The following is a reflection I will be offering for the World Day of Prayer which we are hosting in our parish on Friday, March 23rd at 7pm.

Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ.

Taken from the Letter of St. Paul to the Ephesians, Chapter 4, Verse 15

Today we gather around Jesus Christ, and we come to Him in the form of the ñandutí­, (niun-doo-tee) offered to us by the women of Paraguay.

If you look at the cover of your booklets you will see the ñandutí­, an intricate lace weave, with a proper center surrounded by symmetrical, yet differing, patterns.

I could spend a good few minutes up here pointing out the obvious. Jesus is the center of our lives. We are all different, unique. We are to be like Jesus, different in our gifts, yet symmetrical with him.

I might also focus on the long history of the people of Paraguay; the history of the Guarani, the land’s original inhabitants, whose native language is one of the few to be officially recognized, and widely used in South America. I could talk about historical suffering, the role of women in a society that lost seventy-five percent of its men to wars and brutal dictators. I could focus on poverty, and our lack of a giving response, at the political and personal level.

Rather, I will focus on minutia.

You’re probably thinking, oh no, as a Catholic, minutia is something he’s well versed in.

Charles Dickens is reported to have said:

My view was that the minutiae of faith was unimportant, if the heart be in the right place. Love, charity and duty are the core of my religious life.

But today we have the ñandutí­ and the ñandutí­ is about minutia.

In our first reading we heard of Abraham and Sarah preparing a good many things for the Lord. Water to wash their guest’s feet, cakes to eat, meat from a slaughtered calf, curds and milk, and the whole aspect of presenting their hospitality before the Lord.

That, my friends, is minutia. That’s not something that’s easy to throw together. Oh honey, prepare a five course meal and make the guests comfortable. It may have taken the whole day.

We see a brief snapshot of what happened from a mile high. Consider what it took to bring it all together.

So it is with the ñandutí­. You have to prepare a place to house it, a frame and an underlayment to hold it, the thread, the tools, and the time.

Sewing the ñandutí­ together is a process. Weaving the ñandutí­ is all about minutia.

So it is in our lives. It’s the minutia of how we respond when our spouse comes home in a foul mood. It’s the way we respond when we are partnered with someone who is as affectionate as a rock. It’s how we respond to the toilet cleaning, clothes washing, vacuuming, grass cutting, snow blowing chores. It’s how we respond when we come to church and one half of the church has daggers out for the other half, and all have daggers out for the pastor. It’s how we respond on Easter morning when the kids want gifts, we want to get to church, and we have to go visit uncle Bob who will regale us with stories of his first ever plane flight during World War 2.

Each and every moment is filled with minutia. We cannot escape it, medicate it, or drown it. While we’re waiting for the next big splash, the next excitement, we must use the minutia to do as St. Paul teaches: —grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ.—

In a few moments the trustees will come around and pass the basket. More minutia. We’ll pull out our wallets and look at what we might find there.

I have some receipts, I forgot to turn in the bottle return vouchers at Price Chopper, credit cards, medical cards, license, registration, Polish club membership, oh, and $30. 30 iTunes downloads, a bunch of java at Starbucks, five Lenten fish fries. How will I respond with this minutia. How will I take the minutia of my wants, desires, hopes, dreams, and fantasies and transform them into action in accord with Christ.

Dickens was wrong. The minutiae of faith is important. In it we meet Christ crucified and risen. We meet Him and are changed at the core level. What is separate is sewn together, what is discordant is made symmetrical. What is broken is made whole. What is small in our lives, the individual threads, are woven into the beautiful and perfect.

Come Lord Jesus, bind us together. Bind us under the mantle of your love.

God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ,
not counting their trespasses against them
and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation.

Today we run back to the Father. The Holy Church, through the ministry entrusted to it, and its sacramental action reconciles us to the Father and each other.

It’s interesting to reflect on those words from the Second Letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians, Chapter 5, Verse 19. Paul is telling us that God’s action was continuous. Not something done in a moment, but on-going. God was reconciling us, He was not counting trespasses, and this action is accomplished through His Son and continues through us, His Church.

In our extended sacrament of penance we come back, and like the son say:

‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you;
I no longer deserve to be called your son.’

We often expect the worst. In today’s lingo the son would probably say that his father was going to put some smack-down on him. Even so, the son was willing to accept that. Hey, could it be worse than where he was?

I’ve often wondered what the father was like, I mean before the reconciliation. Was the father tough? Was the father demanding? Was he cruel? Did the reconciliation and the look on his son’s face bring out his mercy?

Frankly, I think the father was none of that. The father did not question the son’s intent when he came with his demands —“

‘Father give me the share of your estate that should come to me.’

The father certainly had his expectations, but in all things the father was consistent. He did not count trespasses and he was reconciling. Jesus gives us that father based on the Father He knew – God. And, as Paul pointed out, God the Father’s action is continuous and consistent. He is merciful and forgiving.

So the prodigal son hears, and so we hear the same words God the Father declared to Israel:

—Today I have removed the reproach … from you.—

Brethren,

In penance we grab onto the hope that is ours in Jesus Christ, forgiveness and eternal life. We need that now as we enter the dark days ahead.

Like that last kiss and hug, exchanged between loved ones leaving in the morning, the kiss and hug that give hope and joy no matter what comes that day, we need God’s forgiveness to pull us out of our troubles and frustration, to give us hope and joy. We need God’s forgiveness even more as we contemplate the coming passion of our Lord Jesus.

The forgiveness we receive from the Father, and the peace we share with one another, prepares us for the dark days ahead.

Next week we enter the Passiontide. The two weeks before Easter. Next week the visuals of the Holy Church will be covered in purple. There will be nothing to draw our eye, other than the mystery of Christ and His love for us. It will be for all intents and purposes you, me, and Christ crucified, alone together.

So as we go forth, accept the embrace of the Father. Listen to Him as He talks about you. He’s telling the rest of us:

‘Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him;
put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.
Take the fattened calf and slaughter it.
Then let us celebrate with a feast,
because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again;
he was lost, and has been found.’

That, my friends, is our hope.

That is the Father who does not count trespasses and continuously reconciles us in His Son.