NeuroDivine

Psalm 7 | Isaiah 28:1-13 | Matthew 12:38-50 | RB 52

The psalm begins with a plea: let the schemes of the arrogant collapse, let the heart be weighed in truth. Isaiah warns of leaders drunk on their own noise, stumbling over the very word meant to guide them. And in Matthew, the demand for signs is met with a hidden one—the mystery of Jonah, descent and rising, kinship found not in spectacle but in listening.

The Rule speaks of the oratory: a place stripped of clutter, guarded by silence, where prayer is not performance but presence. Tears, fervor, quiet reverence. A space where one person’s prayer is not hindered by another’s noise.

Today, the chair and the machine mark the hours. Dialysis is its own oratory: alarms, numbers, adjustments. The body speaks in pulses and pressures, and the prayer is simply showing up. Silence is not absence here—it is protection, a boundary that allows another’s fragile flame to burn.

Justice sought, pride unmasked, signs hidden, prayer guarded. These threads weave together in the rhythm of care. The psalmist’s cry, the prophet’s lament, the Gospel’s rebuke, the Rule’s insistence—all converge in the lived liturgy of dialysis.

Not spectacle, not noise. Just presence. Just kinship. Just the quiet courage of staying in the chair, of letting the body speak, of honouring the mystery that unfolds in silence.