Mother Mary, Come to Me

PRESS PLAY:

Ash Wednesday outside the Catholic school.  Teenagers, with smudged crosses on their foreheads, wearing green uniforms goofing around at the bus stop .  They are rocking that ash.  

I wonder if they wear it for faith or rebellion; belonging or individualism.  I have this urge to tell them: “Believe in truth!  Believe in rebellion!  It doesn’t matter really, as long as it’s inspired with conviction.”

“When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me…”  
Man, we all could use some whispered words of wisdom.

I’d believe.  I’d believe in just about anything if, like Mother Mary,  it spoke to me.  But, perfectly, thats not how it works.  Belief is about knowing without any decipherable truth – often with all probabilities stacked against proof.  

When my teenage students come to me taunting with their disbelief in Gd, in faith, due to lack of proof –  I smile.  I praise their intellect.  And then I ask them, “Do you believe in love?”  “Do you believe in joy?”  “Do you believe in wind and anger and justice and possibilities?” “How about hope and fear and broken hearts?”  

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree
There will be an answer, let it be.

As I enter the age of Kabbalistic potentiality those hours of darkness and disbelief  take on more of a dream state, a shadow in which I can visualize the light, despite my own blindness.  

The questioning of faith – let it be.  
The ownership of faith – let it be.  
There will be an answer.

with deep dark love, jrb

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