Mtr Mary Trainor

Dear friend,

What does it take to open our hearts?

That’s the question at the root of today’s Office Gospel from Mark (2:23-3:6). Or, at least, it is for me.

Even if we attribute good motive to Jesus’ challengers, they are, at best, blindly following the law of the sabbath without any imagination as to its depth and breadth. They show no willingness to stop and wonder: What is God getting at with this commandment? What does this Jesus mean when he says, The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath…"

God’s law, handed down through Moses, was given to assure right relationship with God. And love is always at the root of the law, any one of them. If the sabbath is made for humankind, and God’s love is the undergirding principle, doesn’t it make sense to think that loving, helpful, healing actions are the work that God intends for us?

What does it take to open our hearts?

All of us live in a time and a place that govern daily practices: Are businesses open or closed on Sundays; do we drive on the left or right side of the road; do we eat with knife and fork, or chopsticks. Right and wrong are not absolutes. They depend greatly on context, and an openness to believe that God will do new things, as promised throughout scripture.

If we consider how Jesus expanded the law about sabbath, what else might look different if viewed through the same lens?

My friend Larry knows all about lenses and laws. I know him from my days with the schools for children with special needs.

Larry was transitioning from his birth identity as Carolyn. When I first met him, Larry was, in fact, still Carolyn, but quickly moved to initials-only and, after required surgeries, became Larry.

He was always the same person to us, but now his outside and his inside matched. There was a congruence in his being that wasn’t there before.

His mother could not accept this. She had given birth to a girl, and that was that. She didn’t know how to open her heart. She refused to use the new name and insisted on calling her eldest child “Carolyn,” even though it crushed his spirit.

Years passed, and Larry’s mother was dying. He got the call that she was hospitalized two states away. He had to go, even at the risk of a final rebuff.

When he appeared in the doorway to her room, his mother turned her head to face the wall. Undeterred, Larry sat down and began to recite a string of “remember whens,” family stories, funny and sad. Still nothing from Mom. Readying to go, he said, “This is our last chance, Mom. I came so I could tell you how much I love you.”

As he turned and headed for the door, a tiny voice called after him: “I love you, too...Larry.”

What does it take to open our hearts? Love.

Mtr. Mary