Saturday.
Paul begins with a question (v. 1) that he then (passionately) answers in v. 2: What therefore will we say? Should we persist in sin so that grace might superabound? Hell no! How can we who died to sin still live in it? In this portion, Paul addresses the new life believers have in Christ: this is absolutely not a continuation of what has gone before and is something completely new! There is a clean break between what was sealed up in the tomb with Christ on Good Friday, and the new life the believers step into on Easter Sunday Morning.
Because there is no continuation between what was by deeds of the flesh and what is now by faith in Christ, Paul feels compelled to ask the Romans, Or, do you not know that all who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? (v.3)Meaning, thereâs a lie floating about that those who believe in Christ donât suffer Christâs fate, that we are exempted from that death. For Paul, while we werenât nailed to the cross in literal terms, we do suffer a death like Christâs, and this is actualized in our participation in the waters of baptism. (Being submerged under the water is to buried with Christ, to come up out of the water is to be raised with Christ.) For Paul, it is imperative that we take seriously the reality that we die like Christ; for Paul (and thus for us), THIS IS GOOD NEWS! Paul writes, Therefore, we were buried with him through baptism into death, so that just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of Abba God, in this way we, we might also walk in the newness of life (v.4). Through what God did in Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit, death that leads to life is the only path for believers. What is ruled out? Death that leads to death. Why? Because those who journey through a death like Christâs receive resurrection into new life that cannot die like Christ cannot die (and this new life is both internal and external, spiritual and temporal!).[2] Thus why Paul can then write, For if we have become united together with him in a death like his death, we will also [be united with him in his] resurrection (v. 5). We live unafraid of another death because we live eternally in and with Christ.
Paul continues to elaborate about this identification between the believer and Christ, Knowing that our old person was crucified together [with Christ] with the result that the body of sin is abolished, so that we are no longer a slave to sin, for the one who has died [with Christ] has been declared righteous from sin (vv. 6-7). Paul anchors the believer in the death of Christ so that their body of sinânot their existence as fleshy creatures, but their defective orientation resulting in sin thus death[3]âis put to death and this is liberation because it cannot weigh the believer down anymore. Another way to say this is that by virtue of identification with Christ in Christâs death, sin and its consequence, death, are put to death.[4] What was ushered in by Adam and Eve in Genesis 3, has been put asunder by the death of death that is brought in and through Christâs death and resurrection. And if this is the case, then with Paul we can say, And if we died with Christ, we believe that we will also live together with him (v.8). Captivity itself is now held captive and the captivesâthe ones formerly held in captivity to sin and deathâare liberated.[5]
Paul then writes, Knowing that Christ being raised from the dead no longer dies, death no longer rules over him. For the death he died, he died to sin once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God [always]. Thus you, you also consider yourselves to be dead to sin and only living to God in Christ Jesus. For those who follow Christ, to live is to live unbound by death, released from captivity, no longer controlled and threatened by sin. According to Paul, itâs not that believers now no longer sin; they do. Believers will miss the mark, they will shoot and not score, they will mean one thing and do another, they will harm, they will mar, they will wound. What Paul is getting at is that the believerâwhile still a sinnerâis liberated from the effects of sin which is death. The believerânow declared righteous although a sinner still (simul iustus et peccator)âhas died once and for all (like Christ) and never needs to die again to sin (though sin is going to happen).[6] In other words, the believer does not need to intentionally sin so that they can die again to sin and again be declared righteous. Doing so is unnecessary and declares the grace of God unnecessary (Hell no!), as if being made righteous can come by any other means apart from grace and faith in Christ.
Because Jesus died once for all, believers in union with Christ by faith will never really die (they will âfall asleep in Christâ) because death has met its own death, captivity its own captivity. [7],[8] Rather, like Christ, they will live by the grace of God and for the grace of God.[9] This is an eternal living because the believerâby faith and Godâs graceâlives in Christ and Christ who is now the Lord of life is no longer subject to death and its lordshipâthus, those who live in Christ have life eternal because Christ is now eternal even in his raised and ascended body.[10] Even when sin shows up in the believerâs lifeâand it willâthis eternal living is not hindered or hampered. Ratherâthrough easy access to forgiveness and absolutionâthe believer can get up, wipe the dust off, and try again to live the life that reflects their eternal life in Christ.[11] Here the spiritual can manifest in the temporal, the outer aligns with the inner, Godâs will can be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Conclusion
For the disciples, the deathly silence of Saturday was palpable. For (about) 36 hours, waiting for the Sabbath to pass, waiting for the dawn of second full day after Christâs death, they died, each one of them died with Christâin grief, loss, shock, doubt, hopelessness, helplessness. They despaired of themselves, they released all that they thought was, and they came to the absolute ends of themselves. And here, in their ignorance to the divine movements, amid their darkest doubt, their deepest despair, surrounded by a void of sound or word, God was about to usher them into a brand-new conception of what it means to live in Christ, to live in love, to live liberated from all that was. As the host of heaven held its breath and as the disciples cried, God was on the move raising the greatest gift for the cosmos: the fulfilment of Godâs glorious promise, Jesus the Christ raised holding death itself captive to death.
Tonight, we move from death to life. This service dives in deep to the silence of Saturday, the despair of a missing messiah, the stripping away of hope. At the beginning, we are all stuck in our sin, set on a path toward death eternal, forever held captive by its threat and presence, stealing from us any sense of peaceâfor how can anyone really have peace if they are always scrambling away from and fighting against death and its fruits? But in the blink of an eye, God moved, the heavenly host exhaled, and we find ourselves shrouded in the mystery of Christ being raised from the dead to be for us the source, sustenance, and sustainment of divine life, love, and liberation for all people, the entire cosmos, forever and always. As those who are prone to wander, God has come in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit to be our new life marked by remembering and not forgetting, walking and not tromping, gathered and not estranged, accepting and not judging, peaceful and lifegiving and not violent and death-dealing. Today we are new creatures with a new life and a new way to walk in the world for the wellbeing of our neighbors and to the glory of God.
Hallelujah! Christ is Risen!
[1] All translations from Romans are mine unless otherwise noted
[2] LW 25:309. âFor having put on our mortal flesh and dying only in it and rising only in it, now only in it He joins these things together for us, for in this flesh He became a sacrament for the inner man and an example for the outward man.â
[3] LW 25:313. âThe term âold manâ describes what kind of person is born of Adam, not according to his nature but according to the defect of his nature. For his nature is good, but the defect is evil.â
[4] LW 25:310. âEternal death is also twofold. The one kind is good, very good. It is the death of sin and the death of death, by which the soul is released and separated form sin and the body is separated rom corruption and through grace and glory is joined to the living God. This is death in the most proper sense of the word, for in all other forms of death something remains that is mixed with life but not in this kind of death, where there is the purest life alone, because it is eternal life. For to this kind of death alone belong in an absolute and perfect way the conditions of death, and in this death alone whatever dies perishes totally and into eternal nothingness, and nothing will ever return from this death because it truly dies an eternal death. This is the way sin dies; and likewise the sinner, when he is justified, because sin will not return again for all eternityâŚâ
[5] LW 25:310. âThis is the principle theme in scripture. For God has arranged to remove through Christ whatever the devil brought in through Adam. And it as the devil who brought in sin and death. Therefore God brought about the death of death and the sin of sin, the poison of poison, the captivity of captivity.â
[6] LW 25:314. âThe meaning is that we must undergo this spiritual death only once. For whoever dies thus lives for all eternity. Therefore we must not return to our sin in order to die to sin again.â
[7] LW 25:311. âBecause for death to be killed means that death will not return, and âto take captivity captiveâ means that captivity will never return, a concept which cannot be expressed through an affirmative assertion.â
[8] LW 25:311. âFor the entering into life can, and necessarily must, become a departure from life, but the âescape form deathâ means to enter into a life which is without death.â
[9] LW 25:313. âNor can he be freed of his perversity except by the grace of GodâŚThis is said not only because of the stubbornness of perverse people but particularly because of the extremely deep infection of this inherited weakness and original poison, by which a man seeks his own advantage even in God himself because of his love of concupiscence.â
[10] LW 25:315. âFor just as the ray of the sun is eternal because the sun is eternal, so the spiritual life is eternal because Christ is eternal; for He is our life, and through faith He flows into us and remains in us by the rays of His grace. Therefore, just as Christ is eternal, so also the grace which flows out of Him is from His eternal nature. Furthermore, just because a man sins again his spiritual life does not die, but he turns his back on this life and dies, while this life remains eternal in Christ.â
[11] LW 25:315. âHe has Christ, who dies no more; therefore he himself dies no more, but rather he lives with Christ forever. Hence also we are baptized only once, by which we gain the life of Christ, even though we often fall and rise again. For the life of Christ can be recovered again and again, but a person can enter upon it only once, just as a man who has never been rich can begin to get rich only once, although he can again and again lose and regain his wealth.â
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The Real Names of Jesus and His Disciples
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During the Christian Holy Week, a look at the names of the apostles & their leader through the lens of linguistics
https://medium.com/@weareji/the-real-names-of-jesus-and-his-disciples-d0d95460396a?sk=91ccdaea74b9f86f341266828dbcea7d
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Disciples & Calvin Harris 'How Deep Is Your Love'
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zIMWZgUtih8
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https://sermons.onetwentysixfive.com/sermons/70081/john-211-11-teaching/ #biblestudy #bible #bibleteaching #gospel #hallelujah #jesuschrist #jesuscristo #jesussaves #jesussalva #truth #preach #sundayschool #SundaySchoolLesson #newtestament #gospelofjohn #Disciples #JesusLovesMe #christianity #christian #JesusWillBeGlorified #GloryToGod #sabbathschool
The Bible teaches us to love one another as Jesus loves us, but do we genuinely love as the Lord loves? Click or tap the link to read more.
#afaithfulsower #jesus #love #disciples
đŁđŁđŁâ¤ď¸âđĽđď¸đâď¸*Then Jesus said to his disciples!*âIf anyone wants to follow me!*let him deny himself!*take up his cross!*& follow me!*In fact whoever wants to save his life will lose it!*& whoever loses his life for my sake will find it!*After all!*what will it benefit a person if he gains the whole world!*but forfeits his soul?*Or what can a person give in exchange for his soul?âď¸â¤ď¸âđĽđď¸đđŁđŁđŁ
đâď¸đâ¤ď¸âđĽđđď¸đđ*Take Up Your Cross!*& Follow Jesus!đâď¸đâ¤ď¸âđĽđđď¸đđ
â¤ď¸âđĽđď¸đâď¸*Then Jesus said to his disciples!*âIf anyone wants to follow me!*let him deny himself!*take up his cross!*& follow me!*In fact whoever wants to save his life will lose it!*& whoever loses his life for my sake will find it!*After all!*what will it benefit a person if he gains the whole world!*but forfeits his soul?*Or what can a person give in exchange for his soul?âď¸â¤ď¸âđĽđď¸đ
*~*Matthew 16:24-26*~*
*~*Take Up Your Cross!*& Follow Jesus!*~*
*~*Then Jesus said to his disciples!*âIf anyone wants to follow me!*let him deny himself!*take up his cross!*& follow me!*In fact whoever wants to save his life will lose it!*& whoever loses his life for my sake will find it!*After all!*what will it benefit a person if he gains the whole world!*but forfeits his soul?*Or what can a person give in exchange for his soul?*~*
A por la primera de las grandes batallas, habrĂĄn muchas mĂĄs.
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The last image from a series for Menno Media. Jesus' disciples ate fish by the Sea of Galilee, after catching a miraculously large haul. #religious #christian #bible #153 #fish #jesus #artsample #illustration #miracle #seaofgalilee #disciples #breakfast
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