Sometimes in winter I get by;

squeezing shoulders under my salt-stained coat,

pinching eyes under the static wool of my hat,

holding my breath as I clench the wheel, fingers curled,

just until the car warms enough to exhale.

There seems neither time nor energy for abundance.

I count the degrees outside,

I count the layers I wear–

I count the minutes of sun, the notifications on the screen,

and I write with a dried-out blue pen in a little pink notebook

the total each time I buy gas. No, I would not like a receipt.

I am surprised when the orange-pink-purple of the sunset takes me.

It takes me from behind the trees,

so I chase it down to open plain.

Suddenly the counting is not scarcity;

the race is not against the sun but with it,

even though when I arrive to where the trees recede

the colors have begun to fade too.

There is no sadness here.

There is only the joy of a sudden abundance,

a sudden reality–

pennies and degrees and sweaters and seconds aside

I run. There is something greater here.

I desire mercy, not sacrifice.

For now the numbers stop ticking; engines, Fitbits and credit cards freeze,

and the lie of Utilitarianism is unmasked in a sea of clouds and wind.

I did not buy the gas to take the shortest possible route between every two points

(even guilt does not erase global warming);

I do not dash from building to next warm building just to keep running;

I cannot hold onto my life even by holding my breath in the icy air.

I love it when systems collapse and mercy reigns. The Son of Man is still lord of the sabbath.

At that time Jesus went through the cornfields on the sabbath; his disciples were hungry, and they began to pluck heads of grain and to eat. When the Pharisees saw it, they said to him, ‘Look, your disciples are doing what is not lawful to do on the sabbath.’ He said to them, ‘Have you not read what David did when he and his companions were hungry? He entered the house of God and ate the bread of the Presence, which it was not lawful for him or his companions to eat, but only for the priests. Or have you not read in the law that on the sabbath the priests in the temple break the sabbath and yet are guiltless? I tell you, something greater than the temple is here. But if you had known what this means, “I desire mercy and not sacrifice”, you would not have condemned the guiltless. For the Son of Man is lord of the sabbath.’

(Matthew 12: 1-8)

I’m back in Western Massachusetts, as this post suggests. I’m digesting the time I had in France with the Chemin Neuf Community; I’m resting; I’m looking for the next opportunity. In due time, I may post more reflections on my time at Hautecombe Abbey. For now, have a blessed Lent…a season of not just sacrifice, but mercy. Peace.