Feet

I volunteered today at the Corpus Christi House in Boise at a foot washing clinic. I was not the washer (that was left to podiatrists and nurses). My friend Frankie and I prepared tubs for foot soaking and removed them after use. Over 50 people--almost all of whom were homeless or living in poverty--received treatment ranging from cleaning, clipping, filing, and massaging. Each person seemed genuinely grateful.

I was grateful, too, for the experience and the reminder that Jesus does whatever it takes to meet us, welcome us, involve us, challenge us, love us. He enters into the dirty depths of our fallenness individually and collectively. He showers us with streams of mercy, water, and blood. He feeds us His Body and Blood in the Holy Eucharist. He gives us strength for every journey.

And tonight? Tonight he washes our feet.

Eyes

I went to a teen's dance recital this evening. Many groups performed, quite a few individuals danced solo, and the pride and appreciation of parents and friends was apparent. The ladies worked diligently at their craft and showed tremendous growth and skill this night.

Still, something else stuck with me. To most, it was a passing moment that evoked a gentle smile or a mild laugh. Between dance routines, a slight, blond-haired boy of three or four came to the gym floor. The Vallivue High School band was playing intermittent music to pass the break, and the boy used the music to mimic the moves he had seen many of the young women execute minutes earlier. He twirled and hopped and added his own take. As he did all this, the crowd murmured about his cuteness, and with dozens of eyes on him, the boy took little notice. He danced away. The boy's eyes were fixed on only one person: His father.

In all his contortions and twists, a smile continued on the blond-haired boy's tender face, and a constant glance into the bleachers was met with consistent approval from his daddy's gaze. He did not care about the audience's approval or the snippet of fame he was experiencing; he only wanted his father's love.

We should all be set on the gaze of our Father. Where are our eyes fixed as we dance?

Wheels

One of my prayers as I've been contemplating a new car is that I would be a good steward with what I have been given. I want to use my resources well without over-indulging. This line of thinking led me to used vehicles mostly. A 2003 Honda Civic with only 64,000 miles. A 2010 VW Jetta TDI with diesel but a bad maintenance record. Some Ford Fusions and Edges that didn't quite meet my hopes for gas mileage.

I never imagined I would be talked into a new car. In fact, when I asked my uncle (my family's resident car expert) for advice in my search, the one thing he told me was to steer away from buying new.

I did it anyway.

I bought a 2015 Toyota Prius. The deal was this: $5,750 off, 0% interest, 60-month payment plan, two years of regular maintenance (oil changes, tire rotation, fluid levels, general checkup), and a warranty that covers bigger mishaps for seven years. I hope to be driving this baby for the foreseeable future, and getting 50 or more miles to the gallon while I do it.

Mileage

After a road trip to Mount Angel and Seattle, I returned to Boise tonight carried home safely by my vehicle of almost 10 years.

My 2000 Toyota Camry took me through college, into youth ministry, away to seminary, and back to living in Boise. I wonder how many times I have turned the key in the ignition this decade to the reliable sound of the engine firing and the dashboard illuminating. I know well the quirks of the vehicle--the broken seal on the driver's side, the key scratch all along the passenger side, the cassette player, the two tiny dents (but not cracks) in the windshield, the trunk light being deactivated so the battery doesn't drain--and I love my Camry despite the flaws.

But the time to sell and upgrade is coming soon. It will be farewell to a fine vessel for many journeys. I hope some nervous teenager being handed keys for the first time might have use for my old machine so the adventures may continue.

For now, I'm on the hunt for new wheels. Anyone have suggestions?

Celebration

A great reminder as we begin Holy Week this Palm Sunday. What are we remembering and celebrating?

Passion

I'm going to see this tonight...

Saints

As I visit my former parish at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, I see little saints serving the people and God in their small but significant ways.

The three Missionary of the Holy Spirit priests concelebrate Daily Mass, sharing the duties of the liturgy with one carefully preparing the altar for the main celebrant to approach and begin the Eucharistic prayers. The tender touch of the priest to the corporals, the chalices, and the hosts is noticeable. With one hand over heart, he hands the ciborium to his brother priest.

The elderly gentleman with keys to the church w comes nightly to repose the Blessed Sacrament in the Adoration Chapel. Most never see the man (his name is Daniel) because of the hours he keeps, but he makes this weekday practice of Adoration possible for the parish.

The small group of Filipino women that pray daily in the Mass and often in the chapel afterward to offer the Divine Mercy Chaplet and Rosary. They will feed you, take care of you, and give endless hospitality.

The maintenance man who meticulously cleans toilets, dusts the blinds, vacuums the floors, straightens the pews. He ever so quietly and gently reads theology and spiritual books, lives simply, and loves the community deeply in his work of service.

The jovial volunteer who cleans the pantry. The dishes are straight; the pots and pans are in place. On her weekends, she goes to food festivals and feels excitement over large drawers that would further organize the kitchen facility. Her gift to the community comes in little things. All their gifts to the community come in little things.

Saints, living among us, serving among us, praying among us, inspiring us. Who are the saints in view for you today?