Third Sunday of Easter, cycle A

Luke 24:13-35

It turns out Emmaus was a party town, something like a miniature Las Vegas.  For some reason the two disciples, one of whom was named Clopas, were taking that six mile walk from Jerusalem.  You get the feeling from the story that they lived there, but not necessarily.  It might have been an inn when they invited Jesus to dine with them.  But Emmaus was a party town where people made their money running gambling dens and selling wine and beer.

Clopas and his companion, probably his wife but I don’t know for sure, had been followers of Jesus.  Clopas is interesting because there is another man in scripture, called Cleopas, who seems to be an uncle of Jesus, maybe related to Joseph.  And it wouldn't be surprising if some of Jesus’ extended family were followers.  We suspect James and John might have been cousins.  Clopas and his companion were not apostles.  They probably would make a day of going out to hear Jesus when he was in the area, but the rest of the time it was ordinary work.  Jesus didn’t really ask for much, just that his followers believed in him.  For Clopas and his companion that meant paying more attention to the ten commandments, and especially the two commandments of the Lord -- love God with everything you’ve got and your neighbor as yourself.  Following those commandments was not as easy as it sounded, and seemed to open unending possibilities, but the disciples of Jesus were trying.

And then came the devastating moment when Jesus was arrested, tortured and crucified.  Some of the things Jesus had said toward the end of his life made it seem that he was the Messiah, and maybe more than that.  He said a lot of things that were just on the edge of blasphemy -- “I and the Father are One”.  “I am the way, the truth and the life.  No one comes to the father except through me.”  And the miracles.  Clopas and his companion had heard about them, probably did not witness them personally; but the stories of healings seemed to back up what Jesus claimed about himself.  But it seemed as though all that power, all those teachings, were really nothing compared to the power of the Jewish and Roman authorities.  

So when Clopas and his companion decided to go to Emmaus they were through with all this nonsense.  Emmaus was close to Jerusalem, but a long way away in its orientation.  Jerusalem was the center of the religion, the home of the temple.  Emmaus was the rejection of religion in a way -- a place that said, “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we all die.”  

In other parts of the post-resurrection story, we hear different reactions to Jesus’ death and the despair that his followers must have felt.  Peter and the gang decide to go back to Galilee, back to the place they started following Jesus.  They embraced the familiar, maybe remembering the excitement of those early days.  If you read the stories, you get the feeling that no one quite knew what to do.  But the resurrected Jesus is never far.  He’s hard to recognize -- almost like he keeps you from recognizing him until you've demonstrated some degree of faith.  Mary Magdalene didn’t believe Jesus had risen,  but she demonstrated great love in seeking the body to bury properly.  The apostles thought they’d seen a ghost, but they had good hearts and at least were trying to stay together.  Thomas may not have believed but at least he was willing to meet with his fellow apostles in that upper room.  And on the shore one of the apostles thought to himself -- that guy with the fish, he’s doing something that Jesus would do, he’s feeding us.  And so it is with the Clopas and his companion.  It was one thing to talk theology to pass the time on the road, but that didn't do much.  It was when Jesus sat down and broke bread that the scales fell from their eyes and they ran back those six miles convinced that they had seen the Lord.   

We know that at the Ascension of Jesus, which we will celebrate in a few weeks, this was the end of the period when He would appear ot his followers.  But he did tell his disciples that He would be with us all days until the end of the world.  He told them, and us that where two or three are gathered together in his name he would be there.  And he said, what you do for the least of my brothers, you do for me.  Jesus is still with us as he promised.  He is there when you and I get together over a parish event.  He’s there when we stop to help that lady who lives out of a shopping cart.  He’s there at a family dinner, the school of love, as Saint John Paul called it.  He’s there in you when you do something that Jesus would do in your place.  Jesus continues to reveal himself to us in many ways.  Let us pray that we will recognize him, especially in ourselves.  Saint Bernadette, whose feast we celebrated last week, had this to say: “Allow Jesus to dwell in your heart; he will owe you rent.  

  

.

Second Sunday of Easter, 2026

John 20:19-31

Sometimes I envy Saint Faustina. There in her convent over several years she was given the privilege of conversing with Jesus. She left a diary full of things Jesus told her and we honor her, in a way, on this day, because she is the apostle of mercy. There have been many other saints who have had the privilege of some sort of communication with God, with Jesus, with Mary, or one of the saints. We hear about them because in some way they left something besides the stories of their conversations behind—perhaps founding a religious order, maybe leaving behind an important theological writing, or maybe dying a martyr for the faith. It’s as though God confirmed their witness by something else.

And of course there are saints that didn’t have direct communication with God or his saints, at least that we know about. John Paul II did not, apparently. Saint Paul of the Cross, who used to break into tears when he thought about Jesus’ passion, did not report any visions. You apparently don’t need to be a saint to have heavenly interventions. Saint Augustine had some kind of mystical communication before he was baptized. Saint Francis, whose real name was John but because he loved fine clothes he was called “Frenchy,” received the call to rebuild Jesus’ church before he tore off all his clothing and gave them back to his father. I suppose there are a lot of people that have heard heavenly voices who haven’t told us about them for fear of being locked up. Just for the record, I haven’t heard any messages myself. The nearest thing to a heavenly voice was when I was trying to decide if I had a vocation to marriage because I had met this really cute girl; and I had this inner voice tell me that “whatever you decide, I’ll still love you.”

Most of us are more like me than the great saints, I’m sure. I don’t know if the apostle Thomas ever had a special message like I’m talking about. After what happened in today’s gospel, however, he spent the rest of his life creating Christian communities up and down the shores of the Arabian Peninsula and into India, where he met a martyr’s death. But you and I probably aren’t going to be like Thomas, either. But this little story from the Gospel of John can tell us a few things.

Thomas was not with the other apostles when Jesus first appeared. There’s an old story about a young man sitting in front of the fireplace with his pastor, complaining that his faith was very weak and he wasn’t even sure if he believed anymore. The pastor said nothing, just threw a log on the fire which had burned down to glowing coals. In a few minutes the log caught fire and flared up. Your faith isn’t going to grow if you don’t hang out with faithful people. One of the martyrs of Japan, now considered a saint, initially took the emperor up on his offer to have his life spared if he renounced Christianity. As he watched his fellow Christians being put to death, he announced that he was a Christian after all and went to his death proudly. Make it a point to find a few faithful people to associate with, to become friends with, and see your faith grow. Join the Knights, the Ladies Guild, the Saint Joseph Society; make a Cursillo. Don’t be alone in your faith. And while there are exemplary married couples who strengthen each other, it’s still a good idea to look to people of the same sex to help you grow in faith. After all, our very souls are stamped male or female, and my wife will never understand what it means to be a male Christian, and vice-versa.

Second, Thomas recognized Jesus not because of his face or his voice. We learn from all the appearances of Jesus that there was something mysterious about him. Mary Magdalene didn’t recognize him at first; when he first appeared to the apostles, they thought he was a ghost. There on the shore of the lake, it took a while before the beloved disciple shouted out, “It is the Lord!” And Peter jumped in the water, clothing and all, to get to his side. And don’t forget the disciples going home to Emmaus. In all the appearances we see that initially he is not recognized, then he does something that makes them recognize him. He simply called Mary by her name; he ate fish in front of his disciples; he broke bread in that home in Emmaus; he prepared a meal on the shore of the lake. Thomas recognizes Jesus when he sees the wounds of the crucifixion. I think we can conclude that the glorified body of Jesus still bears those wounds. And maybe when Jesus moves among us we need to look for wounds; you and I need to look for him especially among those who are wounded—physically, psychologically, socially, or even spiritually—and our chances of encountering him will go up substantially.

So on this Mercy Sunday, let’s not give up on encountering Jesus. Let Saint Thomas the apostle lead the way. 

Easter 2026

John 20:1-9

The revised common lectionary was developed by scholars from many different denominations working together.  The whole three year cycle was actually based on the revised Catholic lectionary which was put out in 1969 after Vatican II.  So much of the year we will be hearing the same readings as our Episcopal and United Church friends. But this year on Easter Sunday we hear what we just heard, which comes from the original Catholic lectionary, and the people down the street will hear the rest of the story -- when Mary Magdalene returns alone to the tomb, meets Jesus after mistaking him for the pardner, and at his command going to tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead.  So I wondered, why don’t we get the whole story?  Why stop our reading with Peter and John witnessing the burial cloths folded neatly, and walking away wondering what it all means. 

The author of this gospel, John, is writing toward the end of the first century, sixty or seventy years after Jesus' crucifixion.  John’ gospel is organized very differently from that ofMatthew, Mark and Luke, who all follow the same time line; and John tells of miracles that are not mentioned in the other gospels, like the raising of Lazarus or the wedding feast of Cana.  And John at the end of his gospel tells the reader why he is writing -- not to give a history, but so that the reader may believe.  John is always concerned about belief -- which for him is the decision to base one’s life on something, even though you don’t have certainty about whether that is true or false.  So with that being said, the reasons our church doesn’t give us “the rest of the story” on Easter Sunday, but unfolds it during the following week, probably has to do with faith.

The story we just read emphasized the Resurrection as a mystery.  The early church quickly recognized that despite the evidence, the meaning of the resurrection required faith to grasp.  Even if you had been one of the 500 or so people who saw Jesus after his death, you would still need faith to see how this mystery applied to you.  John emphasizes Mary, Peter and the beloved disciple as grieving, anxious and uncertain.  The resurrection is not primarily something we see with our eyes, it’s a spiritual reality for you and I, who like Jesus’ first followers takes a while to become real to us.

It reminds us that the mystery of the resurrection is ongoing, as we’ll see during Easter Week.  If you were to read the gospels for the weekdays you’d see this unfold.  The mystery is still ongoing, we are still people who work to see what the resurrection means to us.  Finally, by leaving the reader with the disciple’s uncertainty, we are called to trust in the Resurrection as God’s gift;  the empty tomb  is the beginning of the journey of belief that follows the Easter event.  

We are like Mary, Peter and John.  We haven’t met Jesus in the garden; we haven’t walked with him to Emmaus; we haven’t seen the wounds in his hands and feet or eaten the fish he prepared on the lake-shore for his disciples.  We only hear of these events that convinced the first Christians to risk their lives to spread the news, to go happily to a martyr’s death, to transform the world with the good news that death was not the end.  But like them we can have their kind of faith, faith that informs all our actions, faith that preaches the gospel to everyone we meet, faith that assures us that we are loved unconditionally by so great a Father.  So on this Easter Sunday let us continue the journey into faith, the continuous effort to see how the mystery of the resurrection applies to you and me.  Happy Easter!

Fifth Sunday in Lent, cycle A

John 11:1-45

The Gospel of John is not like the other three gospels.  It is put together to tell us the meaning of Jesus -- it’s more theology than history.  The last few Sundays we’ve been seeing some of Jesus’ miracles described by John.  Today’s is the last one he describes.  John calls the miracles “signs” beginning with the miracle at the wedding feast of Cana.  In addition to the seven miracles, John also describes seven statements that Jesus makes beginning with “I am”.  Today’s statement is probably the most profound when Jesus tells Martha that he is the resurrection and the life.

As I read this gospel, I notice something else.  Jesus’ conversation with Martha is sort of an intellectual one.  It begins with Martha saying “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”  And then there is a dialogue about resurrection; Jesus promises that her brother will rise, and she replies that, yes, she believes that it will happen on the last day.  Jesus replies that he is the resurrection and the life, and asks Martha whether she believes this.  She sort of does, agreeing that he is the Messiah but not affirming Jesus’ claim in so many words.

Mary’s conversation is very different.  It also begins with the words, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” but Jesus does not enter into a dialogue with her.  Instead, he becomes “perturbed and deeply troubled” and asks the mourners to show him where the tomb is.  And that’s when Jesus wept, bringing some of the bystanders to remark, “See how he loved him” and others to find fault with Jesus.  And John again emphasizes that Jesus was visibly disturbed as he commands that the tomb be opened.  

Martha protests, pointing out that by now the body of Lazarus would stink; but the stone is rolled back, Jesus says a prayer and calls Lazarus, who comes out of the tomb, and as the gospel says, “now many of the Jews who were with Mary believed.” 

So this is a spectacular miracle.  Four days was long enough to be sure that the soul had left the body and gone to the underworld.  No power other than God could reunite it with the body.  And everyone expected that rolling back the stone would release a stench, because  by now the body would have entered into a state of decay.  

But there are some other points in this story.  Lazarus and Jesus were friends -- not like the apostles were friends.  Lazarus was an ordinary guy, probably worked with his hands like Jesus did, and took care of his sisters.  I suspect Lazarus wasn't perfect.  Probably got upset with Martha who seems pretty bossy.  Probably would get upset with Mary in the near future, when she took the only valuable thing they had, a jar of fine perfume meant to be used on the bride at her wedding, and broke it and used it to anoint Jesus.  Lazarus was ordinary.  He would go to bed at night wishing he had used his day better; he’d be upset with himself for losing his temper now and then. He would wonder if God could really love someone as unpromising and unaccomplished as he was. 

When  Jesus hears about Lazarus, he is relatively safe.  He’s outside the part of Palestine that the Jewish authorities had the most control.  When he proposes to go to rescue his friend, Thomas voices what they all fear  -- to go to Bethany, a couple of miles from  Jerusalem, was to put themselves in severe danger.  But  Jesus goes anyway.  And I think he knows that this act will initiate the events that lead to his own crucifixion and death.  After all, John will tell us later, that the authorities decided to kill Jesus and Lazarus too, because so many people were coming to believe in him.  

As Jesus meets Mary the weight of what he is about to  do descends on him.  He's going to confront death itself, and in doing so will initiate the events which will end in his crucifixion.  And this is the point, Jesus is doing this so that his friend Lazarus might live.  Jesus is trading his one life for that of Lazarus.  He is going to ask his Father to call the soul back from the underworld into this decaying body, and the authorities will hesitate no longer, and within a few days he will be arrested.  

And perhaps that is the point that John is making -- not the raising of Lazarus from the dead -- we marvel at that, of course -- but that Jesus exchanges his life for that of his friend.  During these last few days of Lent, let us remember that what Jesus did for Lazarus he does for each of us.  He lays down his life in exchange for ours, not because we deserve it, but because he has chosen to be my friend and  yours.   

Fourth Sunday in Lent, cycle A

John 9:1-41

A miracle is when something happens for which there is no explanation.  In our age we can come up with explanations much more easily than those in Jesus' time.  After all, science now can answer questions that would have been impossible to answer years ago.  And if you know science and know something about statistics, you don’t have to worry about miracles -- you can make them go away.

Many years ago I had a patient with lung cancer.  Given his stage and general condition, he had about three months to live.  We didn’t have anything that worked in those days.  When I was discussing this with him, he said that all he wanted to do was stay alive until his granddaughter, whom he had raised, graduated from college.  That was seven months away.  He said he was praying for that.  Well, he made it, and he even got an extra month in.  At our last visit, he had lost about 50 pounds, needed oxygen, and couldn’t get out of his wheelchair by himself.  But he was cheerful, because he had seen his granddaughter graduate, but more importantly, he was convinced that he was the recipient of a miracle.  I wasn’t.  I knew that the prediction I had made was an average, and that there were people on both sides of that number, some who would die quickly and others who would go on longer than expected.  An average is an average.

But maybe it was a miracle.

I couldn’t come up with a scientific explanation for the man who was born blind and recovered his sight when Jesus smeared mud on his eyes.  So I asked my favorite artificial intelligence agent if she could find one (at least her voice sounds feminine) and sure enough after scouring the internet, she told me that psychological blindness was a very real thing, and there have been cases where a dramatic trauma cured the blindness.  So there you are. An alternative explanation.

And that’s what was happening back in the days of Jesus.  The apostles just accepted the fact that people with disabilities were probably sinners, or maybe their parents were -- after all some of the threats in the old testament suggest that curses on the parents travel down to the descendents.  Even though they had witnessed Jesus' miracles, a miracle for this guy was the last thing in their minds -- why would God work a miracle for a sinner, or the son of sinners?

The townspeople don’t believe in miracles either.  He looks like that blind guy, they say, but clearly he couldn’t be. No one has heard of a man who was born blind receiving his sight.  When they asked the man, he recounted his cure, but rather than believe, they brought him to the Pharisees. Our blind guy gives the same story, but the Pharisees answer that it couldn't be -- it happened on the sabbath, after all.  And God would never violate the sabbath, right?  So they ask the parents, who deny any involvement.  You would think they would be delighted, rejoicing that their son could see again.  But no, they say, “ask him yourselves, he is old enough to answer.  Their joy at their son’s cure was no match for their fear of being kicked out of the syinaogue.  

And back to the Pharisees.  This time on questioning the man born blind gives an argument that no one could refute logically.  “No one has ever opened the eyes of a man born blind.  If this man were not from God he could not do anything.”  That was the last straw.  They kicked him out the door.  

  Notice that the man born blind after being cured starts out  by attributing his cure to “a man named Jesus”.  As he is further questioned, he calls him a prophet. More questions, and he answers, he is someone from God.  And finally, he calls Jesus “Lord”.  

So maybe a miracle is not something that defies explanation.  Maybe a miracle is something that happens that challenges us to come closer to God, to know him better.  Maybe a miracle is when someone dear to us dies and we are challenged to make sense of the event.  Maybe a miracle is when something happens to us that requires all our efforts to stay faithfull, to trust in God -- and we do.  If that’s the case, God is working miracles all the time, miracles which are opportunities to become closer to Him.  In the story in the gospel, many people looked for other explanations rather than believe.  The man born blind does not.  He calls Jesus Lord, and will for the rest of his life.   

Second Sunday of Lent, cycle A

 Matthew 17:1-9

The apostles probably had a lot of different ideas about who Jesus was. Sure, he could work miracles -- they’d seen a few. At the time of the transfiguration, they had even seen miracles such as Jesus walking on water, quieting a storm, sending demons into pigs -- but you know human beings, then and now. The Pharisees witnessed his miracles and decided that he drove out demons by being in league with demons. And there were other healers in those days, pagan as well as Jewish. Could they heal as well? And if so, how? In any event, Jesus attracted a lot of people to follow him, but despite the miracles, a lot of folks decided it didn’t mean they should change their lives. And the apostles who traveled with Jesus couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t that different from them; he got tired, he had to eat, walking on those roads he got dirty; on a hot day you could see sweat on his brow. And they would wonder -- is he just another healer? Is he a holy man, a prophet? Is he the messiah? And if he’s the messiah he doesn't look like a messiah! And they would ask, when is it going to happen? And he’d say, The Son of Man must suffer and die. It didn’t make sense so they would ignore it.

When I read about the transfiguration, I wondered how Jesus persuaded his disciples to climb the mountain with him. Maybe he invited all twelve but only Peter, James and John took him up on it. We know that later on when they came down the other nine were trying without success to drive a demon out of a boy. But it may have been nothing more than a desire to pray. We read many instances in scripture when someone ascends a mountain to pray. It’s a way to get away from the world and at the same time feel closer to God, even though we know God isn’t up there somewhere. Jesus is always making time to pray, where he can tune out the rest of the world. We read that after curing people in Peter’s village he withdrew to a deserted place to pray; and one time he told his apostles, after he had sent them out to preach and heal, that now was the time to withdraw and rest a while. You and I need this as well. I don’t know if you have a favorite place to pray or meet God on a regular basis, but one of the wonderful things that happens right here in Saint Mary’s is that there are times when we place Jesus on the altar so that people can come in and sit before him and pray.

When Jesus and his disciples get to the top of the mountain, the story tells us that he was transfigured before them, and was conversing with Moses and Elijah. Moses climbed a similar mountain to receive the ten commandments, and in his encounter with God he was transfigured as well; when he came down it says that no one could look at his face so he had to cover it. Elijah climbed a mountain and encountered God in a still small voice, not in thunder or lightning. And like Moses, he was changed and was strengthened to continue to do God’s bidding. Matthew and Mark both tell us they conversed; Luke tells us they conversed about what was to happen in Jerusalem -- his passion and death. In our moments of prayer when we sit in the presence of God we need to look carefully at our lives and ask God for wisdom and strength to face our futures, because there will be suffering, there will be death.

You can imagine how the apostles felt in the presence of this scene. Jesus, who up to then was their teacher, worker of miracles, and indeed, friend, is now revealed as much more than that, and it is all confirmed when the voice from heaven calls him “son”. Greater than Moses, the lawgiver; greater than Elijah, the prophet. Messiah, sure, but Son, a title given by God. Peter, sensing the miraculous nature of this moment, wants to prolong it and proposes that they build structures for the three. We human beings like to hold on to those moments that make life worth living. We remember anniversaries, birthdays, religious and public holidays, that in some way connect us with those great moments in the past. The Jews build little structures like the apostles were proposing during the feast of Succoth, to remind themselves of how they sheltered during their time in the desert with Moses.

But then the vision is gone and there is Jesus, dusty and sweating from the climb, his old self. And when those great moments happen to you and I, at some point we have to get back to the real world. Peter, James and John will never see Jesus the same way again; and in some way have been prepared to hold the little community together when Jesus is captured, condemned, suffers and dies. That’s what adoration of the Blessed Sacrament is supposed to do -- prepare us to re-enter the world renewed, strengthened and given wisdom.

So who was transfigured on the mountain? Jesus of course. But so were the apostles, who would never be the same. The presence of Jesus does that. And his presence is here in this Church all the time, but especially during adoration. Make it a point to come and visit him a few times during Lent, and be transfigured yourself.

First Sunday of Lent, cycle A

Matthew 4:1-11

As some of you know, Joan and I have a great grandchild, who as far as we can tell is the cutest little girl in the world.  She’s about seven months old now, and between her parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, she gets a lot of attention.  I think she must believe she is the most important person in the world.  But that made me think about myself.  I’ve always believed, deep in my heart, that I’m the most important person in the world, in fact, that I’m the center of the universe, and I don’t know how the world could get along without me.  Now my brain tells me I’m wrong.  But that feeling of being at the center of things is common to all of us -- it’s human nature.

In today’s gospel, Jesus has just come from his baptism when he heard the words of the Father:  “This is my beloved”.  And then he goes off to fast for forty days and forty nights, the same number of days Noah’s ark was afloat; the same number of years the chosen people roamed around before settling in the promised land.  And it’s not surprising that he was hungry. 

Someone said that he was hungry, not just for food, but because after all this time fasting, he began to wonder if he really was beloved.  Jesus must have felt very mortal when he ended his fast.  Forty days is enough to make you lose a fifth of your body weight; it’s enough to make you feel so weak that you have trouble getting up from a sitting position.  The Spirit leads Jesus into the desert -- maybe the fast wasn’t entirely voluntary.  Jesus is hungry for food, yes, but also for reassurance that he is beloved.

Satan tempts Jesus, first telling him in essence, “If you are God's beloved, why don’t you turn these stones into bread?  And Jess answers, “Man does not live by bread alone.”  Another way to put it is: My being God’s blessed one doesn’t depend on whether I am full or empty, rich or poor, well fed or starving.

Satan then shows Jesus the kingdoms of the world and offers them all to him if he worships him.  In other words, “If you are God’s blessed one, why are you a nobody?  Because at this point in his life Jesus was just another peasant, putting in long days of hard work,  but never getting ahead.  That’s the way most people lived.  But Jesus replies, “I may be a nobody, but I can still be God’s blessed one.  Being blessed has nothing to do with fame or power.”

The third temptation is put forward.  Jesus is taken up to a tower and dared by Satan to prove he is blessed by throwing himself off the tower.  Because surely if you are blessed, Satan seems to be saying, God won’t let anything happen to you.  Jesus replies, in essence,  “Being God’s blessed one doesn’t have anything to do with special privilege, or miraculous blessings.  I’ll take the stairs, like everyone else.”  

Jesus decides that after all, he is God’s blessed one.  And you are as well, and I am, and each of us here, no matter what our circumstances.

And fasting is a chance to be feasting.  We trade earthly satisfactions for heavenly ones.  Fasting is a discipline to remove distractions and sharpen our spiritual senses.  When I was in fourth grade, we were all asked what we were giving up for Lent.  Most of us were giving up candy, sometimes more specifically, certain kinds of candy like Hershey bars.  One of my classmates volunteered that not only was she giving up candy, but the dentist told her to.  It isn't that candy and the other things we fast from are bad -- at least they shouldn’t be-or we shouldn't be doing them at all.  God likes to see us delighted by what he has put in front of us.  But he made them so that we would seek him as the one who gave them to us in love.  But we tend to get hung up by what delights us instead of looking beyond.  Saint Paul talks about those whose “god is the belly”.  When we give something up for a little while, we are acknowledging its goodness and our weakness.  We are making the choice to feast our spirit on our Father rather than feast our bodies on what God has made.  

Jesus, having fasted, is strong enough to resist the temptation to doubt his specialness, that he is the beloved of God.  And your fasting should do the same.  When you have completed your Lenten journey may you be even more convinced that you are God’s beloved, God’s special child.