Hello friends.
This is Mark Gladman,
Also known as Brother Frederick James,
Your Friendly Neighbourhood Monk-in-Docs,
Welcoming you to Day 10 of our Lent 2026 journey in the wilderness,
Still held,
As we walk through the Gospel of John.
As always,
I invite you to find a posture and position that allows you to be both alert and to be at ease.
Let your body be supported,
Wherever you're sitting or lying down.
Allow the ground beneath you to hold your weight.
Gently close your eyes if that's safe and feels comfortable,
Or just soften your gaze.
Take a slow breath in,
And a long,
Unhurried breath out.
And again,
Breathing in,
And releasing.
Allow your body to settle.
There's nowhere you need to get to.
Nothing you have to achieve in this time.
Just be here,
Now.
Today,
We reflect on words from the Gospel of John,
Chapter 3.
Perhaps the most famous words of Jesus,
But we're not going to stop where most people do.
Jesus says,
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,
But then goes on to also say,
God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world,
But in order that the world might be saved through him.
Now,
Notice that.
God did not come to condemn.
Pause for a moment and let those words land,
Not just in the mind,
But in the deeper places within you.
Many of us,
Consciously or unconsciously,
Still expect God to approach us with disappointment,
With scrutiny,
With judgment.
We often associate light with exposure,
With being found out.
Light reveals what's hidden,
And so part of us learns to stay in the shadows,
But John's very clear.
Condemnation is not God's posture.
Love is always love.
And yet,
Something in us still hesitates,
And it's important to understand why.
Because I think often we hide,
Not because God rejects us,
But because we have already rejected part of ourselves.
We become our own judges.
We decide which parts are acceptable.
We decide which parts remain unseen.
We curate an inner life the way one might carefully arrange their appearances,
Presenting what seems worthy,
But concealing what feels fragile or unfinished or complicated.
But the light of God isn't like a spotlight on a stage.
It's more like morning light that slowly fills the room.
It's gentle.
It's patient.
It's non-intrusive.
It doesn't force,
And it doesn't shame.
It simply shines.
Shines.
Coming into the light is not self-disclosure as performance.
It's not standing before God to prove your sincerity or your growth or your goodness.
Coming into the light is much,
Much simpler than that.
It's consenting to be loved exactly where you are before you've improved,
Before you're clear,
Before resolutions come.
Love in the real place,
The true place of you.
Imagine for a moment stepping into a vast landscape,
The wilderness,
Open sky stretching endlessly above you.
In the wilderness,
There's no shadows to manage.
There's no corners to hide in.
There's nothing to curate.
It's just spaciousness.
And strangely,
The openness isn't threatening.
It's freeing.
Because you no longer have to maintain any of the anything.
You can simply be.
And just allow yourself to rest in that image for a few breaths.
Open sky above,
Steady ground below,
And nothing required of you but just to be there.
Now also notice this.
Jesus never drags anyone into the light.
He invites.
Always at the pace of love.
Always with profound respect for the human heart.
So today,
There's no pressure here.
There's only invitation.
You're allowed to step into the light at your own pace,
Even if you're not in the right place.
If that step feels very small,
Especially if that step feels very small.
Because in the spiritual life,
Safety is what allows transformation.
Not force,
Not fear,
But safety.
And now gently turn your attention inward.
Without analyzing,
Without fixing,
Just notice.
You might quietly ask yourself,
What in me still expects rejection?
And whatever arises,
Meet it with kindness.
There's there's no need to push it away.
And then you might ask,
Well,
Where do I hide out of habit?
Perhaps hiding once protected you,
Or perhaps it was wise at the time.
Maybe thank that protective instinct and simply notice whether it's still needed or not.
And finally,
Ask yourself very softly,
What would it mean to be seen without defense?
Not explained,
Not justified,
Not perfected,
Just seen and loved there.
Just take a few slow breaths with that question.
If it helps,
You might imagine God's light surrounding you now.
Not harsh or exposing,
But gentle and warm,
Like sunlight at the beginning of the day.
A light that says nothing,
A light that demands nothing,
A light that simply communicates you are welcome here.
Stay with that warmth for a few moments,
Breathing in and out,
And let the body receive what the mind may still be learning to trust.
It's possible that as you sit here,
You notice a subtle softening,
A loosening of the inner armor,
Perhaps only one small layer.
That's more than enough.
Remember,
The goal here is not to force openness,
It's to discover that you're already safe in the presence of God.
The light has never been against you,
It has always been for you.
Before we close,
Hear these words again,
Perhaps more personally now.
God did not come to condemn you.
God comes to bring life,
To bring healing,
To bring you home to yourself.
There's nothing in you that love is unwilling to meet.
Nothing.
And as today's reflection draws to a close,
Allow yourself one more slow,
Nourishing breath,
And another.
Notice the surface beneath you,
The sounds around you,
The simple fact of being here.
And when you're ready,
Gently begin to return.
And carry this with you today.
You don't have to earn your place in the light,
You only have to consent to it.
And so may you move through this day knowing that you're held in a gaze that does not condemn,
A gaze that delights in your existence.
And may you walk gently with a growing sense of safety in that light.
And may grace,
Peace,
And love,
And the warmth of that light envelop you gently and beautifully today and every day.
Amen.
Until tomorrow,
God be with you.
