MAKING OUR MARK

A Reading from Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians (3: 16-19)

Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God's temple, God will destroy that person. For God's temple is holy, and you are that temple. 

Do not deceive yourselves. If you think that you are wise in this age, you should become fools so that you may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written, "He catches the wise in their craftiness," 

Reflection:

Behind a carved oak pulpit in an old church there was a mark on the worn wall.  Could it be just random roughness or a shadow on the stone?  It turned out to be the outline of a cross which must have hung there for years and, when taken down, it left a mark on the wall.

As individual Christians we leave a mark, and most of us lead unremarkable lives.  When you get to know people you find few who are ‘ordinary’.  No-one is exactly like another.  Each is remarkable in their own way and experience.  Each of us has something of value to give.  But we lead unspectacular lives, rarely producing headlines in the newspapers.  Yet our presence in the world, our faithful performance of the little acts of daily living, makes its mark.

There are times when we feel useless.  We can’t stop the steamroller of world events without getting flattened, no-one listens to the thin sound of our protest.  We make our mark and, however small it is, it’s our mark, and the world will never be quite the same again.

May God grant that the mark we leave is the mark of the cross.

Prayer:

Lord, I find it hard to believe it matters,
the little mark I make on the world.
I’m so caught up with things I can’t control.
Can’t even understand the problem half the time.

I feel lost, swallowed up,
my efforts useless.
If I stand out in the storm,
waving my little leaf of protest,
it’s quickly whipped away,
wind-blighted, seared.
And nothing seems to change.

At times,
I think I can hear an echo of unpleasant laughter,
far away.
I get the feeling there’s nothing I can do.
And not much point in trying.
Yet in the quiet,
I still feel that inner sense,
which I can only say is you,
urging me on.
Telling me, however small I am, or weak,
you care for what I do.

Reminding me, so gently,
that however small a mark I make,
it’s mine, and yours.
And telling me to do the little thing
in front of me, today.
I may not see it’s cosmic breadth,
or deep significance –
sounds pompous anyway –
but in the faithful living out,
and quiet affirmations of, this day’s duty,
lies worth, and joy.

And on some wall
a mark is made.

A mark of love,
shaped like a cross.

Amen