Sister Abigail Hester

Tag: christianity

  • The Gospel of Mark (Part 8)

    ✝️ Chapter 7: The Great Confession and the Cross

    Mark 8 – 9 — “The Glory Hidden in the Wound”

    A Franciscan Clarean Commentary by Sister Abigail Hester, OFC

    📖 Scripture

    “Who do you say that I am?”
    — Mark 8 : 29

    🔍 1. The Turning Point

    Up to now, Jesus has been healing, feeding, and dazzling the crowds.
    But in Mark 8 the tone changes. The miracles fade; the mission sharpens.

    Scholars call this the hinge of Mark’s Gospel. Everything before it whispers who is this man? — and now the question lands squarely in Peter’s lap.

    Peter blurts out, “You are the Christ.”
    Right answer… wrong expectations.
    He imagines victory, not vulnerability.

    Franciscan Clareans feel that sting.
    How often we crown love as hero but recoil when love bleeds?
    Mark’s Jesus insists: the Christ is not a conqueror but a companion in suffering.

    🕊️ 2. “Get Behind Me, Satan” — The Temptation of Power

    When Jesus predicts his death, Peter rebukes him, and Jesus fires back:

    “Get behind me, Satan! You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

    Modern scholars like Ched Myers see this as Jesus resisting the same temptation he faced in the wilderness — the lure of success over sacrifice.

    Franciscan Clareans recognize this as a daily exorcism:
    The spirit of empire always whispers, “Be impressive.”
    But the Spirit of Christ says, “Be present.”

    To follow means getting behind Jesus again — not ahead, not in charge, but walking the dusty path of humble love.

    ⚖️ 3. The Cost of Discipleship

    “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

    This is no invitation to misery. It’s a call to solidarity.
    The cross is not punishment—it’s participation in the world’s healing pain.

    Scholars remind us the word “deny” (aparnesasthō) means “disown” one’s ego.
    Francis did that literally—disowning wealth, reputation, even family approval.
    Clare did it quietly, behind monastery walls, living a radiant resistance to luxury and dominance.

    Franciscan Clareans read the cross as the cosmic intersection where love absorbs violence and transforms it into mercy.

    🌄 4. The Transfiguration — Glory in the Dust

    “And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white.” — Mark 9 : 2–3

    Peter, James, and John glimpse divinity shining through humanity.
    Scholars note Mark’s Greek word metemorphōthē—metamorphosis—suggests revelation, not change.
    Jesus isn’t becoming divine; he’s revealing what’s been true all along.

    For Franciscan Clareans, this is theology in sunlight:
    Every creature glows with hidden divinity.
    The poor, the leper, the sparrow, the weed—all shimmer with transfigured grace when seen through love’s eyes.

    Peter wants to build tents—to contain the moment.
    But God interrupts: “Listen to him.”
    In other words: don’t trap glory; trust it.
    The vision fades, but the lesson stays—glory travels with us, disguised as compassion.

    👼 5. The Healer of the Unbelieving

    “I believe; help my unbelief!” — Mark 9 : 24

    A father brings his tormented son, and even his faith trembles.
    Jesus meets him there, halfway between doubt and devotion.

    Scholars highlight this as one of Mark’s rawest prayers.
    It’s faith without pretense—the kind that sighs more than shouts.

    Franciscan Clareans pray this daily.
    Faith isn’t a fortress; it’s a trembling trust that keeps showing up.
    Our weakness is not our shame—it’s the soil grace prefers.

    🧒 6. The Child in the Center

    “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”
    And he took a little child and put it among them. — Mark 9 : 35–36

    Jesus doesn’t lecture about humility; he performs it with a gesture.
    Scholars call this a “living parable.”

    In Roman culture, children were property with no status.
    Jesus redefines greatness around vulnerability.

    Franciscan Clareans bow here.
    We build communities where tenderness leads and power kneels.
    Our theology is childlike—curious, gentle, unclenched.
    Our spirituality: holy play that dethrones ego.

    🔥 7. Salt and Fire — The Alchemy of Love

    “Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.” — Mark 9 : 50

    Salt preserves, purifies, and heals wounds.
    Jesus calls disciples to become living seasoning—people who keep the world from rotting into cynicism.

    Franciscan Clareans taste this metaphor deeply.
    To be salt is to make love tangible, justice flavorful, and peace impossible to forget.
    To be fire is to burn away what cannot endure mercy.

    Every act of compassion refines creation one spark at a time.

    💫 8. Reflection — The Radiance of the Cross

    Mark 8–9 turns the world inside out: glory comes wrapped in humility; kingship kneels; power serves.

    This is the Franciscan Clarean paradox:

    The throne is the cross.

    The crown is compassion.

    The transfiguration glows in every act of service.

    Peter wanted a Messiah of triumph.
    Jesus offered a Messiah of tenderness.
    The Church still struggles with that trade.

    But Mark, Francis, and Clare whisper the same truth:
    Love looks like loss before it looks like victory.
    Only those willing to weep with the world will ever resurrect it.

    🌿 Closing Prayer

    Christ of the mountain and the marketplace,
    transfigure our seeing.
    Let us glimpse your glory in the scarred and small.
    Teach us to carry crosses as torches,
    to believe even through trembling,
    and to honor every child, every creature,
    as your radiant reflection.
    Amen.

  • The Gospel of Mark (Part 7)

    🍞 Chapter 6 : Bread, Borders, and Belief

    Mark 6 – 7 — “Love That Feeds and Crosses Lines”

    A Franciscan Clarean Commentary by Sister Abigail Hester, OFC

    📖 Scripture

    “You give them something to eat.”
    — Mark 6 : 37

    🏡 1. The Rejection at Nazareth — The Wound of Familiarity

    Jesus returns home—and they roll their eyes.
    “Isn’t this the carpenter?” they sneer.

    Modern scholars read this as the tragedy of domesticated holiness—when people can’t see the divine in the ordinary they already know.

    Franciscan Clareans know that pain. Prophets aren’t welcome in their hometowns; visionaries embarrass comfortable religion.
    Holiness always feels too close, too human.

    Like Francis stripping naked in Assisi’s square or Clare defying her noble family, Jesus stands unrecognized among his own.
    Mark reminds us: rejection is not failure—it’s the compost where courage grows.

    👣 2. Sending the Twelve — Poverty as Power

    “Take nothing for your journey except a staff.”

    Mark’s version is minimalist: no bread, bag, or money.

    Scholars note this evokes the Exodus—God’s people traveling light, dependent on providence.
    It’s not masochism; it’s missional mobility.

    Franciscan Clareans recognize this as our Rule of the Road.
    Simplicity isn’t deprivation—it’s freedom from drag.
    When you own less, love can move faster.
    The Gospel travels light enough to slip through locked borders and fearful hearts.

    ⚰️ 3. The Death of John the Baptist — Prophetic Cost

    Herod’s birthday party becomes a bloodbath.
    Mark sandwiches this grisly scene between missions of mercy, forcing us to see the cost of truth.

    Modern scholars view it as political theatre—the prophet devoured by empire’s entertainment industry.

    Franciscan Clareans mourn John as the first martyr of integrity.
    He dies unarmed, but his echo fuels every voice that still cries, “Prepare the way.”
    Holiness doesn’t hide from power—it risks losing its head to keep its soul.

    🍞 4. The Feeding of the Five Thousand — The Economy of Enough

    “They all ate and were filled.”

    Scholars call this story “Eucharistic prelude,” but notice the social miracle: everyone sits in groups of fifty and hundred—order born of sharing.

    Jesus doesn’t conjure food out of thin air; he blesses what’s already there.
    Scarcity becomes sufficiency when gratitude cracks it open.

    For Franciscan Clareans, this is the holy math of the Kingdom:
    Bless + Break = Abundance.

    Feeding the crowd is economic heresy to empire.
    Rome hoards; Christ distributes.
    We answer hunger not with charity crumbs but community loaves.

    🌊 5. Walking on Water — The Mystic in the Wind

    “He came toward them, walking on the sea.”

    Mark’s language mirrors Genesis 1: the Spirit hovering over chaotic waters.
    Jesus isn’t performing magic; he’s revealing mastery over fear itself.

    When the disciples mistake him for a ghost, he says, “Take heart; it is I.” (Greek: egō eimi — I AM).
    The divine name rides the storm.

    Franciscan Clareans read this as mystic ecology: creation recognizes its Creator, and fear learns to float.
    Faith doesn’t mean denying the storm; it means discovering you’re buoyed by Presence.

    🚫 6. Traditions and Clean Hands — Heart Over Habit

    “You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.” — Mark 7 : 8

    Jesus debates purity laws with Pharisees, declaring that defilement comes from within, not from unwashed hands.

    Scholars like Amy-Jill Levine insist this isn’t anti-Judaism—it’s prophetic critique of any religion that weaponizes ritual.

    Franciscan Clareans extend this insight:
    Holiness isn’t sterilized—it’s incarnate.
    Clean hearts matter more than clean linens.
    We wash our hands not from fear of contamination but from readiness to serve.

    🐾 7. The Syrophoenician Woman — A Faith That Talks Back

    “Even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” — Mark 7 : 28

    Here’s one of the most daring exchanges in Scripture.
    A Gentile woman demands healing for her daughter; Jesus hesitates with a metaphor about children and dogs.
    She snaps back, clever and fierce—and he applauds her faith.

    Modern interpreters see this as the moment Jesus learns, too—the Gospel stretching wider before our eyes.

    Franciscan Clareans cheer this holy argument.
    It’s not disrespect; it’s dialogue that enlarges compassion.
    Sometimes the outsider teaches the Christ-bearer what inclusion really means.
    Love listens—even when it’s uncomfortable.

    🌿 8. Healing the Deaf and Mute Man — “Ephphatha!”

    “Be opened.” — Mark 7 : 34

    Jesus uses spit and touch—earthy sacraments of divine nearness.
    He sighs deeply (stenazō — a groan of compassion) and creation opens again.

    For Franciscan Clareans, this is prayer made tangible:
    Breath, earth, body, sound—all one liturgy.
    We’re not spectators of miracles; we’re invited to echo them—
    to open ears closed by prejudice, tongues tied by fear.

    💫 9. Reflection — The Table That Never Ends

    Mark 6–7 overflows with food, faith, and boundary-breaking.
    It’s the Gospel’s declaration that everyone eats or no one is full.

    Franciscan Clareans live from that table:

    Feed the body → heal the soul.

    Cross borders → find Christ waiting on the other side.

    Argue for mercy → expand the Kingdom.

    Bread is never just bread; it’s a manifesto of shared life.

    🌾 Closing Prayer

    Bread of Heaven,
    who walks on storm-water and lingers in loaves,
    feed us with courage.
    Teach us to bless what we have,
    to cross to the ones we fear,
    and to open hearts, hands, and borders.
    May every table become your altar,
    and every crumb proclaim abundance.
    Amen.

  • The Gospel of Mark (Part 6)

    🌊 Chapter 5: Storms and Spirits

    Mark 4:35 – 5:43 — “Crossing to the Other Side”

    A Franciscan Clarean Commentary by Sister Abigail Hester, OFC

    📖 Scripture

    “On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, ‘Let us go across to the other side.’”
    — Mark 4:35

    ⛵ 1. The Storm and the Sleeping Christ

    Night falls. Waves rise. The boat fills. The disciples panic. And Jesus? He’s asleep on a cushion.

    Scholars note the boat is a symbol of the church, tossed on a sea of chaos.
    Mark’s storm isn’t just weather — it’s existential turbulence.

    Jesus wakes, rebukes the wind, and the sea obeys.
    The Greek word for “rebuke” (epitimaō) is the same one Mark uses when Jesus silences demons.
    The message? The chaos outside mirrors the chaos within.

    Franciscan Clareans hear this as a spiritual parable:
    Christ doesn’t always stop the storm; he awakens peace within us so we can ride it.
    Our calling is to practice calm as resistance.
    To sleep, even in danger, is not apathy — it’s trust.

    Francis prayed in thunder and Clare sang through siege; both knew that peace isn’t the absence of trouble — it’s the presence of Love unfazed.

    👹 2. The Gerasene Demoniac: Liberation Beyond Borders

    “They came to the country of the Gerasenes…” — Mark 5:1

    This is Gentile territory — “the other side.” Jesus crosses boundaries of race, religion, and purity.
    The possessed man is a portrait of total alienation: naked, self-harming, living among tombs.

    Scholars like Ched Myers read this as a political exorcism — the demon’s name, Legion, evokes Roman occupation. Jesus confronts empire head-on.

    For Franciscan Clareans, this is compassion as confrontation.
    We, too, go to the margins — to the tombs of addiction, trauma, and poverty — and proclaim freedom.
    The Gospel crosses the lake every day when we dare to love the people empire forgot.

    Notice: Jesus asks the man’s name. Liberation begins when someone finally asks who you are, not what you’ve done.

    🐖 3. The Pigs and the Panic

    The unclean spirits beg to enter a herd of pigs, which then drown in the sea. The locals, terrified, ask Jesus to leave.

    Modern scholars note: economic loss triggers rejection. The herd was wealth. Compassion just disrupted profit.

    That’s a timeless problem — healing costs something.
    Francis knew it when he stripped off his father’s riches; Clare knew it when she chose poverty over dowry.

    Franciscan Clareans side with the drowned pigs — symbols of the price empire pays when love liberates its captives.
    Sometimes peace upsets the market.
    Sometimes holiness ruins business as usual.

    🌸 4. The Hemorrhaging Woman: The Courage to Touch

    “She had suffered under many physicians… and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak.” — Mark 5:25–27

    This woman is unclean by Levitical law — cut off from touch, worship, and community for twelve years.
    Her act is both desperate and defiant.

    Modern feminist scholars like Amy-Jill Levine see her as a prototype of courageous faith. She doesn’t ask permission; she reaches.

    Jesus feels power go out from him — not drained, but shared.
    He doesn’t shame her; he calls her Daughter.

    Franciscan Clareans see here the theology of mutual healing.
    Compassion isn’t one-way. The healer and the healed exchange holiness.
    Touch becomes sacrament again — restoring dignity, not just health.

    🕊 5. Jairus’s Daughter: Hope That Outruns Despair

    While Jesus is still speaking, word comes: “Your daughter is dead.”
    But he keeps walking. “Do not fear, only believe.”

    Mark’s language drips with tenderness. Jesus takes her hand and says, “Talitha koum” — “Little girl, arise.”
    The same verb again — egeiren — resurrection.

    Franciscan Clareans read this as the daily miracle of compassion: raising others by touch, calling the dead parts of life back into movement.
    It’s the same word we heard when Peter’s mother-in-law was lifted up — resurrection as a way of life.

    And he tells them to give her something to eat.
    That’s the Franciscan punchline: spirituality that feeds people.

    💫 6. Crossing to the Other Side of Everything

    From storm to demon, from bleeding to death, Mark shows one truth: Jesus moves toward chaos, not away from it.
    He crosses every boundary — sea, ethnicity, gender, purity, even mortality — to bring wholeness.

    For Franciscan Clareans, this chapter is our field manual:

    Cross borders of comfort.

    Face the storms instead of cursing them.

    Liberate what’s bound.

    Touch what’s untouchable.

    Nourish what’s reborn.

    The Kingdom of God is a continual crossing to “the other side” — within ourselves and our world.

    🌿 Closing Prayer

    Christ of the Open Sea,
    when our boats fill and our courage leaks,
    wake within us.
    Calm the waves we’ve named Legion,
    and send us across to the places we fear.
    May our touch heal,
    our words resurrect,
    and our faith make room for miracles.
    Teach us to believe, even when the wind howls —
    that love still speaks, “Peace. Be still.”
    Amen.

  • The Gospel of Mark (Part 5)

    🌾 Chapter 4 : Parables and Power

    Mark 4 : 1 – 34 — “The Seeds of Holy Imagination”

    A Franciscan Clarean Commentary by Sister Abigail Hester, OFC

    📖 Scripture

    “He taught them many things in parables, and in his teaching he said to them: ‘Listen! A sower went out to sow…’”
    — Mark 4 : 2–3

    🌱 1. Storytelling as Revolution

    Scholars agree Mark 4 is the heart of Jesus’s teaching ministry. He doesn’t lecture or threaten — he tells stories.
    That’s not lazy pedagogy; it’s prophetic strategy.

    Modern scholar John Dominic Crossan calls parables “subversive metaphors.” They don’t hand out answers — they sneak truth past our defenses and let it germinate in the soil of the heart.

    Jesus knows that facts can argue — but stories can transform.

    Franciscan Clareans get this instinctively. Francis preached to birds and wolves because story and symbol bypass ego and speak to the soul. We don’t just explain truth — we enchant it into being.

    🌾 2. The Sower: Scandalous Generosity

    “Some seed fell on the path… rocky ground… thorns… good soil.” — Mark 4 : 4–8

    Scholars point out the Sower is terrible at farming. He’s throwing seed everywhere — on paths, rocks, and thorns. What waste!

    Exactly.

    This is a parable about divine wastefulness.
    God flings grace recklessly, without calculating ROI.
    Love isn’t efficient; it’s extravagant.

    For Franciscan Clareans, this is the Gospel in motion: scatter mercy liberally, even where it “won’t work.” Feed people who won’t thank you. Forgive those who won’t change. Water seeds you may never see sprout.

    Because grace isn’t transactional — it’s transformational.

    🪞 3. Mystery and Misunderstanding

    “Let anyone with ears to hear listen!” — Mark 4 : 9

    Mark loves this refrain because parables require more than hearing — they demand holy imagination.

    Scholars like Elizabeth Struthers Malbon note that Mark invites readers into the story as participants, not spectators. The disciples don’t “get it” because they keep looking for literal answers to mystical questions.

    Franciscan Clareans read this as permission to embrace mystery. Faith isn’t certainty — it’s curiosity married to trust.
    It’s Clare gazing into the Eucharist and seeing the unseeable; Francis hearing the wind as a psalm.

    We don’t solve parables — we let them solve us.

    🌿 4. The Lamp Under a Bushel: Hidden Radiance

    “Is a lamp brought in to be put under the bushel basket…? For there is nothing hidden except to be disclosed.” — Mark 4 : 21–22

    Mark weaves light and secrecy together — a clue to his so-called Messianic Secret.
    The light of Christ isn’t hidden to conceal — it’s hidden to ripen.

    Franciscan Clareans see this as the theology of quiet holiness. Not every light needs a spotlight. Some illumination is meant to glow softly in dark corners until it draws others home.

    We shine by presence, not performance.
    We burn not to be seen but to see clearly.

    🌱 5. The Growing Seed and the Mustard Tree

    “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground… and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.” — Mark 4 : 26–27

    This tiny parable is a masterpiece of divine trust. The kingdom grows automatically (Greek automatē) — mysteriously, inevitably, beyond control.

    Franciscan Clareans love that word. It means the Spirit does the heavy lifting. We sow in faith, sleep in hope, and wake to harvest we didn’t engineer.

    Then comes the mustard seed — a weed that won’t quit.
    Scholars see it as a holy joke: the “Kingdom of God” isn’t a cedar of Lebanon — it’s an invasive shrubbish plant that takes over the field and gives shelter to birds.

    Translation: God’s reign is a grassroots uprising.
    It spreads through small acts of mercy and holy mischief until the whole field is love.

    💫 6. Why Parables Still Matter

    Mark ends this section noting that Jesus spoke “as they were able to hear it.” That’s pedagogical gentleness — revelation matched to capacity.

    Modern scholarship calls this accommodating revelation: God meets people where they are, not where they “should” be.

    Franciscan Clareans extend that into our own ministries. We teach through story, art, gardens, and song because truth arrives best in forms that touch the heart.
    The Kingdom is planted in poetry, not policy.

    🕊️ 7. Reflection — The Seed Within

    Mark 4 is a parable about parables — a story about storytelling.
    It invites us to trust that every word of love we scatter matters, even when we never see its fruit.

    Franciscan Clareans live this daily:

    Plant seeds of peace in a world of violence.

    Tell stories of hope in a culture of despair.

    Be lamps that glow quietly until morning.

    The harvest is God’s. Our task is to keep sowing.

    🌿 Closing Prayer

    Sower of Stars,
    scatter your seeds through our hands.
    Let our words be mustard seeds of mercy,
    our silence fertile with trust.
    Teach us to believe in what grows unseen,
    to shine without needing to be noticed,
    and to rest in the mystery that your Kingdom is already blooming beneath our feet.
    Amen.

  • The Gospel of Mark (Part 4)

    ⚖️ Chapter 3: Conflict and Compassion

    Mark 2:1–3:6 — “When Love Breaks the Rules”

    A Franciscan Clarean Commentary by Sister Abigail Hester, OFC

    📖 Scripture

    “Why does this man speak that way? He’s blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?”
    — Mark 2:7

    🏠 1. The Crowded House and the Roof of Faith

    Jesus is back in Capernaum, and the house is bursting with people. Four friends can’t get their paralyzed companion through the door, so they rip the roof off and lower him down.

    That’s Mark’s humor and holy audacity — salvation sometimes requires a little property damage.

    Modern scholars like Ched Myers see this as the Gospel’s first act of civil disobedience. When systems block healing, love finds another way in.

    Jesus doesn’t rebuke their mess — he honors it. “Seeing their faith…” he forgives and heals the man.

    Franciscan Clareans love this story because it’s about community-based healing.
    No one gets to God alone.
    Sometimes faith means tearing through barriers — literal or social — to bring someone to wholeness.

    And note: the man’s friends didn’t speak a word. Their love was their prayer.

    ⚡ 2. The Forgiveness Scandal

    When Jesus says, “Your sins are forgiven,” the religious elite lose their minds.
    Forgiveness was supposed to be mediated through temple ritual — Jesus is cutting out the middlemen.

    Modern scholars point out that Mark shows Jesus claiming divine prerogatives not to exalt himself, but to decentralize grace.

    He’s saying: God’s mercy doesn’t live in a building or belong to a priesthood. It flows wherever compassion walks.

    For Franciscan Clareans, this is our theology in motion — sacraments that happen in alleys, forgiveness that smells like sweat and street dust.
    Jesus isn’t breaking the law; he’s fulfilling it with mercy.

    🍷 3. Eating with Sinners: The Table Revolution

    “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?”
    — Mark 2:16

    Meals in the ancient world were moral theater.
    Who you ate with defined your status and purity.
    Jesus uses dinner as a demolition site.

    Modern scholars like John Dominic Crossan call this “open commensality” — a radical act that dismantled social hierarchy.

    Franciscan Clareans call it holy table fellowship.
    It’s the same spirit that moved Francis to eat with lepers, and Clare to feed the poor through her monastery walls.

    Jesus didn’t eat with sinners to tolerate them. He ate with them to declare: There are no outsiders in God’s household.

    Every shared meal is Eucharist. Every welcome is gospel.

    🪡 4. New Wine, Old Wineskins

    “No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment… No one puts new wine into old wineskins.”
    — Mark 2:21–22

    This is Mark’s way of saying the Kingdom of God doesn’t fit inside the old systems — not the old law, not old religion, not even our old egos.

    Franciscan Clareans know this intimately.
    We can’t patch empire theology with kindness — we need new wineskins of justice.
    We can’t pour resurrection into rigid institutions and expect them not to burst.

    God’s doing something wild, untamed, and fermenting.
    The Spirit is fizzing, expanding, reshaping the world.
    Our job? Don’t cork it. Don’t label it. Drink deeply.

    🌾 5. The Sabbath Showdown

    “The Sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the Sabbath.”
    — Mark 2:27

    When Jesus plucks grain on the Sabbath and heals a withered hand, he’s not attacking Judaism — he’s reclaiming it for mercy.

    Scholars like Amy-Jill Levine emphasize that Mark’s conflict stories aren’t anti-Jewish polemic; they’re intra-Jewish debate — a prophetic argument about what holiness really looks like.

    Jesus reclaims Sabbath as rest, not restriction.
    For Franciscan Clareans, that’s our call too:
    To defend the right to rest, to restore Sabbath as sacred resistance against burnout culture and exploitation.
    Rest is rebellion.
    Healing is holy work.

    When Jesus heals on the Sabbath, he’s saying, “Mercy is never off-duty.”

    🔥 6. Compassion as Confrontation

    By the end of 3:6, the Pharisees and Herodians are plotting to destroy Jesus.
    Why? Because love that heals without permission threatens every system built on control.

    Mark’s Jesus is dangerous precisely because he’s compassionate.
    His miracles unmask the machinery of oppression.
    His mercy exposes injustice as blasphemy in disguise.

    Franciscan Clareans take note: when our compassion challenges cruelty, conflict isn’t failure — it’s fidelity.
    The cross isn’t a punishment; it’s the cost of radical kindness.

    🕊️ 7. Reflection: The Holy Mischief of Mercy

    Mark’s Jesus breaks boundaries like a holy vandal — not to cause chaos, but to make room for love.

    He heals the forbidden, forgives the untouchable, and eats with the excluded.
    He refuses to let law trump love, or ritual silence need.

    This is the Franciscan Clarean gospel in full color:

    Mercy over mechanism.

    Relationship over regulation.

    Presence over piety.

    To follow Christ in this way is to join the sacred troublemakers — those who tear roofs open, host unapproved dinners, and dare to heal when the world says “wait.”

    🌿 Closing Prayer

    Christ our Liberator,
    You break the rules that break your children.
    You write new commandments in compassion and courage.
    Make us holy rebels for love’s sake —
    ready to tear roofs, share tables, and touch the untouchable.
    Let our lives be your new wineskins,
    stretched and singing with the ferment of your Spirit.
    Amen.

  • The Gospel of Mark (Part 3)

    ✨ Chapter 2: The Miracles and the Margins

    Mark 1:21–45 — “The Healer Who Breaks Rules”

    A Franciscan Clarean Commentary by Sister Abigail Hester, OFC

    📖 Scripture

    “They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.”
    — Mark 1:22

    🕍 1. Authority Without Domination

    From the very start, Jesus’ authority in Mark is different — it’s not about power over, but love within.
    Modern scholars like Elizabeth Malbon point out that Mark’s Jesus is performative theology — he doesn’t argue doctrines; he embodies truth.

    The scribes explain. Jesus liberates.
    His authority doesn’t come from position, pedigree, or permission — it flows from presence.

    Franciscan Clareans recognize this instantly.
    True authority is the radiance of compassion. It doesn’t need titles, it needs integrity.
    Francis had no office, Clare no sanction — yet both carried a gravity born of holiness, not hierarchy.

    Mark’s Jesus shows us: the Kingdom doesn’t require credentials. Just love that moves.

    👹 2. The Exorcism: Liberation, Not Spectacle

    “A man with an unclean spirit cried out… and Jesus rebuked him, saying, ‘Be silent, and come out of him!’” — Mark 1:23–25

    Modern readers can get hung up on demons.
    But Mark’s world saw unclean spirits as the embodiment of everything that enslaves: fear, injustice, despair, systems that crush the human soul.

    The first miracle in Mark isn’t a healing — it’s a liberation.
    Jesus doesn’t perform a show; he restores a person’s wholeness.
    This is liberation theology before it had a name.

    Franciscan Clareans can read this as Jesus confronting empire’s demons: greed, domination, shame.
    He silences those voices still whispering in our age — the ones that say, you’re not enough, you don’t belong, you can’t change.

    The Gospel begins with an exorcism because the Kingdom begins when the lies lose their power.

    🌅 3. The Healing of Simon’s Mother-in-Law: Service as Resurrection

    “He took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.”
    — Mark 1:31

    Notice how gentle this miracle is.
    No thunder, no trumpet, no drama — just touch.
    Mark uses the Greek word egeiren — “he lifted her up,” the same word used later for resurrection.

    Jesus doesn’t just heal her; he raises her up.
    Her response? Not worship, not words — service.

    For Franciscan Clareans, this is holiness distilled: resurrection leads to hospitality.
    Healing isn’t a private gift; it’s a call to love others.

    Every fever that leaves us should free us to serve.
    That’s the Franciscan rhythm — grace received, grace given, endlessly circling like breath.

    🌆 4. The Solitary Prayer: Sacred Recharging

    “In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed.” — Mark 1:35

    Even Jesus needed silence.
    In the middle of miracles and crowds, he slips away to reconnect with the Source.

    Modern biblical scholars read this as an intentional rhythm in Mark: action — contemplation — action.
    Francis and Clare lived this too — ora et labora, prayer and work, breath and body, silence and song.

    Franciscan Clareans learn from this: activism without contemplation burns out; contemplation without compassion dries up.
    We need both — the stillness that grounds our service and the service that gives meaning to our stillness.

    💙 5. The Leper and the Touch of God

    “Moved with compassion, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, ‘I do choose. Be made clean.’” — Mark 1:41

    This moment is one of the most scandalous in all of Scripture.
    Touching a leper made you unclean under Jewish purity law. Jesus does it deliberately.

    Modern scholars like Amy-Jill Levine remind us: this isn’t Jesus rejecting Judaism — it’s him revealing God’s heart within it. He’s showing that compassion fulfills the Law more perfectly than fear ever could.

    When he touches the untouchable, he doesn’t catch impurity — he transmits holiness.
    That’s divine contagion.
    That’s Francis kissing the leper outside Assisi.
    That’s Clare feeding her sisters with her own hands during famine.

    Franciscan Clareans call this the sacrament of touch — the holiness of human contact, the theology of tenderness.
    In a world terrified of contamination, we bring the healing of presence.

    🌈 6. Reflection: Miracles as Method

    Mark 1 closes with the world buzzing — everyone looking for Jesus, miracles everywhere. But he keeps retreating to prayer, refusing to build a cult of personality.

    Modern biblical scholarship notes this rhythm — Jesus moves from center to margin, from crowd to solitude, from fame to hiddenness.

    That’s our Franciscan Clarean way too.
    We don’t chase spotlight miracles; we practice quiet ones:

    A kind word that saves a life.

    A meal shared with the lonely.

    A prayer whispered for someone who’d forgotten they’re loved.

    Mark’s Gospel teaches that the miracle isn’t in the spectacle.
    It’s in the touch, the silence, the compassion that doesn’t need credit.

    🌿 Closing Prayer

    Christ of the margins,
    who heals with hands and not hierarchies,
    who silences demons and awakens dignity,
    teach us to touch the world with gentleness.
    May we see holiness in the unclean,
    beauty in the broken,
    and your face in every forgotten one.
    Amen.

  • The Gospel of Mark (Part 1)

    🌿 The Gospel of Mark

    A Franciscan Clarean Commentary — by Sister Abigail Hester, OFC

    💫 The Wild Beginning

    Mark’s Gospel doesn’t start with cozy Christmas nostalgia. There’s no manger, no angels cooing over a baby. It starts in the wilderness — with a wild prophet, wearing camel hair, shouting about repentance.

    That’s classic Franciscan energy right there: God showing up in the margins, barefoot and untamed. The wilderness is where illusions fall away and simplicity becomes holy clarity. Mark’s Jesus bursts onto the scene not from a palace or temple, but from the desert. The message: God begins again on the edge of everything.

    🔥 The Urgency of Love

    Modern scholars call Mark’s writing “immediate.” Everything happens right now.
    From a Franciscan Clarean lens, this isn’t anxiety — it’s holy immediacy.
    The Gospel of Mark is breathless because love is urgent. The world is suffering, and compassion can’t wait until we’ve got our theology perfectly sorted.

    Francis and Clare understood that same pulse: mend what’s broken today. Feed the hungry now. Reconcile before the sun sets. Mark’s “immediately” is a heartbeat of divine action.

    💔 The Suffering Christ

    Mark’s Jesus bleeds early and often. He’s misunderstood, exhausted, betrayed, and finally screams in forsaken agony on the cross. Scholars see this as Mark’s theology of the Suffering Messiah — God revealed in pain, not power.

    We, too, know that mystery.
    The Franciscan Clarean path doesn’t chase prestige; it sits with the broken. It whispers that holiness often looks like vulnerability, like compassion that costs something.
    Mark’s Gospel turns empire’s logic upside down: greatness is service; glory is love poured out.

    🕊️ The Disciples and the Dance of Misunderstanding

    Let’s be honest — the disciples in Mark are a bit of a mess. They misunderstand nearly everything. They argue about greatness right after Jesus predicts his death.

    But Mark isn’t mocking them; he’s revealing us.
    Discipleship isn’t a test of IQ — it’s a willingness to keep walking, keep trying, keep saying yes even when you don’t get it.

    That’s the way of Clare: simple, stubborn faith that keeps loving even in the dark.
    That’s the way of Francis: joyfully failing forward in the company of Christ.

    🪞 The Messianic Secret

    Jesus tells people to keep quiet about his miracles. Why?
    Modern scholars call this the Messianic Secret. Mark’s Jesus refuses to be turned into a political slogan or celebrity. He wants hearts transformed, not crowds manipulated.

    For Franciscan Clareans, that’s spiritual humility in action — the quiet revolution of love without ego.
    Holiness doesn’t need to shout. It just is.

    🌍 The Politics of Compassion

    Mark’s story unfolds under Rome’s shadow. Power, greed, and violence define the world Jesus walks through. When he heals, eats with sinners, or touches lepers, he’s not just being “nice.” He’s resisting empire with compassion.

    Modern liberation and narrative scholars like Ched Myers and Amy-Jill Levine help us see that Mark’s Jesus is confronting systems — unbinding the “strong man” of domination.

    Francis and Clare did the same in their own century: they defied empire and Church wealth by living voluntary poverty and unarmed love. The Gospel of Mark is their manual for holy rebellion — the art of sacred disobedience.

    ✝️ The Silence at the Tomb

    The earliest ending — Mark 16:8 — leaves us hanging:

    “They fled from the tomb, trembling and bewildered… and said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

    That’s the punchline of the Gospel. No resurrection appearances. No tidy closure. Just silence and fear — and an invitation.

    Mark ends with a cliffhanger because the story isn’t finished.
    It’s our turn to proclaim resurrection — through mercy, through courage, through joy.

    Franciscan Clareans pick up that unfinished sentence every day.
    Our life is the continuation of the Gospel.
    Our compassion is its new chapter.

    🌈 Reflection

    Mark’s Gospel is not a book about belief — it’s a summons to transformation.
    It’s wild, fast, apocalyptic, and full of holy surprise.
    In a world obsessed with control and comfort, Mark calls us to holy poverty, fearless love, and radical hope.

  • How to Celebrate the Feast of Saint Francis of Assisi

    Here’s how to celebrate the Feast of Saint Francis of Assisi (October 4th) — no habit, no monastery required, just an open heart and maybe a few furry friends. 🕊️🐾

    🌅 1. Start with Gratitude and Simplicity

    Francis began every day with gratitude for “Brother Sun” and “Sister Moon.”
    You can honor him by doing the same: step outside, breathe the morning air, and say something like:

    “Thank you, Creator, for this day, for breath, for life, for all creatures who share it with me.”

    Unplug for a while. Eat simply. Walk instead of drive. Let the day breathe.

    🕊️ 2. Pray or Reflect in Nature

    Francis didn’t see nature as decoration — he saw it as revelation.
    Go for a walk, sit under a tree, or open a window. Pray, meditate, or just listen.
    Read the Canticle of the Creatures (Francis’s own hymn) or Psalm 104.
    If you’re feeling poetic, write your own “Canticle of Gratitude.”

    🐕 3. Bless the Animals

    If you have pets, bless them with a short prayer or sprinkle water on their heads like a mini-baptism of love.
    If you don’t, donate to a local shelter or feed the birds.
    Francis loved all creatures — even the ones that bite.

    “Blessed are you, Lord, for Brother Dog, who teaches us joy.
    Blessed are you for Sister Cat, who shows us peace.”

    ✋ 4. Serve the Poor or Lonely

    Francis wasn’t just about fuzzy animals — he was fierce about compassion.
    Do something tangible:

    Bring food or socks to someone on the street

    Call a friend who’s struggling

    Volunteer or give anonymously

    Acts of mercy are living prayers.

    💐 5. Reconcile and Forgive

    Francis constantly sought peace.
    Take a moment to forgive someone — or yourself.
    If there’s tension with a friend, family member, or even God, offer a small olive branch.
    It doesn’t need to be dramatic — just real.

    📖 6. Read or Watch Something Franciscan

    Pick a passage from:

    The Little Flowers of St. Francis

    Brother Sun, Sister Moon (the film — gloriously 70s, but heartfelt)

    The Testament of St. Francis

    Then ask: What does “living simply” mean for me, today?

    🕯️ 7. Create a Mini-Ritual at Home

    Light a candle. Place a small cross, stone, or leaf beside it. Say:

    “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
    Where there is hatred, let me sow love.”

    Let the candle burn as a symbol of gentleness, humility, and hope.

    🎉 Bonus: Celebrate with Joy

    Francis loved laughter and song. Sing something, dance barefoot, share a meal with someone, or write a thank-you note to life itself.
    Holiness doesn’t have to be grim — it can sparkle.

  • A New Beginning on the International Day of Peace

    On Sunday, September 21, 2025, the world pauses to recognize the International Day of Peace—a day set aside to honor the founding ideals of the United Nations: to promote peace, end conflict, and foster global cooperation. It is a day when people of every faith and nation lift up the hope that peace is not just possible, but necessary.

    And this year, on this sacred day of global reflection and renewal, we are humbled and thrilled to share an announcement close to our hearts:

    ✨ The launch of the Chaplains of Saint Francis—our new Street Ministry and the outreach arm of the Order of Franciscan Clareans. ✨

    Why Today Matters

    Choosing this day was no accident. The International Day of Peace is a call to live differently—to disarm our hearts, heal divisions, and choose love over violence. St. Francis himself, the peacemaker of Assisi, modeled this in every encounter, from embracing lepers to crossing battle lines to meet the Sultan.

    To begin our ministry on this day is to root it in the same Franciscan vision: to bring peace, compassion, and tangible hope where it is needed most—on the streets, among the marginalized, in the everyday struggles of our neighbors.

    What the Chaplains of Saint Francis Will Do

    As the outreach arm of the Order of Franciscan Clareans, the Chaplains of Saint Francis will:

    Walk with the poor, homeless, and forgotten.

    Offer pastoral care, prayer, and listening ears to those in crisis.

    Provide practical help—food, clothing, resources, and connections.

    Be visible signs of Christ’s peace in the streets, not behind walls.

    Build bridges across divisions of faith, culture, and identity.

    This isn’t charity. It’s solidarity. It’s rolling up our sleeves and stepping into the mess of real life with the conviction that every soul matters, and no one is disposable.

    A Prophetic Call to Action

    Our ministry begins in the spirit of Francis and Clare, but it belongs to everyone who hears the same radical call: to live simply, love boldly, and serve faithfully.

    If you’ve been waiting for the right moment to act, to serve, to join a movement of peace rooted in justice—this is it. We invite you to walk with us, pray with us, and serve with us. Together, we can become instruments of peace in a world aching for healing.

    🌿 On this International Day of Peace, a new chapter begins.
    The Chaplains of Saint Francis are here, and we are ready to serve.

    Peace and all good,
    The Order of Franciscan Clareans

  • What Would Francis and Clare Do About Transphobia and Christian Nationalism?

    In the town square of Assisi, Francis of Assisi stripped off his father’s fine clothes and said:
    “From now on I can truly say: Our Father who art in heaven.”[^1]

    It was more than drama—it was protest. He was rejecting wealth, patriarchy, and control. Clare of Assisi did the same when she left her noble home, cut her hair, and embraced a new life of freedom. Later, when church officials tried to bend her into obedience, she pushed back and declared to her sisters:
    “Go forward securely, joyfully, and swiftly on the path of happiness.”[^2]

    Francis and Clare lived a gospel of freedom and courage. If they were alive today, they would not be silent about the spiritual sickness of transphobia and Christian nationalism. They would name them for what they are: false gospels.

    The Franciscan-Clarean Lens

    Francis saw all creation as family—Brother Sun, Sister Moon, even Sister Death. He kissed lepers, welcomed outcasts, and called enemies “brother.” He wrote:
    “Blessed is the servant who loves his brother as much when he is sick and useless as when he is well and can be of service.”[^3]

    Clare defended the dignity of her sisters against bishops and popes, insisting that women could live the gospel without domination. She urged Agnes of Prague:
    “Place your mind before the mirror of eternity. Place your soul in the brilliance of glory.”[^4]

    In that eternal mirror, there are no flags, no borders, no gender policing—only the radiance of God shining in every creature.

    Naming Today’s Powers

    Christian nationalism fuses flag and cross, confusing domination with discipleship.

    Transphobia in the church is another mask of the same power.

    Both are rooted in fear. Both betray the gospel of Christ.

    Francis and Clare knew that same fear-driven religion in their own day: a church bloated with wealth, launching crusades, obsessed with control. And they refused to bow to it.

    How Francis Would Respond

    Francis would not sit in legislative halls waving flags. He would be on the street corners with queer youth, in shelters with trans women, and at Pride with open arms.

    This is the man who kissed lepers when others ran, who called the Sultan “brother” during the Crusades. He looked at faces and saw Christ. Today, he would see Christ in the trans teen fighting to survive, the drag queen daring to sparkle, the queer refugee seeking safety.

    How Clare Would Respond

    When soldiers came to attack her convent, Clare held up the Eucharist and prayed:
    “See, Lord, I am in your hands. Protect these whom I cannot protect.”[^5]
    The soldiers fled.

    Clare knew how to stand between the vulnerable and the powerful. She told her sisters:
    “Do not be disturbed by the clamor of the world that flies about like shadows.”[^6]

    If she lived now, she would stand in the church doorway saying, “You shall not harm my siblings.” She would not yield an inch to those who try to use God as a weapon.

    Unmasking False Piety

    Francis warned:
    “Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.”[^7]

    Christian nationalism thrives on ideology. Transphobia thrives on theology twisted into cruelty. Both are knowledge without love—and therefore not of God.

    Clare’s reminder cuts through the noise:
    “What you hold, may you always hold. What you do, may you always do and never abandon.”[^8]

    If we claim to follow Christ, we cannot abandon His most vulnerable children.

    The Call for Us

    Francis prayed:
    “Let us all love God with our whole heart, and love our neighbor as ourselves.”[^9]

    That’s the gospel. No exceptions, no caveats, no border walls or bathroom bills. Just love.

    To follow Francis and Clare today is to stand where they would stand: with the marginalized, against the powers. It means rejecting the false gospel of nationalism and the cruelty of transphobia. It means daring to live as if God’s kingdom is already here—because it is.

    Clare said it best:
    “Love Him totally, who gave Himself totally for your love.”[^10]

    That total love includes every body, every soul, every child of God.

    The question, then, is not “What would Francis and Clare do?” The question is: What will we do?

    Footnotes

    [^1]: Thomas of Celano, The Life of Saint Francis, I.6.
    [^2]: Clare of Assisi, Rule of Clare, Chapter X.
    [^3]: Francis of Assisi, Admonitions, XXV.
    [^4]: Clare of Assisi, Fourth Letter to Agnes of Prague, 15–16.
    [^5]: The Legend of Saint Clare by Thomas of Celano, Chapter XXI.
    [^6]: Clare of Assisi, Second Letter to Agnes of Prague, 10.
    [^7]: Francis of Assisi, Admonitions, VII (echoing 1 Cor. 8:1).
    [^8]: Clare of Assisi, First Letter to Agnes of Prague, 11.
    [^9]: Francis of Assisi, Earlier Rule, Chapter XXIII.
    [^10]: Clare of Assisi, Fourth Letter to Agnes of Prague, 29.