It happened before I met him, and then I heard about it. How to reconcile the image of this man who I would see on the elevator most mornings, routinely greeting strangers and co-workers with such ease and grace, with the story of the recent death of his wife under breathtakingly sad and cruel circumstances? Before I fell in love with him (and later married!), I marveled at how he refused to let a 'well-justified' spirit of bitterness grow in the dark places of a hardened heart. Pain was real, but the grace of God even greater. How could I not fall under his spell?
"Harden not your hearts," commands the Psalmist today. Don't let a root of bitterness take hold there, at the core of our being. Don’t allow the taproots of cynicism, rage, resentment, revenge, or retaliation to flourish. Each is surely a pointer to the hardening of our spiritual arteries. "Such a softie," our culture might critique. How naive, how gullible, how weak... But keeping our hearts tender and pliable is tending to the very source of our compassion, where Thy-Kingdom-Come can be born. Hear God's voice with the charge to resist the calcification of our imaginations, our impulses to do good, seeking out the best, finding God in all things.
The prophet Jeremiah, speaking with the voice of that same God, extends the metaphor. He too chastises the people for hardened hearts, with backs turned to God, for necks stiffened with pride and selfishness. Only with our face turned toward God can we then stoop down to see God in the face of the poor, the marginalized, the other and live into our call to be the Chosen people in this time and place.
I shared in a previous Lenten reflection the blessing that my cousin Mary wrote which has become part of my own 40-days-of-preparation each year. With softened hearts and nimble posture, with faces turned toward the God who calls us to wholeness, we accept our mission: