Choosing The Path

It is 5:15 a.m. and the snow is falling.
I am outside shoveling.
I am not shoveling the driveway or sidewalk; luckily someone else will do that job.
I am shoveling a path for my dog.
She still sound asleep, cozy and comfortable inside.
She is too small to find her way in several inches of snow, so I create a way for her.
In a little while, she rises, stretches, and goes out.
She looks at other possibilities, but chooses the path I have created.
She chooses not simply out of need, but because it is clear and ready for her.
The hungry crowd at the Sea of Galilee was like a blizzard to t he disciples.
Uncertain of how to face this enormous need, they turn to Jesus.
He shows them the way.
The hungers of the human family are satisfied when disciples, in the name of Jesus, share what they have been given.
Jesus calls each of us to realize there is more than enough food, justice, peace, and love in the world.
It is the unfair distribution of those things that still keep many hungry.
In a season of giving and receiving, Jesus calls us to get up from what keeps us comfortable and look out.
A path is clear and ready for us.
The challenge is taking the first step.

-- Monsignor Gregory E.S. Malovetz

Loving Father, save me from my ow willfulness and
make me generous in following Jesus the Way.

Speaking Fron The Mountaintops

In the land of the Cheyennes, there is a mountain higher than all the mountains around him. All the Cheyennes know that mountain; even our forefathers knew him.
When children, we ran around wheresoever we wanted. We were never afraid to lose our way so long as we could see the mountain, which show us home again.
When grown up, we followed the buffalo and the elk; we cared not where we pursued teh running deer, so long as the mountain was in sight; for we knew he was ever a safe guide, and never failed in his duty.
When men, we fought the Sioux, the Crows, the white men. We ent after the enemy, though the way ran high up, and low down. Our hearts trembled not on account of the road; for as long as we could see the mountain, we felt sure of finding our home again.
When far away, our hearts leaped for joy on seeing him, because he told us that our home came nearer.
During the winter, the snow covered all the earth with a mantle of white; we could no longer distinguish him from other mountains except by his height, which told us he was the mountain. Sometimes dark clouds gathered above. They hid his head from our view, and out of them flew fiery darts, boring holes in his sides. The thunder shook him from head to foot, but the storm passed away and the mountain stood forever.
The mountain is the Black-robe.
(A Native American expression for a Roman Catholic priest.)
His heart is firm as a rock.
He changes not.
He speaks to us the words of truth.
We are always sure of our path, when we look to him for guidance.
He is the mountain that leads us up to God.

-- A story told by Old Wolf,
a Cheyenne chief from Montana,
in the 1880s.