Why do you come before me, bearing the cup I cannot bear to drink?

Only two days ago, I heard the gospel of the Nativity. You gave birth to your son and laid him in a manger. The Logos, beyond all eternity, incarnate in a newborn.

And now, your outstretched hand holds that cup. It’s the same cup Fr. B raised during Christmas Mass. “This is the cup of my blood…”

But I can’t. How many times have I faltered? How many falls have I endured? Still, you stand before me, your outstretched arms offering me “the cup of salvation.”

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