By Barbara Hughes
Barbara Hughes is an author, retreat facilitator and spiritual guide. She lives in Virginia Beach and can be reached at email@example.com
July 16, 2018
Those seeking asylum have a right to life
Last week our usually tidy guest room looked as if a bomb had exploded in it. The cause? Our teenage granddaughters, ages 14 and soon-to-be 16, were visiting. Since they live in separate states, and get together only a few times a year, a joint vacation minus parents and siblings had been on their wish list for several years.
As it turned out, this was the summer that destination Virginia finally materialized. I’m not sure who was more excited, the girls or my husband and I. But as we look back on our time together, I must admit it’s the best staycation we ever had.
We went to the beach, Busch Gardens, and bicycled on the boardwalk. We ate out, had family in and hung out at Barnes & Noble while Callie and Olivia hit every store in the shopping mall. That was an actual goal.
It was a fun-filled and exhausting week, but the best part was spending time just chatting and getting to know our granddaughters better. While listening to the girls talk about school, their friends, their likes and dislikes, we were given a window into their lives that we are rarely privy to when the whole family gets together.
Their visit also provided an opportunity to tell stories and to listen to theirs, with the caveat that what is said in Virginia Beach stays in Virginia Beach. Our days together, now precious memories, were a time to bridge the generational gap and shrink the miles that separate us.
However, lest I give the wrong impression, let me admit up front that our family is far from perfect. Like every family, we have our share of struggles. As everyone knows, family life is a mixed bag where we learn to be tolerant of one another’s quirks, learn to forgive and let bygones be bygones.
The combination of good times and bad helps keep things in perspective — kind of like closing our eyes to a messy room when teenagers visit. Looking at the totality rather than focusing on what we find disturbing helps us to pick and choose our battles wisely.
In a prominent place in our home is displayed a framed print that our daughter Stephanie gave us after she was married. It reads:
Our family is a circle of strength and love.
With every birth and every union, the circle grows.
Every joy shared adds more love.
Every crisis faced together makes the circle stronger.
There is a great deal of wisdom in those words, especially when family life is under assault by many. The print stands as a clear reminder to appreciate challenges as well as good times, because both enrich our lives.
A few days after our granddaughters departed for home, we found ourselves in the emergency room with our son Andrew, who was injured on the job. As his wife, her parents and my husband and I took turns being with him, I realized how blessed our son was to have such a wide circle of support.
Having the support of family and extended family makes a difference. It is a reminder that blessings come in many ways. Having family to lean on helps put things in perspective.
Bearing with and leaning on one another lightens the load and strengthens us for the journey. We never know what the future will bring, which is why the family is different from any other unit.
It is a blessed and holy institution that mirrors the covenant relationship between God and the people of Israel, which was brought to fruition by Jesus and the covenant relationship he has with the Church.
With this understanding as a foundation, it becomes increasingly difficult to watch families being treated as a casualty when children are taken from immigrant parents with little thought or regard for the impact such trauma will have on young lives.
Decisions made in haste, driven by fear and the economy, fracture the very fabric of family life and will lead to further decline for every nation that turns its back on those who are seeking asylum, for they too have a right to life.
When Jesus said the poor will always be with us, he was not advocating that we throw up our hands or turn our back to the needy. He was warning his followers that to live by his teaching means poor will be with us because the poor is where we will find him:
“I was hungry, and you gave me to eat, thirsty and you gave me to drink, naked and you clothed me. I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Mt 25:25-35).
Could it be any clearer?
July 2, 2018
July 4th time for introspection, self-evaluation
As our country celebrates another birthday as an independent nation, it seems we have yet to discover the true meaning of freedom. We pledge our allegiance to one nation under God, but are we really?
Current divisions along lines of ideology, religion and ethnicity seem to suggest otherwise. The motto, “In God we trust” is exhibited on our currency, but is that really where our trust lies? Given the endless growth of the defense budget, we seem to place more trust in weaponry than in the peace that only God can give.
When natural disasters or man-made tragedies strike, sentiments such as: “Our thoughts and prayers are with you” tumble from the lips of leaders, even as social services to the poor are the first to go on the chopping block. Infants are murdered in the womb. Refugees of war and violence are left to fend for themselves. People with mental illness often end up homeless and those with addictions are incarcerated rather than rehabilitated.
Fortunately, this is not the only profile of our country. Consider the first responders who rush into burning buildings while others are escaping. Medical personnel, teachers and social service workers dedicate their lives and place the well-being of others before, or at least on par, with their own.
Countless NGOs and religion-based agencies and institutions stand as powerful witnesses to the divine DNA that exists in every human being. Our country has multiple profiles, and that gives us reason to celebrate. It’s not my intention to rain on Fourth of July parades, but to reflect on the noble aspirations of our Founding Fathers, who set aside differences and envisioned a path for the common good.
The birth of our country is a time to celebrate, but it should also be an occasion for introspection and self-evaluation. Our national heritage is rooted in a fundamental belief in God. It is incorporated in the Pledge of Allegiance, printed on the dollar bill and written into the Constitution. References to God serve as standard bearers reminding us that America will become great only when the law of God that is imprinted in the hearts of all becomes the law of the land.
For people of faith, who profess to believe in God, our country’s birthday should be about more than flag waving and fireworks. We who enjoy bounty and privilege are charged with a responsibility to respect life and the environment, promote peace, and help the most vulnerable members of our society.
All the world religions hold these beliefs as major themes. Jesus healed the sick. He reached out to the poor, the marginalized and public sinners. The Old Testament reminded Israelites that at one time they were aliens in a foreign land and, therefore, are to look with kindness on the foreigner in their midst. Almsgiving is one of the five pillars of Islam, and Buddha taught there is power in weakness.
These noble truths are easier to profess than to live, but as one nation under God, we are not alone. God is with us, but our relationship with God is not an exclusive one. There are no walls in the Kingdom of God, only bridges. When Jesus’ mission on earth was ended he charged his followers to continue what he began:
You have heard it said, “You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.” But I say to
you, “Love your enemies and pray for those
who persecute you, so that you may be
children of your Father in heaven,” for he
makes his sun rise on the evil and the good,
and sends rain on the righteous and on the
unrighteous (Mt 5:43-45).
The current and increasing climate of isolationism is cause for alarm. God’s love has never been exclusive, and neither should ours. As citizens of the world we have a global responsibility.
Our faith should transport us beyond national borders. We must be willing to reach across the political divide, especially when it feels more like the Grand Canyon than an aisle separated by a few feet of carpet. Jesus told us that nothing is impossible for God, and so we hope, we pray, and we must take action. (Thanks to the Virginia Catholic Conference action is only a click away at vacatholic.org.)
As our nation celebrates its birthday, let us join hearts and voices with people of every color, race and creed to make our country truly great, a shining city and a beacon of hope — not only for Americans, but for all God’s people. Only then will we truly be the land of the free and the home of the brave.
June 18, 2018
Transform your soul from weed patch to beautiful garden
One of my favorite, though admittedly more unlikely outdoor activities is weeding the flower bed that borders our backyard. Not only does it provide me with an excellent excuse for spending time outdoors, but it is one of the few partnerships with nature that produce instant results.
Unlike sowing seeds or bedding plants that require water, sunshine and time to transform an unsightly space into a symphony of colors, pulling weeds ensures instant results. It’s one of the few areas in nature that I can control with minimal time and effort.
With so much in life beyond my control, transforming a garden overrun with weeds into a tidy flower bed not only provides me with a sense of satisfaction, but the process invites reflection and prayer.
Being close to nature engages the senses, inviting us to better appreciate the work of God. The feel of the soil becoming one with our hands, the earth worm burrowing its way to safety, and the cacophony of sounds from birds and insects contribute to the sweet scent of nature in ways that are simple and profound.
Inevitably, as I set about pulling weeds, I am reminded of the parable of the weeds and the wheat in which Jesus urged patience, lest the wheat is mistaken for weeds.
Reflecting on the parable invites me to consider the events and, at times, the people in life who seem more like weeds than wheat. It reminds me that first impressions are rarely accurate, and that it takes time to get to know people. Thoughtful assessment and graced wisdom are required to see beyond immediate impressions and results.
As I tug on weeds whose roots run deep, requiring a trowel to remove, I am reminded that old habits die hard. I am reminded of the times I made snap judgments about others, only to learn I was wrong.
Roots that reach deep into the soil remind me that we are all formed and deformed by the events in our life, and in need of forgiveness. When I take the time to listen to the struggles of others, I can become the wheat of compassion rather than another weed in the garden of their life.
Just as challenging situations, when allowed to mature to their full potential, often turn out to be a blessing in disguise, so patience and understanding are vital to spiritual maturity. They are as necessary as water and sunlight are to flowers and fruit-bearing plants.
As I pluck the weeds from the soil, I am reminded that unlike plants that make their way to the trash heap, God does not dispose of us when we fail to bloom. In reflecting on the parable of the weeds among the wheat, I can acknowledge that even on my worst day I am surrounded by more flowers than weeds. God continues to plant flowers of every color and during every season to brighten my day, if only I take the time to look around and count my blessings.
After an hour or so of pulling weeds on my knees, I stand back and view with delight the transformation that has taken place. It serves as a reminder that spending time on my knees in prayer is just as important. If my relationship with God is to continue deepening, the inner work must be ongoing.
Unless I am vigilant, the weeds in my life will take over the garden of my soul. Vigilance requires honest self-examination. The obvious weeds I need to eradicate are not the faults of others, but my own faults, which seem to spring up when and where I least expect them.
St. John of the Cross compared removing obstacles that stand in the way of our relationship with God to cutting a weed off at the top. He explained that if we are to be perfect as our heavenly Father, we need to dig deep, and pull the weeds out by their roots; we need to discover the cause.
A prayerful examination of conscience helps to unearth the cause of our faults and failings, which are rooted in the seven deadly sins of anger, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy and gluttony.
Once identified, the sacrament of reconciliation frees us from sin and allows us to start anew, knowing that only with God’s grace can the garden of our soul be transformed from a patch of weeds to a place of exquisite foliage.
During the summer months, when we have been blessed with an abundance of flowers, let us not lose sight of the fact that our inner garden deserves even more attention so that virtues may flower every day, all year long.
June 4, 2018
Sacred Heart of Jesus is full of love for us
The letters “MOW” appear on my desk calendar on the second Thursday of every month. “MOW” stands for Meals on Wheels, reminding me of a commitment my husband and I made several years ago.
As part of a cadre of volunteers, we deliver meals to people who are no longer able to prepare their own meals, but we rarely get to meet the recipients. We are often greeted at the door by a caregiver or instructed to place the meal in a cooler on the front porch because the person inside doesn’t wish to be disturbed. There are exceptions, of course, and last week was one of those days.
As I got out of the car, I was greeted by a sprightly woman, whom I had learned from a previous conversation was 91 years old and proud of it. As I got out of the car, she gingerly descended the front steps and called out, “Wait a minute; I’ll meet you half way.”
Thankfully, she was the last person on the route because I could tell she was in the mood to chat. Once she started, there was no stopping her. She told me about the farm where she grew up, about her deceased husband, and how happy she was that the flowering trees and perennials they planted early in their life together bloomed year after year with little effort on her part.
The delight she took in her yard was obvious. It wasn’t just the flowers, but the memories and the people that she associated with them. Before I left, she reminded me that I could help myself to any of the flowers or take cuttings from the bushes that turned her yard into a garden of delight.
The exchange I had with this dear woman came to mind the next day while reading about the Sacred Heart of Jesus. In the book, “Circling the Sun,” Father Robert Pelton wrote, “God revealed his heart and that heart is Jesus.”
Jesus is the visible image of the invisible God, the heart of God made incarnate forever in human flesh. He suggested that in the person of Jesus Christ, who is both human and divine, we are already half way to God.
According to Father Pelton, we would not seek God if we had not already found him. I had to think about that for a moment. The priest based his theory on the fact that God is always seeking us even when we are unaware. Salvation is universal, yet each person must make the journey to God individually and collectively as a member of the Body of Christ whose head is Jesus and whose heart is sacred.
As I reflected on the joy that was exhibited by my elderly friend, so young at heart, I could see Jesus shining through her smile as she called to me. I could almost hear him say, “Wait a minute; I’ll meet you half way.”
I am reminded that Jesus calls to us every moment of every day, and that each call invites a response. So, how do I respond? Do I approach him eagerly and joyfully or am I distracted or mired in the mud of doubt and disbelief?
Do I hear God reassuring me that I do not have to make the journey alone? Does knowing that fill my heart with gratitude?
The Father has given us his own heart in the person of Jesus and Jesus has given us his Body and Blood. Every Eucharist is an encounter with Jesus. He comes to us and we go to him.
When we receive him, we meet in a sacred embrace, a holy Communion that opens our eyes and gradually we begin to see him everywhere. We see Jesus in the people and in the events of our life because we understand God is always with us, and that we were never meant to make the journey alone.
We are participants in a human-divine partnership that respects human will. God never forces himself upon us, which means the relationship is our responsibility too.
God has given us the sacraments and Scripture and the heart of Jesus whose heart is inflamed with love for us. When we grow weary, or doubt our capability, which we all do, Jesus says, “Help yourself to the flowers in my garden. The graces in Scripture and the sacraments are yours for the taking.”
And when we get a little too big for our britches and think we can meet God on our own, we may just hear Jesus say, “Wait a minute; I’ll meet you half way.” Then he sends his Holy Spirit to remind us of Jesus’ words: “Apart from me you can do nothing” (Jn 15:5).
May 21, 2018
Wait, pray and be led by the Holy Spirit
Waiting is never easy. We look for the shortest lines at the checkout counters, drum our fingers against the steering wheel waiting for the traffic light to turn green, and scan the number of people ahead of us in the waiting room at the doctor’s office.
Although such occurrences can be annoying, they are mere inconveniences, nuisances we tolerate because we know that eventually we will make our way to the front of a checkout line, the light will change, and we will see the doctor.
However, when the outcome involves uncertainty, waiting can be stressful — even frightening. Consider students waiting to hear if they’ve been accepted at the college of their choice, the unemployed person waiting to hear from a prospective employer, or the patient waiting for the results of a biopsy.
Depending upon the seriousness of the situation, and the level of uncertainty, waiting in such instances is not merely an inconvenience. When faced with results that could be life altering, prayer quickly becomes part of the process. As people of faith, we typically pray for a positive outcome, and when the outcome is less than favorable, we pray for strength to meet the challenges that lie ahead.
It was no different for the apostles as they waited for the coming of the Holy Spirit. Before Jesus ascended into heaven, he told them they were to preach and baptize in his name, but first they were to remain in Jerusalem and wait for the Advocate whom the Father would send.
How or when this would happen was not revealed, but we know from the Acts of the Apostles that the apostles, along with Mary and a few women, returned to the Upper Room where, amid so much uncertainty, they waited and prayed.
They probably wondered and discussed what Jesus’ parting words meant. Who was this Holy Spirit and how would its coming impact their lives? It would seem there were plenty of questions but few answers, not unlike the questions Christians ask today.
As descendants of the apostles, we too have been entrusted with the mission to evangelize, but how and when to do that appropriately and effectively can create uncertainty. Therefore, prayer and waiting on the Holy Spirit is important, lest we run ahead of the Advocate.
Before Jesus began his public ministry, he spent 40 days praying and fasting. While engaged in ministry, he often spent the night in prayer or awoke early to be alone with the Father. Given the importance Jesus placed on prayer, it should come as no surprise that when he instructed the apostles to wait for the Advocate, they returned to the Upper Room and prayed.
Prayerful discernment has always been part of the Christian journey. Without prayer, we fall prey to the fallacy of our own ego strength, hide behind walls of good works or the safety of our own intelligence. Like the Pharisees in the Gospels, the false-self imagines it sees the face of God when it is merely gazing at its own self-will, a smoking mirror that blinds us and leads to self-righteousness. Evangelization is never about us.
In his first letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul wrote that not all are called to be prophets, teachers, miracle workers, or have the gift of tongues, but we are all called to love. To love is our primary mission, but love is no mere human activity.
Only the Holy Spirit can fill us with the fire of God’s love; like the apostles, we must prepare by waiting and praying. We come before God with empty hands, owning our sins because humility is the fuel God desires to set our hearts ablaze. When the Spirit fills us with the fire of God’s love, we can be certain we will receive the gifts needed to share that love with the world.
As modern-day disciples, it is not enough to believe in Jesus’ message, and then do as we please. We must follow him into the desert and into the quiet places of our heart. We gather with community and watch and pray with him in the Garden of Olives so we can follow him to Calvary.
Life is filled with challenges and uncertainties, and we will never have all the answers to all the questions, but if we wait and pray, “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,” we will be given the strength and wisdom to go forth, led by the Spirit, confident of God’s love and blessed by his presence.
May 7, 2018
Blessed Mother does for children what we fail to do
Do you remember what day it is?” queried the voice on the other end of the phone.
My mind drew a blank, but the caller, whose voice broke under the weight of emotion, reminded me that it had been one year since she delivered her baby and placed him for adoption. My heart went out to this mother who was only 16 years old when she gave birth to her son.
Stacey came to live with us when she was in the fifth month of her pregnancy. During the months that followed, she quickly won her way into our hearts. As her labor coach, I was able to be with her during her delivery, watch her hold her son, kiss him and then let him go.
One year later, with memories of her son’s birth etched deep in her heart, she picked up the phone and told me, “I just needed to talk to someone who was there.”
Nothing I could say would ease her pain; all I could do was listen. I was sorry that I had not remembered. I should have called her, but as I look back on that day I realize that it was that special bond between Stacey and her child that impelled her to call. It was the love of a mother that surpasses any other love.
During a recent tribute in honor of the late Barbara Bush, I was reminded once again of the many ways mothers demonstrate that unique bond of love. In 1990, while speaking to the graduates at Wellesley College, Bush reminded the women that life is full of choices. Then she cautioned them about priorities and values that will impact those choices.
The renowned matriarch noted that at the end of life, we will not regret missed academic or career opportunities, but we will regret not having spent quality time with family and those we love.
Both mothers, one a 16-year-old teenager and the other a 92-year-old great grandmother, gave witness to the choices they made, decidedly different and yet each embodied the wisdom that comes with being godly women. Not unlike the mother in the story of Solomon, who gave up her son rather than have him killed, Stacey chose her son’s well-being over her desire to cling to him.
Bush, whose appearance at Wellesley was protested because her only claim to fame was her role as wife and mother, required a different set of choices. Both women demonstrated the sacrificial love that is required within the context of a mother/child relationship.
There are times when letting go requires more heroic virtue than holding our children close. Few mothers experience letting go the way Stacey did, but as we accompany our children through various stages of development, knowing when to let go is a sign of wisdom.
No relationship demonstrates this conundrum more clearly than motherhood, which binds mother and child emotionally, physically and spiritually. It is little wonder then that the prophet Isaiah used the analogy of a mother’s love when speaking of God’s love for us:
“Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget you, I will never forget you” (Is 49:15).
No one can appreciate these words more than mothers. As I reflect on this passage, I realize there are times when my love has been less than perfect, less than I would have liked it to be, which causes me to turn to our Mother Mary, God’s own mother, and place our children in her care. I take comfort in asking her to do for them what I fail to do, not willfully, but because of my human limitations.
As a mother and grandmother, I realize that I will not always be able to protect those whom I love or be there for them, which is why I go to Mary, who is the perfect model of motherhood. Just as Jesus knew we need to look to God as Father, so he understood our need for a mother who is always attentive and able to intercede for us and for those we love.
Although Mother’s Day was instituted as a secular holiday, it need not end there. It seems providential that Mother’s Day is celebrated during May, the month dedicated to our spiritual mother.
As we honor our earthly mothers, let us never lose sight of our heavenly mother, whose love for us is but a reflection of the love God has for each of us — a love that can only be compared to, and alas exceeds, the love a mother has for her children.
April 23, 2018
We continue to learn from, be inspired by Rev. King
In celebration of the 50th anniversary of the death of Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., much was written about the vision, courage and commitment of this formidable man of God. Rev. King was not simply a great American, he was a prophet and martyr, and I suspect that if he were Catholic, the process for his beatification leading to canonization would already be underway.
In advancing the Kingdom of God, Rev. King aligned his life with Gospel imperatives of justice and peace, and consequently paid the ultimate price. Half a century later, we continue to learn from his example and are inspired by his words and his life.
When the civil rights leader emerged on the national stage, the racial divide was not part of my life. I was a young adult living in a predominantly white city in the north and viewed the movement from a distance, tacitly watching as scenes from cities across the southern United States made the evening news.
Like many Americans, I lamented Rev. King’s assassination, but it is only recently that I am beginning to grasp the depth of his passion and commitment to the poor and marginalized. Rev. King’s vision took him beyond the racial divide and into the plight of all who are held hostage by bigotry, economic dominance and racial supremacy.
His life and death, like the Master in whose footsteps he walked, stand as a stark reminder that rejection, betrayal and death continue to be the price that some are asked to pay, but never in vain. Rev. King’s legacy serves as a testimony to the Paschal Mystery as an ongoing event, not only in the life of Christ but in the life of every person of faith.
Amid racial tensions, ongoing violence and the plight of the working poor, much remains to be done. The mission continues as a clarion call meant to energize rather than depress people of faith because building the Kingdom of God, initiated by Christ on earth, did not end with him. It was only the beginning, a cause to rejoice, as the Easter season proclaims, because our Redeemer lives and is calling his followers to don the mantle of justice and peace in his name.
The Acts of the Apostles testify to the post-Resurrection mission, and those who have seen the movie: “Paul, Apostle of Christ,” can appreciate the suffering and persecution that the early Church endured.
The Church on earth may be referred to as the Church militant, but it is not a mission that can be won through violence and munitions. True evangelization is about peaceful confrontation with all that is anathema to the Kingdom of God.
As evidenced by his “I Have a Dream” speech, Rev. King understood the power of peaceful resistance. Decades later, his words echo, immortalized in the hearts and minds of young and old alike, but they cannot simply remain Rev. King’s dream. Until his dream becomes the dream of every American, it will have little effect.
During the past month I have read and reflected on Rev. King’s words, those spoken at the march in Washington, D.C., and those from the speech he gave the evening before he died. His proclamation — that he had been to the mountaintop and seen the Promised Land — was more than oratorical eloquence. The scriptural imagery was profoundly mystical.
The mountaintop has long been associated with the place where people encounter God. Moses viewed the Promised Land from the mountaintop though he knew he would never enter. Less than 24 hours after Rev. King said he may not enter the Promised Land, he was dead.
Against the advice of friends, and knowing his enemies were growing in number, Rev. King went to Memphis to stand on the side of justice with sanitation workers. Surely he knew death was inevitable, just as Jesus knew that crucifixion would be his lot when he went to Jerusalem.
When Rev. King first donned the mantle of justice and peace, he could not have imagined where his passion would take him. In retrospect, his appearance at the first civil rights gathering in Atlanta was providential. He went because he learned, after the fact, that it was being held at Ebenezer Baptist Church, where he was pastor.
When he addressed the people that evening, little did he realize that he would become the voice of justice and nonviolence for generations to come. Rev. King understood that to be passionate about God means being passionate about God’s people — a passion that gave birth to a dream that ignited a nation.
As beneficiaries of that dream, people of faith cannot ignore the obvious questions: How far will I allow my passion to take me and what price am I willing to pay? Dreams inspire, but action makes them happen.
Rev. King embraced both, inspiring all who long for a better world to stand with this faithful disciple of Christ and say:
“I have a dream that all God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, ‘Free at last! Free at last! Thank God almighty, we are free at last!’”
April 9, 2018
Share the Good News that Jesus lives
Human interest seems to have a penchant for the sensational, which means headlines matter. They beckon from newsprint, websites and bookshelves that brandish the latest best seller. Their bold print captivates our attention and, before we know it, we are well into the story.
Words are powerful, so when we examine the Easter narratives written by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, the existence of four different versions surrounding the most sensational event of all time can be problematic. The simple explanation is: They were written by different people at different times and for different audiences, but Scripture scholars suggest another theory which invites a closer look.
Consider that the Gospel of Mark offers two accounts. In the first he tells of three women who went to the tomb to anoint the body of Jesus. Upon arriving they find the stone has been rolled away and are so startled by a man, clad in a radiant garment, sitting to the right of the empty tomb, that despite his instruction to go tell the disciples and Peter that Jesus has been raised, they are paralyzed by fear and do nothing.
In the later account, Mark has Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene, who runs to tell the disciples that Jesus is risen and is going to Galilee, but she is not believed.
Luke’s account has a group of women traveling to the tomb where they find two men in dazzling garments who ask them why they are seeking the living among the dead. The men remind them of Jesus’ teaching that the Son of Man would be crucified and rise on the third day. They leave immediately to tell the apostles what they have witnessed, but alas, their story is dismissed as an idle women’s tale.
Then there is Matthew, who has Mary Magdalene and another Mary at the tomb witnessing an earthquake and an angel descending from heaven, who rolls the stone away. The guards who were stationed at the tomb are so shaken that they faint dead away.
Meanwhile, the angel invites the women to go tell the disciples that Jesus who was crucified has been raised from the dead and goes ahead of them to Galilee. On their way, Jesus appears to them. They embrace him; he tells them, “Do not be afraid” and repeats the angel’s instruction to tell the disciples they are to go to Galilee where they will see him.
The final account is offered by John, who places Mary Magdalene alone by the empty tomb. She runs to tell Peter and the others; Peter and John hurry to the tomb, where they discover the burial wrappings from Jesus lying in the empty tomb and they believe. Peter and John leave, and Mary stays behind weeping. Moments later, Jesus appears as a gardener whom Mary recognizes only when Jesus calls her name.
So what actually happened? Which account is true? In order to extrapolate the truth from the story, it is important to understand the art of storytelling among ancient Jews. The incidentals were superfluous to the main event.
Jesus, who was crucified and raised from the dead, is the story. Everything else is parabolic, meaning they may or may not have happened as described, but provide insights about how the event was received.
I admit that for a long time I thought the women in the resurrection story got the short shift. I couldn’t see past the fact that while the men remained in hiding, the women went to the tomb, and yet were not believed.
The problem with that perspective is that I was viewing the accounts through the lenses of women’s rights issues and our uphill battle to be taken seriously. I was allowing incidentals to stand in the way of the main event, which was that through his resurrection, Jesus’ death was vindicated and good triumphed over evil.
By today’s standards, the headline for Easter Sunday would read: Jesus Is Raised from the Dead and Is Lord of Heaven and Earth! Clearly, the Easter pageant is about Jesus. The others are merely supporting actors in a drama they were slow to understand.
The various accounts represent human blind spots that are part of every faith journey. The take away for Christians is not who was first to arrive at the tomb, who was believed and who was ignored, or whether Jesus appeared first in Jerusalem, Galilee or Emmaus. The incidentals tell us as much about ourselves as they do about the early disciples. They tell us we are all slow to believe at times, and that each person comes to believe differently and at different stages along the way.
The stories were not written as biographical accounts about the holy women who went to the tomb, or about Mary Magdalen, Peter or John. They were written for believers of all ages who struggle with the same obstacles the first followers of Jesus encountered. They remind us that grief, fear and doubt can keep us from recognizing Jesus.
All the people mentioned in the Easter event eventually came to believe in the resurrection of Jesus, each in his or her own way, and so do we. Like the disciples of old, we walk by faith, seeking Jesus who is risen. Once we find him, we too are called to share the Good News that Jesus lives!
March 26, 2018
Celebrate, because our Redeemer lives!
Can you imagine what it was like for the followers of Jesus to witness his last days in real time? With everything they hoped for falling apart, it must have been a heart-wrenching experience.
Jesus’ closest followers were simple people, mostly uneducated fishermen, a tax collector, and some relatives, along with a few women of means and a woman from whom seven devils had been cast out. The best thing they had going for themselves was that they dropped everything to follow the Lord.
They could never have imagined the kind of life Jesus was calling them to embrace. They didn’t understand his healing ministry was a precursor for healing humanity’s wounds, or that the multiplication of loaves was a foretaste of Jesus, Bread of Life.
Yet, amid doubts and uncertainty, they continued to walk with the Master, amazed by his miracles and mesmerized by his message, veiled though it was.
As Jesus became increasingly confrontational toward religious leaders, his followers must have grown uneasy. Peter tried to discourage Jesus from going to Jerusalem, but to no avail. Instead, Jesus called him Satan, and entered Jerusalem amid cries of Hosanna, knowing that Roman authorities were quick to crucify anyone who posed a threat to Caesar.
The early disciples braved unchartered terrain where little made sense. The language of the Old Testament prophets was cryptic, and the words of Jesus were increasingly obscure. How different it is for us!
As the liturgical drama of Holy Week unfolds, and Calvary reaches its zenith in Easter glory, I can’t help but wonder how I would have responded if I had been among those faith-filled men and women. Would I have left everything to follow the Lord or would I have watched from a distance, cautiously avoiding his gaze?
Would the initial excitement about Jesus’ healing power have worn thin when danger seemed immanent? When confusion came knocking, would I have sought his counsel, or would I have been among those who walked away?
What would I have said about his preference for the poor, the marginalized, the sinners and when he asked, “Who is your neighbor?” how would I have responded?
The only way any of us can know how we would have reacted in biblical times is to examine the way we live our life. As Christians, we like to think we would have embraced the Master’s teachings when he traveled the roads of Galilee.
But how are we doing? When I read the Gospels that describe Jesus’ passion and death, bold assumptions fade, and doubt sets in amid a sea of mea culpas.
St. Teresa of Avila advised her nuns, “Fix your gaze on the Crucified and everything else becomes small.” The wisdom behind her proclamation holds true for every age, for when I behold our dying Lord, concerns and anxieties disappear under the shadow of the cross.
When I scan the hill outside the walls of Jerusalem, an area that served as a garbage dump, where the Savior of the world was hung, I am humbled and horrified by what my eyes take in. Apart from the Mother of Jesus, the beloved disciple and a few holy women, only the Roman soldiers and a few self-righteous Jewish leaders were left standing, privileged to gaze upon the Crucified. I wonder if I would have been among them.
I ponder the words “Ecce Homo” (Behold the Man) that were uttered by the Roman procurator who also ordered the epitaph: “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews” nailed to the cross, and wonder why God used him to proclaim so profound a truth.
Beneath the tree of life, blasphemers cast lots and were awarded Jesus’ seamless garment, a thief was promised paradise and a soldier responded to Jesus’ cry, “I thirst.” When Jesus breathed his last, and the temple veil was rent, it was a Roman centurion who declared, “Truly this was the Son of God” (Mt 27:54).
Jesus had a penchant for choosing the most unlikely people to surround him in life, so it should come as no surprise that it was to non-believers that he extended the privilege of surrounding him in death. Throughout his life, Jesus overturned conventional wisdom, and did the same when he was dying, forever reminding us that just when we think we understand all there is to know about God, we have only just begun.
I am at a loss to explain such merciful inclusivity except to know that God is Father of all. In God’s family, there is no room for jealousy, condemnation or sibling rivalry. Everyone is invited to draw near.
Times have changed, but human nature has not, nor has the tendency to create God in our own image, and according to our likeness. Amid wars and famine, natural disasters and violence, we turn to lesser gods to deaden the pain. We lose sight of God’s eternal reach, washing humanity’s soul in a sea of love that transcends time.
Unlike the early disciples of Christ, we know that Jesus’ death was only the beginning; more than 2,000 years later, we stand on the shoulders of those early disciples, pondering the great mysteries that bridged the chasm between humanity and divinity, love and hate, hope and despair. And so, we celebrate because our Redeemer lives!
March 12, 2018
For St. Patrick, life was about faith, not luck
I don’t claim to be an expert on national folklore, but it seems as though no other country or saint is surrounded by as much mystique and widespread celebration as Ireland and St. Patrick’s Day. From shamrocks and casting out snakes to leprechauns and kissing the Blarney Stone, stories and legends abound. That might explain why my induction into Irish culture took place in the Bible Belt while living in Savannah, Georgia.
The unlikely mix of Irish humor and Southern hospitality could be attributed to the fact that Irish clergy have long enjoyed an impressive footprint in the South. For centuries, Irish bishops, who were blessed with an abundance of clergy, sent priests to the southern United States, where Catholicism was all but unknown. Today, Irish priests still maintain a viable presence, especially on St. Patrick’s Day, when the celebratory mood invites people, regardless of their heritage or religion, to claim a wee bit of the Irish in their family tree.
However, unless we separate fact from fiction, we do a great disservice to the saint whose love for God inspired an entire country. And who better to set the record straight than the saint himself who penned the “Confession of St. Patrick” more than 16 centuries ago?
Like the “Confessions of St. Augustine,” it serves as a confession of faith more than a confession of specific sins, and it provides a brief account of Patrick’s early life and conversion. He was born into a Christian family in the western part of Roman Britannia. The date of his birth is unknown, but the saint wrote that he went to Ireland as a missionary in 430 or 431. He began writing his confession by introducing himself as a “sinner, very rustic, least of all faithful and very contemptible.”
Patrick acknowledged that although his father was a deacon, as a youth, the future saint was not interested in God. At age 16, he was kidnapped and taken to Ireland as a slave, where he remained for six years tending sheep. During those years of isolation, Patrick turned to God, whom he realized he had offended.
Becoming aware of the presence of the indwelling Trinity, he spent long hours in prayer. He wrote that, at 22, he was told by a voice to return to his homeland and that a ship awaited him a short distance away. Whether he was awake or asleep is not clear, but Patrick, convinced that it was the voice of God, escaped, found the ship as he had been told, and was granted free passage.
After several days at sea, Patrick was reunited with his family, who were filled with joy. Embarking on the clerical path, he was schooled in the faith and made a bishop, but just what the studies entailed is uncertain. Patrick described himself as an unlettered man, crediting his knowledge of God to the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, rather than to any human source.
He noted that his decision to return to Ireland was not without interior struggles and external trials, which he concluded was God’s way of freeing him from being overly concerned about himself. Once his sole concern was focused on the salvation of others, he embraced his mission and announced, much to the displeasure of his parents, he would return to the land of his captivity to convert the pagans.
Despite his lack of learning, the saint was able to teach the great mysteries to those who had never heard of God. He is perhaps best known for his use of a shamrock, which he used as a visual aid in teaching about the Trinity.
Patrick wrote that he baptized thousands of people, but credited God with their conversions. He established multiple communities of consecrated virgins after a woman told him she wanted to dedicate her life to God. Recognizing this as a great grace, he encouraged other women to do the same.
His praise for the Trinity runs throughout his writings and, despite his works being criticized for their lack of rhetorical style, his words seem more poetic than prose at times.
Working tirelessly until the end of his life in 461, St. Patrick testified that he never accepted any gifts that were given to him because he wanted to give freely the gift of faith that had been given to him. This saint, who asked nothing for himself, gave without reserve because he saw Christ everywhere and in everyone. The “Breastplate of St. Patrick,” one of the prayers that is credited to him, bears this out.
Christ with me / Christ before me /Christ behind me / Christ over me / Christ to the right of me / Christ to the left of me / Christ where I lie down / Christ where I sit / Christ where I rise / Christ in the heart of everyone who judges me / Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks to me / Christ in every eye that sees me / Christ in every ear that hears me.
This prayer could serve as a breastplate for Christians everywhere. We are indeed indebted to this great saint for his contribution to the Church, which had nothing to do with luck.
February 26, 2018
Trust God that all will be well
I hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. I had just canceled a surgical procedure that had been scheduled for the end of March. It was semi-elective surgery, a hip replacement, which the surgeon decided was in my best interest. That was last November.
However, between his schedule and mine, the end of March was the earliest possible date upon which we could agree. He had an opening in February, but that’s when my life got extremely busy. With several Lenten retreats and parish presentations on my calendar, there was no way I could commit to a procedure that would require several weeks of rehabilitation.
On the bright side, I joked with my husband that my Lenten penance had already been determined. My real concern was whether I would be able to honor commitments I had made, especially those that involved travel. Trusting in the Lord, I decided that if God wanted me to do his work, he would provide. He did.
A notice in our parish bulletin announced that a healing Mass with the sacrament of anointing of the sick would take place on Dec. 6. With surgery pending and my symptoms becoming more problematic, I decided to attend. I prayed for the strength to honor commitments I had made long before my hip became an issue. When I came forward to be anointed with holy oils and the priest prayed over me, I was at peace.
It wasn’t until a day or two later I realized the pain had decreased dramatically. I was able to lift my leg in a normal fashion, whereas prior to receiving the sacrament I had been unable to lift it more than an inch off the ground. With each passing day the pain lessened; within a week, my symptoms had disappeared. At that point, I questioned the need for surgery, but was still reluctant to say anything.
As Catholics, we tend to emphasize the spiritual healing and inner peace that accompanies the sacrament of the anointing of the sick. Physical healings, though possible, are not the norm, nor are we taught to expect them. I certainly didn’t.
Yet, there was no doubt my healing also had a physical component. I decided to take a wait– and–see position. However, after more than two months of being symptom free, I knew it was time to let the doctor know I no longer needed a new hip.
In recent months, I’ve had time to reflect on whether I should share this experience in so public a venue. To date, only my family and a handful of people knew about the healing. But the more I prayed about it, the more it seemed that sharing what God had done was not only appropriate, but a Gospel imperative.
As a whole, Catholics tend to hold their faith a bit too close to the chest. I admit I am guarded when it comes to disclosing the way God is working in my life, and choose carefully what I will share with others, be it in conversation, writing or during presentations.
Perhaps through this healing, God is nudging me to be a bit more forthcoming in proclaiming the power of God in our midst, and that miracles happen every day.
Another reason I was reluctant to share what God had done was my concern for others. How would those who attended the Mass and received the same sacrament feel if they continued to suffer? But the more I prayed about it, the more I understood that God gives each person what is needed at any given moment.
I can’t say for sure why my symptoms disappeared. It may have something to do with my writing and retreat ministry, which places me in a position to reach more people. Or, it may just be that my faith is weak, and God decided I needed a miracle to strengthen it.
We will never have answers to every question that arises, and as my surgeon’s assistant noted when I related all that had transpired, “Sometimes it’s best to not ask why and just be grateful.” Her words echoed one of my favorite sayings from St. Francis de Sales, who counseled against asking why some people receive one gift and not another.
In his typically easy-to-understand fashion, the saint wrote, “Why is a strawberry small and a melon large? Why is rosemary not a rose, or a dianthus not a daisy? Why is a fig sweet and a lemon sour, or a peacock grander than a bat? Such questions are absurd.”
The fact is we can never fully know the designs of God or understand when or why divine power is unleashed. Some things are simply beyond our knowing. For now, the best line of questioning is that of St. Paul who wrote, “Who has known the mind of the Lord or who has been his counselor? Or who has given a gift to him so as to receive a gift in return?” (Rom 11: 34-35).
Clearly, everything we have is a gift and every gift is given, not because we are deserving, but because of the generosity of God, whose wisdom is unknowable and whose love is without end. For this reason, we place ourselves in God’s hands and trust that all will be well.
February 12, 2018
Fast or celebrate on Feb. 14? Do both
This year, Ash Wednesday presents a bit of a dilemma for Catholics, or does it? With the first day of Lent falling on Valentine’s Day, some may wonder whether they should fast or celebrate. However, a closer look at both days reveals how one compliments but enriches the other, since both have their origin in the Garden of Eden.
In Genesis, we are told Eve was created to be a companion for Adam. Theirs was to be a love relationship modeled after the love relationship of the Holy Trinity, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness” (Gen.1:26). They were instructed to bear fruit and multiply, a natural response because when authentic love is mutual, it becomes life-giving.
God also instructed our first parents to fast and abstain. They were told they could eat from all the plants in the garden, but were to abstain from fruit growing on the Tree of Knowledge.
The intimacy Adam and Eve enjoyed with one another was a gift from God, but it was subject to the law of God. More than satisfying the human desire for physical pleasure, they were being called to a higher standard — one that involved obedience to the Divine Creator.
We know how that ended. Blinded by pride, Adam and Eve believed the great lie that they could become gods. In deciding to have it their way, they fell from grace and took all of humanity with them. Granted, the story is not to be taken literally, but it symbolizes a truth we must take to heart.
The physical law is subject to the Spirit, not the other way around. When that order is usurped, we become less than we were created to be. We experience this in ourselves and witness it in the world at large. Whenever human passion reigns supreme, love becomes perverted and our relationship with God is thwarted.
Given the rise of secularism within our culture, distorted versions of love seem almost normative. Therefore, Lent offers the opportunity to reorder priorities and inject a spirit of repentance and sacrifice into our relationship with God so that we can better celebrate human love relationships.
The choice between celebrating Valentine’s Day and respecting the injunction to fast and abstain from meat should be a no brainer. The two are not adverse; rather one illumines the other.
When we come forward to receive ashes on our forehead, we are reminded of our origins and of the length to which God went to reverse humanity’s alienation from God. John’s Gospel says it best: “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son” (Jn 3:16). Our salvation depends on the sacrificial love of God, which serves as the model for all love relationships.
Sacrifice is an important part of every authentic love relationship. It’s what elevates love from a self-serving, feel good kind of experience to an act of self-giving that becomes a life-giving reality.
The Church’s understanding of Valentine’s Day has always been rooted in the sanctity of marriage and the sacrificial dimension of love. Although there is much legend surrounding St. Valentine, most hagiographers (those who study the lives of saints) note the feast honors the life of Father Valentine, a third century priest who was imprisoned and martyred on Feb. 14, somewhere around 269, for marrying couples according to the Christian Rite. This was in violation of Roman law.
With this as a backdrop, it makes sense to celebrate Valentine’s Day with those we love, while remaining faithful to the Church’s injunction to fast and abstain from meat. I’m not suggesting that dining on lobster or your favorite sea food instead of steak fulfils the Ash Wednesday obligation. A candle light dinner over a tuna sandwich can be just as romantic when the relationship, not the food, becomes the focus of the celebration.
In fact, it becomes even more meaningful because in being faithful to fasting and abstaining, our relationship with God is a viable part of the celebration. Given the fact that this year the observances share the same day, it could well be the year when we allow the Church calendar, rather than the retail industry, to guide our understanding of the true meaning of love.
Rather than sharing a box of chocolates for dessert, why not indulge your spouse, children or a close friend by sharing stories and memories about special moments? Dusting off your wedding album could be one way to begin.
Or how about reliving a favorite event or vacation with the children by looking through family photo albums, or sharing stories about a parent or grandparent who is no longer with you?
Although Lent takes on a somber tone liturgically, it need not be a gloomy time. Given the fact we know the end of the story, that we have been saved through the death and rising of Jesus, Lent should be a time of hopeful anticipation. It’s a time to express our heartfelt gratitude for all the graces received and for the people in our lives.
One way to do this is by offering small sacrifices in union with the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross. In so doing, we unite our heart and the hearts of all those whom we hold dear, lifting them to the heart of God, our Valentine for all eternity.
January 29, 2018
Accept your role in living, spreading Word of God
Do you feel depressed after watching the news? If so, you’re not alone. The negative effects on the human psyche from excessive news consumption have been well documented. With satellites circling the globe, acts of terror, natural disasters and political discord are transmitted via the media all day, every day.
When talk show hosts and guests opine over the latest “breaking news” event, I find myself wanting to inject the line 1950s television character, Detective Joe Friday, immortalized: “Just the facts, ma’am, just stick to the facts.”
The words became a signature phrase of the “Dragnet” series whenever those being questioned tended to editorialize or embellish a situation that was under investigation.
Oh, how I long for the days when those who were prone to sensationalize or over simplify were reminded in no uncertain terms that opinions carry little weight. But that was then, and this is now, which means that each person must take control over their viewing habits.
Some have given up watching news altogether, though I’m not sure that’s the solution. Rediscovering the off button on our TV sets, computers or hand-held devices is one way to moderate our news intake. Another is by keeping an eye on the clock to know when enough is enough.
Being informed about current happenings is one thing, but being enslaved by them is quite another. By far the most helpful approach is to strike a balance, and nothing counters bad news as effectively as reflecting on the Good News Jesus preached and commanded us to spread.
The word “Gospel,” literally translated “Good News,” was eventually applied to the writings attributed to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John about the teachings and life and death of Jesus. However, anyone who is familiar with the four Gospels knows there are discrepancies in the detailing of accounts the evangelists offer. But let’s be clear: this is not about alternate facts or fake news. It is about symbolism and thematic emphasis.
The Gospels were never meant to be historical or biographical accounts. They were written for those who already believed in the Resurrection of Jesus and had accepted the faith. Some were Jews, others were Gentiles, but all were part of an emerging Christian community that ironically expanded in a world rife with bad news.
Gospel and New Testament writers wrote for specific audiences. In today’s lexicon, we could say that each was playing to his base. However, having four Gospels was not about cultural bias, nor was it a way for one writer to include what the other three left out.
Each Gospel is distinct. Taken together, the Gospels provide a testament to the fullness of Jesus’ relationship to the Father, to the people of his time and to people everywhere for generations to come.
The letters in the New Testament were written as teachings and exhortations directed to Hebrew Christians and to Christian communities in Rome, Corinth, Ephesus and elsewhere. These early believers struggled with many of the same issues that confront us, which makes the New Testament timeless.
Regardless of the audience or the details which were included or omitted, the message of Scripture is the same: God loves us, God is with us and the Kingdom of God is in our midst. Unlike mere human offerings, Scripture is the Living Word of God, inspired by the Holy Spirit to guide Christians.
During the apostolic and post-apostolic era, becoming a Christian meant putting your life at risk. While this is still the case in some parts of our world, most Christians will not face physical martyrdom. Nevertheless, internal and external temptations abound and cultural mores that contradict Christian values continue to challenge and threaten our spiritual well-being.
Therefore, the Gospels and letters in the New Testament remain invaluable to Christians of every age. They instructed and supported the newly-formed Christian communities that struggled to keep the faith within the context of their culture, and they serve the same purpose for Christians today.
Christianity is not about providing an alternate view of reality, nor is it meant to serve as an escape from the world. Jesus came into the world to redeem it, not to condemn it. Therefore, it is up to each person to discover the sacred within the secular, the extraordinary within the ordinary and the supernatural within the natural.
If we truly believe the Kingdom of God is in our midst, then we know we have only begun to realize the fullness of what that means. But for those who have eyes to see, God’s Kingdom is being revealed daily — not only in churches, but in hospitals and soup kitchens, in refugee settlement houses and in the hundreds of buses that gather annually every January in Washington on behalf of the unborn and the most vulnerable members of society.
As people of faith, we can’t afford to get bogged down by bad news, especially when the Catholic media industry is doing its part in conquering bad news with the Good News all day, every day. And the good news is: we all have a role to play in living and spreading the Word of God.
January 1, 2018
Our only real failure is failure to love
On the first day of January, as Americans ushered in the New Year with noise makers, parades and football games, the Catholic Church took a different approach — the one it takes annually. It began 2018 with the Feast of the Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God who ushered in a new age for humankind.
Mary’s fiat was a new beginning for humanity, the dawning of a new age, one which reversed the act of disobedience by our first parents. In response, Catholics gather for Mass to praise and give thanks to God for the gift of Mary, who is called Blessed among Women.
In the recently published book: “In God’s Hands: The Spiritual Diaries of Saint John Paul II,” the saint referred to the Mass as the “Sacramentum Messiae” (Sacrifice of the Messiah), a phrase which invites ongoing reflection. The sacrifice of the Mass is not limited to the Upper Room or to Calvary, but commemorates the act of redemption which began with the promised seed of a woman in the Garden of Eden, was acted upon through the Incarnation, and completed through the death and resurrection of Jesus.
As the title of the book suggests, the collection of reflections, written in the saint’s own words, provides an account of the man’s personal faith journey through notes and ongoing commentary. It also offers theological insights that serve as windows into St. John Paul’s soul about his relationship with God and his deep devotion to Mary.
In one of his early entries, while reflecting on the Mass, the pope was taken with the image of Jesus “alone with the Father and before the Father,” but he didn’t stop there. He included Mary in this privileged inner circle, attributing to her the distinct honor due the person who made the redemptive act possible.
Mary participated in the act of redemption through her fiat. Her total gift of self to God prompted her every thought, word and action, and ultimately defined her life. In a similar way, Mary invites us to participate in the act of redemption in ways that are both simple and profound. All of us are called to discipleship, and who better to lead us than Mary, who was closer to Jesus than any person on earth.
Little is known about the life of Mary, but reading between the lines of what is recorded in Scripture, we can imagine that as a young mother, Mary’s life was quite ordinary, not so different from ours. Mary understood that it is not what we do, but the love with which we perform the duties of our life that lead to holiness.
It is worth noting that the last words of Mary recorded in Scripture were: “Do whatever he tells you.” One small sentence that has the potential to transform the world if only we would heed her counsel.
As we look at our world, it is easy to become discouraged, but there is nothing holy about giving in to cynicism or despair. Instead, we turn to Mary, whose hope never wavered despite her many trials.
Mary knew what it was like to live under foreign occupation by a pagan government. She knew what it was like to flee to a strange land for safety, to witness corruption among religious leaders and to watch as they schemed to put her Son to death. Through it all, Mary held fast to her belief and trust in God.
Mary understood that peace is a process, and that it requires reconciliation more than weapons. The peace of God is not the peace the world gives. It is a gift from God and is available to all who ask for it.
Mary triumphed over evil, not with a sword in her hand, but with a sword through her heart. And so, we take comfort in Mary, Queen of Peace, knowing that if our heart breaks at the sight of victims of war, genocide and persecution, we are in good company because Mary’s heart breaks, too.
It is fitting that the day dedicated to the Mother of God is also designated as World Day of Peace. This year, Pope Francis asked the faithful to contemplate the plight of migrants and refugees of the world, and to gaze upon them with love.
But the Holy Father noted contemplation should lead to action. Therefore, he asked us to embrace all those fleeing from war and hunger, forced by discrimination, persecution, poverty and environmental degradation to leave their homelands.
The pope asked us to welcome the stranger by expanding pathways to immigration and protect them by recognizing and defending human life. He asked us to provide access to education and cultivate dialogue. Finally, he asked that we help with the integration of immigrants and refugees by advancing their participation in society through enrichment programs.
When I contemplate Mary, these are actions I can imagine she performed in her own small way. With the help of God’s grace, we can — and must — do the same. If at times it seems we fail, Mary reminds us that the only real failure is a failure to love. And so, we pray: Jesus, living in Mary, come live in us now and forever. Amen.
December 18, 2017
How to improve your perspective about Christmas
The countdown to Christmas is almost over. With less than a week to go, the excitement level among children is accelerating. Retailers depend on it, shoppers are driven by it, and parents alternate between dread and anticipation depending on their state of readiness.
With homes to decorate, cookies to bake and gifts to wrap, words like hectic, busy and frenzy come to mind. Therefore, unless we make a deliberate effort to enter into the true spirit of Christmas, we can easily be engulfed in a sea of secularism. Clearly, no other holiday commands as much anticipation as Christmas, nor requires as much preparation.
So, what’s a body to do to keep a right perspective? First, take a deep breath and stay calm. Dec. 25 will come whether we are ready or not, so the real questions for Christians are:
• How have a I prepared the manger in my heart to welcome the Incarnate Christ?
• Does my to-do list include the Sacrament of Reconciliation, spending a little extra time before the Blessed Sacrament and gift shopping for the needy?
• Have I made time each day to deepen my relationship with God by reading Scripture or a spiritual book?
• Have I led by example regarding the true meaning of Christmas?
When people visit during the Christmas season, will they know from the way my home is decorated that Jesus is the reason for the season?
If you find that in answering those questions you fall short, don’t be discouraged. Think of the questions above as an Advent examen. The purpose of any examination of conscience is not to deride ourselves for our shortcomings, but to be enlightened and to respond in a positive manner. Consider that every examination of conscience is followed by an act of contrition and a resolution to do better. This is no different. The good news is there is still time to prepare for Christ’s coming.
The greening of the season reminds us hope is paramount, and if ever there were a time and season when hope is needed, it is today — or so we think. However, we need only consult the annals of history to understand that sin has always been present in the world.
This is not to make light of it, but to gain a deeper appreciation for the fact that God came into the world not because we were deserving, but because we are in need of healing.
God could have saved us in any number of ways. He could have come as an earthly king, subdued evil and lifted everyone up with him when he ascended into heaven.
Instead, he came as teacher, prophet and priest. He came to teach us by example that God does not see as man sees. He came as prophet to challenge the darkness of sin, not to eradicate free will. And he came as priest to transform the cross into a sign of victory.
Jerusalem can never be separated from Bethlehem because the wood of the cross and the wood of the crib are riddled with the wormwood of sin. And God chose both for his Son.
Theologian Karl Rahner wrote that the average person can only tolerate about 15 minutes of truth. This may explain why the bed of straw has too often been substituted with garlands of tinsel, shepherds bowing in adoration have been replaced by party-goers, and chestnuts roasting on an open fire have become more palatable than strains of Glory to God in the highest.
It is often said that the life and teachings of Jesus turned the world upside down when in reality Jesus set it in right order. It was humankind that had it wrong from the beginning and has yet to relinquish its claim as masters of the universe.
So, the tension between good and evil, the secular and the sacred continue to haunt our world. We cannot, nor should we, eliminate the secular from Christmas. It is part of our culture, but it need not be a deterrent to the sacred.
When we remember that Jesus is the most important gift we are receiving, then sharing who we are, what we do, and what we have becomes the only way to prepare for and celebrate the birth of the Messiah. When we order everything around that truth, thoughtful moderation prevails and preparing for Christmas becomes a source of joy rather than an act of frenzied activity.
In bringing this Advent examen to a close, two questions to ponder might be: What is it that makes my heart sing? Is it a quiet prayer before the Christmas crèche or a reminder that Santa Claus is coming to town?
Whatever your answer, remember they need not be incompatible if we keep them in right order. When all we do is for the honor and glory of God, we will fall on our knees, join our voice with the choirs of angels, and know that the peace which only God can give reigns in the hearts of people of good will in every corner of the world because the God of heaven has come to earth.
December 4, 2017
God embraces all of us — saints and sinners
Finding Your Roots” has become one of my favorite TV shows. Every Tuesday evening, Henry Louis Gates Jr, a Harvard professor, traces the genealogy of three celebrities by combing through obscure birth and baptismal records, historical documents, and DNA findings. The process is as fascinating as the results, which often unearth family histories that evoke both pride and embarrassment.
Every now and then a real-life hero surfaces in the seeker’s bloodline, but more often, the search discloses closet skeletons and the so-called black sheep of the family. Typically, smiles and rueful head shaking follow and are accompanied by comments such as: “No wonder my father never talked about his family” or “That explains why this person was never mentioned.”
Such disclosures should come as no surprise given the natural tendency to guard secrets of family wrong doings. However, when it comes to the genealogy of Jesus, a different dynamic seems to have taken hold, which brings me to this rather atypical, yet timely reflection for Advent. Matthew and Luke, who include Jesus’ genealogy in their Gospels, offer a mix of scoundrels, unknowns and a few good people.
Luke’s Gospel softens the blow by recording supernatural events surrounding the births of John the Baptist and Jesus. Only after Jesus is baptized and the Father calls Jesus his Beloved Son does Luke disclose Jesus’ human genealogy.
Matthew, on the other hand, jumps right in. He begins his Gospel with Jesus’ family tree, and for anyone familiar with the Hebrew Scriptures, the cast of characters mentioned may raise more than a few eyebrows. The litany of names includes as many venal and corrupt persons as righteous ones.
Take Abraham’s son Jacob, who cheated his brother Esau out of his birthright. And then there is Judah. Why was Judah, who sought out prostitutes, chosen and not his brother Joseph, who was by far the most honorable of the 12 sons of Jacob? After all, Judah was complicit in selling Joseph into slavery. Despite Joseph’s seeming favor by God, it was not from his line that Jesus descended, but from a lineage that included murders, idolaters, power mongers and foreigners.
How could Matthew and Luke justify introducing the Son of God by calling attention to so questionable a family tree? And why would they include not only women, which was highly unusual, but the names of foreign women?
There was Tamar the Canaanite who seduced her father-in-law, and Ruth, the Moabite, who literally threw herself at Boaz’ feet so he would marry her. Ruth was the great-grandmother of David, and although David loved the Lord, God chose his son Solomon, the offspring of an illicit union with Bathsheba, to build the temple in Jerusalem. David had Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah the Hittite, who was one of his soldiers, killed in battle.
As glorious a ruler as Solomon was, he fell prey to the wiles of the Queen of Sheba, which eventually led to his downfall, the deportation of the Israelites and a 400-year exile in Babylon. Luke reverses the order. Beginning with Joseph, the husband of Mary, he traces Jesus’ roots to Adam, bringing us face to face with Cain, who murdered his brother.
None of the Old Testament prophets and saints are found in Jesus’ family of origin. There is no mention of Moses, Elijah, Isaiah or Jeremiah. We hear nothing of saintly women like Sarah, Rebecca or Esther. And what about Daniel, Samuel or Tobit? Why did God not choose these holy men and women to be part of the ancestral heritage for his Son? In answer to such questions, we do well to turn to Scripture:
“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Is 55;8 – 9).
God is neither embarrassed by sinners, nor does he distance himself from us. He became man and dwelt among us because his love knows no bounds. In becoming one of us, God embraced all of humanity — saints and sinners alike. His grace is unpredictable; therefore, we cannot discount the way or the people through whom God chooses to bring about his Kingdom. Ever mindful that God’s ways are not our ways, we are called to learn from Jesus, who is meek and humble of heart and, “Who did not deem equality with God something to be grasped at” (Phil.2:6).
Therefore, mindful of God’s unconditional love, we begin Advent year after year in a spirit of hopeful expectation. We can no longer use our sins as an excuse to distance ourselves from God. While on earth, Jesus associated with tax collectors, prostitutes and foreigners, but given his family tree, how could he do otherwise? He was simply mirroring his Father, who embraced everyone, even marking Cain with a sign of divine protection so that no harm would come to him.
Sinners and outcasts were part of Jesus’ human genealogy, a reality that merits reflection. Both Matthew and Luke found it important enough to include it in their Gospels and with good reason. Sin is where our story began, but it did not end there. When God became Incarnate, everything changed. The Word of God became our brother and God became our Father. We are indeed richly blessed!
November 20, 2017
If in giving you receive, be grateful for opportunities to give
When I first began reading the book, I could hardly put it down, but as I got deeper into the story, I found I could only take it in small doses. The title of the book, “Gratitude,” seemed an appropriate choice during this Thanksgiving season, but, as I soon discovered, the title was an enigma.
The story, which took place in Hungary during the Nazi invasion, followed the plight of a Jewish couple and their extended family. As the cast of characters intersecting the couple’s lives grew, so did the sufferings they endured. Although the characters were fictitious, the events that turned their waking hours into a living nightmare were historically factual.
The suffering victims and survivors of the Holocaust endured is no secret. Yet, with each chapter, I kept expecting something wonderful to happen that would justify the author’s choice of the title: “Gratitude.”
It never came. At the end of the story, when Russian troops arrived in Hungary, the so-called liberators became Hungary’s occupiers.
For some, it was too much. They lost hope and took their own lives; others carried on, trying to restore some type of normalcy to life. One son got married and his wife became pregnant; another escaped to America, and still other family members remained in Hungary trying to rebuild the country they loved, but which was forever changed.
In the end, the couple was grateful they no longer had to forage for food, hide in cellars or be herded into freight trains. Most of all, they were grateful for the people who risked their lives to help them and others survive. Through it all, they had become a bit more forgiving of one another and themselves for human shortcomings.
Upon reflection, I understand why the author, Joseph Kertes, titled his work “Gratitude.” Gratitude is relative and means different things to different people. To appreciate the many faces of gratitude, we might visit a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving Day, look into the eyes of a person who is given a warm coat or a week’s worth of groceries and understand that gratitude often comes in the form of relief or an answer to prayer.
Imagine the refugee who makes it safely across the sea, the veteran who has been fitted with a prosthetic device or the young mother who has been told she is cancer free after her last round of chemotherapy. And what about the parents who learn their child was not among the victims of a mass shooting? It seems the greater the suffering, anxiety or heartache, the more profound the gratitude.
I am reminded of the months that my husband and I served with the Franciscan friars on an Indian reservation in the Arizona desert. It was about as close to living in a Third World country on this side of the border as it gets.
Given their history, it should come as no surprise that Thanksgiving was not celebrated by the Native Americans we came to know. While we tell stories of pilgrims who were taught the ways of the land by the Indians and prospered, Native Americans are more apt to recall the heartache endured as their ancestors were relocated by a forced march across the country in what became known as the Trail of Tears.
For the Native Americans with whom we lived, gratitude meant being able to sing Christmas carols in their native tongue because a missionary from the Wycliff Society devoted 20 years of his life to translating the Bible and hymns into written form. For the Tohono nation, gratitude wore the face of cultural pride and dignity.
As we gather with family and friends to give thanks, we do well to look beyond personal blessings and our own life story. The world is so much bigger than one family, one country or one religion. We are all part of the family of God.
Sadly, some have suggested that our country is as divided today as it was during the Civil War. Nations are rising against nations, and people continue to be persecuted for the color of their skin and religious beliefs. As people and countries vie for power and prestige, it seems we have forgotten Jesus’ words, “The last shall be first.”
In his parable about guests invited to a banquet, Jesus was not teaching us about seating arrangements at the table. He was telling us that self-serving behavior, feelings of entitlement and superiority have no place in the Kingdom of God.
A modern-day parable about heaven and hell takes Jesus’ parable a step further. The unknown author depicts hell as people seated around a banquet table, holding spoons with handles long enough to reach the food, but too long to enable them to feed themselves. Heaven is depicted as people sitting at the same table with the same elongated spoons, but each person is feeding those nearby. In the process, each person is fed.
If we believe that it is in giving that we receive, then we will be grateful for every opportunity to give. Since the best way to give thanks is to share our gifts, we begin by putting faces on the stories of our larger family. When we allow their stories of gratitude to transform us, our Thanksgiving will be filled with joy that knows no limits.
November 6, 2017
Like the saints, be prepared for all God asks
The story is told that when one of Mother Teresa’s nuns asked what she had to do to become a saint, the saint responded by saying, “Just die. This pope [Pope John Paul II] seems to be canonizing everyone.”
I’m not sure if the story is true or if someone was simply employing comedic license to make a point, but the response bears unpacking.
While it is true that that St. John Paul II canonized more people during his pontificate than any other pope, it was not just to increase the number of holy men and women on the Church’s Rolodex of saints. It was done to help the faithful realize that saints come from all walks of life, that they were a gift to the Church during their lifetime and continue to be so, and that sainthood is neither for a few select souls, nor is it restricted to centuries past.
As people of God we are all called to be saints. Yet, it is no secret that during their lifetime, holy men and women distained being referred to as saints. Dorothy Day, whose cause for beatification is currently under way, said, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed that easily.”
Now I can’t get inside Day’s mind and understand what prompted the remark, but it seems to me that what she was really saying was, “Don’t put me on a pedestal.”
Like many saints before her, Day was on a mission to live the Gospel without compromise, but it was never meant to be a solitary mission. She needed people to walk with her, to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless and advocate for peace.
And she was not about to let others excuse themselves from living the Gospel mandate by elevating her to a position beyond the reach of ordinary Christians.
The primary goal of these Gospel warriors was never to become a saint; it was to do whatever God was calling them to do within the context of their life as it unfolded in real time. They sought to do the will of God because they had first fallen in love with God, and like anyone who has ever been in love, they sought to please the One who had won their heart.
No one is born a saint; the road is long, arduous and often lonely. Saints are often despised and rejected long before they are esteemed because their message is deemed too radical by the self-righteous or the mediocre. Yet, saints knew their limitations. They were aware of their sins, but they also knew that strength to do good comes from God.
The idea that anyone would look at them and regard them as anything but a sinner who had been redeemed by Christ was anathema to their thinking, which explains why they did not want to be looked upon as anything but ordinary. This brings me back to the line attributed to Mother Teresa.
It is true that a person must die before being canonized, but more than physical death, sanctity requires death to sin. Ironically, some of the most beloved saints are those who early in life fell short of this goal but, with the grace of God, did not allow sin to have the last word about their life.
Saints like Paul, Augustine, Francis of Assisi, and yes, Dorothy Day were pilgrims on the journey, which is what makes them relevant centuries later. Each answered the call to become the unique person that God was calling them to be. Not everyone is called to martyrdom, to found a religious order, or work among lepers, but we are all called.
Perhaps this is the reason St. Therese the Little Flower has such broad appeal. She did nothing that garnered attention during her lifetime. She died at the age of 24, lived a few short years hidden from the world as a Carmelite nun, and upon her death, the nuns who were charged with the task of writing about her life thought there was nothing much to say.
But God’s ways are not our ways. Shortly after her death, her autobiography, “The Story of a Soul,” written at the behest of her sister, became a bestseller worldwide. In 1997, she was declared a doctor of the Church by Pope John Paul II.
In recent years, St. Therese’s “little way” of spiritual childhood became a blueprint for ordinary men and women who do ordinary things in an extraordinary way.
In the end, it is not about what we do, but about the love with which we do them because it is love that transforms them. As ordinary pilgrims on the way, whose names are known only to God and to the people whose lives we touch, we take comfort in the words of the psalmist:
“My heart is not proud, LORD, my eyes are not haughty. I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me. But I have calmed and quieted myself. I am like a weaned child with its mother and like a weaned child I am content” (Ps 131: 1-2).
Having said that, we are to be prepared for all God asks, for we never know where the Lord will take us when we respond to his call with an unconditional yes — much the way all the saints and holy souls before us responded.
October 23, 2017
View Las Vegas tragedy through lens of faith
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” The phrase immortalized by Charles Dickens could be attributed to numerous time periods throughout the course of history, for at the heart of Dickens’ assessment lies a human paradox.
The presence of pain and suffering brought on by acts of evil are an ever-present reality, but it is often from the ash heap of such acts that the inherent goodness of humanity often rises. The mass killing in Las Vegas is an example.
As innocent victims fell prey to the assassin’s bullets, others were rushing to save lives with little thought given to their own safety. One survivor recalled people pushing wheelchairs of concert-goers, while others carried the wounded and disabled to safety fireman style.
Another stopped mid-flight to adjust a make-shift tourniquet that one of the victims had improperly tied around his leg — an act which ultimately kept the man from bleeding to death. And who could forget the story of the young couple celebrating their first wedding anniversary who were separated by death? The young woman recounted that after her husband threw her to the ground and positioned himself on top of her, she felt his body lunge as the bullet that spared her life took his.
Survivors who were strangers prior to the shooting ferried the wounded to hospitals in cars and trucks transformed into rescue vehicles. First responders, doctors, nurses and hospital personnel worked tirelessly.
In the wake of the shooting, police scoured the scene for evidence and investigators searched for clues that might explain the inexplainable, but to little avail. And people everywhere were reminded life is fragile and that we know not the day nor the hour when we will have to give an account of our life.
We are not always masters of our own destiny; much in life is beyond our control. But rather than lose heart or give in to cynicism, we must not allow the evil wrought by one man obscure the kindnesses of many.
This is not about whitewashing the tragedy, but about stepping back and viewing the event through a wider lens — the lens of faith. Only then will the presence of God be revealed, shining within the midst of suffering.
In the aftermath of the shooting, I found myself turning to a letter from St. Paul to the Corinthians:
“For God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts, that we might know the glory of God shining on the face of Christ. This treasure we possess in earthen vessels, to make it clear that its surpassing power comes from God and not from us. We are afflicted in every way but not crushed, full of doubts we never despair” (2 Cor 4 -8).
Whenever one person reaches out to another, the glory of God is made manifest. This is the reign of the Kingdom of God at work, dispelling the darkness, shining in the hearts of good people. When tempted to ask, “Where is God?” we need look no further than the helping hands and hearts of so many good people.
God is there, his light shining within the night of suffering, giving people the grace to recognize the other as neighbor and the strength and courage to become the face of Christ.
Throughout Scripture, God has been with his people. This is what sets Jews and Christians apart from other religious traditions. Our God has a personal relationship with humankind. Despite our penchant to stray, God remains faithful, forever calling us to return, transforming sinners into saints.
Where God is, there is love. This is the truth proclaimed in houses of worship, but it is also seen when the hungry are fed, strangers welcomed and prisoners set free. It is evident at prayer vigils outside of prisons and on abortion prayer lines.
Whether done in God’s name or as an act of human compassion, the reign of God is spreading. The world is being healed one wound at a time by one act of kindness at a time.
The spark that has been placed within the heart of every human is like a glowing ember; each act of charity is the breath of God that will set the world on fire. This is not to deny the reality of evil, for current events remind us how often and how easily those sparks are extinguished.
We are a world in process, forever changing and being transformed slowly and painfully. Realities of good and evil remind us that God and goodness will always prevail.
As people of faith we believe that God, whose presence is veiled in this life, will be fully revealed in the next. So we remain hopeful because: “We do not fix our gaze on what is seen but on what is unseen. What is seen is transitory; what is unseen lasts forever” (2 Cor 4; 18).
October 9, 2017
Renewed interest in Mary could be sign of the times
“There’s something about Mary that draws huge crowds. ”
Consider all the shrines to which pilgrims have been flocking for centuries. Mary sightings garner headlines. Apparition sites boast physical healings, skeptics become believers and hardened hearts are transformed.
For Catholics, devotion to Mary is more than a passing phenomenon, and the resurgence of interest in her seems to be gaining momentum, and not only among Catholics.
In recent weeks, I have had conversations with an Episcopal priest, a Methodist minister and a Presbyterian university professor about a course I have been teaching on Mariology. All expressed an interest, acknowledging they had always wanted to learn more about Mary.
For many Protestants, our belief in Mary’s perpetual virginity and the high esteem in which the Catholic Church holds her is problematic. Yet, it seems that few things make more sense from a theological perspective.
No one refutes the fact Jesus was miraculously conceived in the womb of Mary. The words at the Annunciation: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you, hence the holy offspring to be born will be called the Son of God” certainly testify to this.
With Mary’s fiat came the dawning of the messianic kingdom. The Divine Seed was planted, the marital covenant between Mary and the Holy Spirit sealed. Mary’s gift of herself to God was complete and would remain so for all eternity. Her covenant with the Holy Spirit could not be broken.
At that moment, Mary became a living tabernacle for the Incarnate God, and the Kingdom of God on earth began its reign. Heaven came to earth and Mary, conceived without sin, was the vessel chosen to house the Son of God.
Not only was Mary the mother of Jesus, but she became the Mother of God because the Son could not be estranged from the Father. Recall Jesus’ words, “The Father and I are one,” and “He who sees me sees the Father.” This is the reason the Church can rightly proclaim that Jesus was fully divine while still becoming fully human.
Indeed, the more we meditate on the mystery of the Incarnation, the more we come to appreciate the role of Mary in salvation history. Her perpetual virginity does not contradict her motherhood; it completes it and enables her to be mother to all.
Following the Second Vatican Council, some wrongly assumed that Mary’s role within the Church had been diminished, but nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, an entire section of “Lumen Gentium,” a prominent Vatican II document, devoted an entire section to the role of Mary. An excerpt from the document states:
“Mary’s function as mother of men in no way obscures or diminishes this unique mediation of Christ, but rather shows its power. The Blessed Virgin’s salutary influence on men originates not in any inner necessity, but in the Divine pleasure of God. It flows forth from the superabundance of the merits of Christ, rests on his mediation, depends entirely on it and draws all power from it. It does not hinder in any way the immediate union of the faithful with Christ but on the contrary fosters it.”
With so profound an endorsement for the role of Mary, one might wonder why she was temporarily sidelined by many after the council? One explanation could be that with the advancement of liturgical changes following Vatican II, along with an increased emphasis on the role of the laity, teachings on Mary were not front and center of the renewal.
But as Scripture so wisely reminds us: “For everything under the sun there is a time,” and as life reminds us, there is no time like the present. It may well be that the renewed interest in all things Mary is a sign of the times in which we live.
Catastrophic natural disasters, terror attacks amid ongoing wars, and rhetoric that threatens nuclear annihilation should be enough to bring everyone to their knees. Sadly, that does not seem to be the case. In fact, the increasing reign of secularization seems to threaten even the religious freedom that we once took for granted.
On Oct. 13, the Church concludes the celebration of the 100-year anniversary of Mary’s apparitions at Fatima. Hopefully, it will not end the return by the faithful to heed Mary’s advice to pray for peace. What better time to begin than in October, the month of the rosary.
Like every good mother, Mary instructs her children, but she is no ordinary mother. She is one of us, yet she is unlike any human being. She is the perfect model of discipleship. Mary understood that she was fully dependent upon God and therefore she was free to be the handmaid of the Lord.
As the Mother of the Church, Mary invites her children to enter into the same type of freedom, but we cannot accomplish this on our own. Prayer and vigilance are required. There is much in life to distract us from our primary mission, but we are never alone. God is with us and so is his mother, who happily is our mother, too.
And so we pray: Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee!
September 25, 2017
Shovel-wielding angels get our attention
“All night, all day, angels watching over me my Lord,”
… begins the refrain of a Gospel spiritual that some historians trace to the days of slavery in the United States. Since talking was not permitted among the slaves while they worked in the fields, many resorted to singing to lift their spirits.
Undoubtedly, the imagery of celestial beings watching over them helped soothe their aching souls as they labored under the hot sun. But why the lyrics of the song have been going through my mind over the last few days is another story.
It may have something to do with the fact that on Sept. 29, the feast of the Archangels Michael, Gabriel and Raphael is celebrated by the Church, followed by the feast of Guardian Angels on Oct. 2. Or perhaps because friends and family members who lived in Florida and Georgia called in recent days to say they had survived Hurricane Irma with minimal damage.
But as scenes from the devastation in the Virgin Islands, St. Martin and St. Thomas were televised, I couldn’t help but wonder: Where were their angels?
Such musings are natural, but as I began hearing some of the interviews with the islanders, I realized angels are not only given to us as protectors of our physical well-being but as spiritual protectors as well. Case in point would be St. Michael the Archangel, spiritual warrior who cast Lucifer out of heaven.
The outlook of many of the inhabitants who survived the hurricane was nothing short of miraculous. Perhaps because many already live in poverty, they are less dependent on the type comforts we take for granted. But if that were the sole reason for their courage and optimism, it would seem to negate the role their better angels play.
So, who or exactly what are these spiritual beings who inhabit bodies when needed — as in the case of the Angel Gabriel who announced to Mary she was chosen to be the mother of God. The primary role of angels in the Hebrew Scriptures seems to have been to convey messages from God. Recall the three angelic strangers who posed as travelers when they visited Abraham and told him that Sarah would conceive a son in her old age. Then there was Raphael, the archangel that donned a human body when he accompanied Tobit on his journey.
But my personal favorite is about the angels that appeared to Jacob while he slept. They ascended and descended a staircase to heaven, seemingly bridging the chasm between heaven and earth and the human and divine.
When Jacob awoke he was changed. Scripture tells us he wrestled with an angel but was this a physical or spiritual battle? The fact that his hip socket was injured leads us to believe it could have been physical, yet it had to have been more than that.
Not only did he have a sense of the holy after he won, but the Lord changed his name from Jacob to Israel, and reassured him regarding the covenant between God and the people that would become the nation of Israel.
As I ponder these strange and ominous occurrences, I am reminded of the times when it seemed as if God had to hit me over the head with a shovel to get my attention. Given the fact that I am not alone in having experienced such rude awakenings, I am beginning to wonder if angels in modern times come equipped with shovels so when the gentle and more subtle whisperings of the Holy Spirit go unnoticed, they stand ready to intervene with the proverbial bong on the head.
As we look around, it seems shovels stand at the ready in more ways than one. In the aftermath of hurricanes Harvey and Irma, we who have been spared need to dig deep and offer what we can to assist in the recovery of our brothers and sisters whose lives have been disrupted.
We are all part of the same Body of Christ, and while we may feel helpless as we watch the parade of refugees fleeing persecution in Myanmar, we can pray for them and advocate for justice and peace in our own country. With the help of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, voting has never been easier — just a click away and far less painful than a shovel to the head.
The saying, “Ignorance is bliss,” is a fallacy. We need to be informed and stay alert, ready and willing to wrestle evil in whatever way it presents itself. I prefer the saying, “Walk softly and carry a big stick,” which, come to think of it, might actually have angelic origins.
Angels may be God’s messengers, but human beings are God’s instruments. We all have a role to play, and while it can be frightening at times, we can rest easy because “All night, all day angels are watching over me and you.”
September 11, 2017
A Tribute to Bishop DiLorenzo
“Much has been said and written about Bishop Francis Xavier DiLorenzo since August 17…”
… when he passed from this life to the next. Newspaper accounts offered a profile of a man deeply committed to the Catholic Church, whose leadership style and accomplishments were welcomed by some and a source of controversy for others. This should come as no surprise since anyone who is in a position of authority inevitably draws criticisms from those whose views differ or whose expectations go unmet.
Certainly, when Bishop DiLorenzo accepted the appointment to become Bishop of the Diocese of Richmond, he was well-aware of both the burdens and joys that accompany the office. Therefore, his saying “yes” to so high a calling requires both faith and courage, which says a great deal about the character of Bishop DiLorenzo and his devotion to the people of God.
Funeral eulogies and comments left on the website by many who mourn his death reflect a man who was well loved by those whose lives he touched in one way or another. Counting myself among those who had the privilege of knowing him, it seems only fitting to dedicate this column to him as a sign of respect to the man who shepherded the Diocese of Richmond and was publisher of “The Catholic Virginian” for 13 years.
My first encounter with Bishop DiLorenzo took place shortly after he came to the Diocese of Richmond. In addition to being a regular columnist with The Catholic Virginian, I was employed by the paper as the correspondent for the Eastern part of the Diocese. It was in that capacity that our paths crossed while I was covering the Yom Kippur Service at Temple Beth Shalom in Virginia Beach. Bishop DiLorenzo attended the service as guest of honor, and after the service we chatted at length.
At the time, I was involved as a dialogue partner with the local Jewish and Muslim communities, which immediately aroused the Bishop’s interest and led to several follow-up meetings – usually held over lunch. Not being used to one-on-one encounters with a Bishop I was nervous to say the least. But I quickly discovered that Bishop DiLorenzo did not stand on ceremony. Within minutes I was completely at ease with him, and felt encouraged by his interest in promoting relationships within the interreligious community.
Months later he accepted an invitation to a dialogue luncheon at the mosque in Hampton with several rabbis and Muslim leaders. We discussed ways the group could move forward and eventually Bishop DiLorenzo appointed me to the position of Bishop’s Liaison to the Jewish and Muslim communities for the Diocese of Richmond.
Though humbled by the trust he placed in me, I was also encouraged by his support. He was readily available personally, through e-mail or by phone.
When I resigned from the position to serve with my husband as a volunteer with the Franciscan Friars in the California missions, Bishop DiLorenzo kept in touch by mail. Upon our return to the Diocese of Richmond, I received a letter from him welcoming us home.
As I reflect on the legacy of Bishop DiLorenzo, I am reminded of the book “The Road to Character” by New York columnist David Brooks. In the introduction of the book, Brooks refers to Adam I and Adam II, both of whom he posits are inherent in people of good will who achieve success.
He calls Adam I the career-oriented, ambitious side of human nature that aspires to create, build and produce while Adam II is more concerned with moral virtues such as love, self-sacrifice and service.
Presumably, no one ascends to the role of bishop without possessing a healthy dose of both Adam I and Adam II and in many ways, Bishop Francis DiLorenzo epitomized these qualities.
Over the years while I served under the leadership of Bishop DiLorenzo, I came to respect him for his qualities as both Adam I and Adam II. He was an astute listener who possessed an uncanny ability to appraise a situation and act when needed. Never one to mince words, Bishop DiLorenzo was direct. I always knew where I stood with him and I appreciated his candor.
As Catholics, we look to our bishops for moral leadership. We expect them to be virtuous, selfless leaders who not only preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ, but live it. It’s a tall order for any human being, and understandably, all will fall short at times.
Bishops, like the people they shepherd have feet of clay. They serve within the context of an office that is holy but is also laden with tremendous responsibility for the souls entrusted to their care.
Despite the many responsibilities of the office, Bishop DiLorenzo did not take himself too seriously. He had a great sense of humor and disparaging remarks were usually self-directed. I recall his laughing over a picture of himself in The Catholic Virginian, saying that he looked like the Travelocity Gnome.
The contributions of Bishop DiLorenzo to the Diocese of Richmond will long be remembered with deep appreciation. As a man who dedicated his life to God and to the service of the Church, he had the courage to act on his convictions. He was not perfect, but then who of us are?
Still, I feel blessed to have known him and hold him in warm regard for the genuine love he had for the people of God. May his soul rest in peace and may perpetual light shine upon our beloved Bishop Francis Xavier DiLorenzo.
August 28, 2017
Hate the Sin, Not the Sinner
“It’s been said, “Anger is a two-edge sword.”
The implication is that when anger is projected toward another, the person who is angry is wounded even as they attempt to wound the other. Anger affects a person’s state of well-being, causes blood pressures to rise, and can lead to gastrointestinal problems, not to mention physical harm when violence erupts. Anger is a human emotion, aroused when events, circumstances and behavior by some run contrary to the expectations, ideology, or moral values of others. In some cases, anger is justified, but it is the action, not the emotion, that carries with it harmful and moral consequences.
Recall Jesus’ righteous anger when he overturned the tables of the moneychangers in the Temple. Jesus was not a passive bystander, but he directed his anger toward the behavior of those who had turned his Father’s House into a den of thieves. He rebuked those who did wrong, overthrew tables, but did not assault the moneychangers. The distinction is important. With wounds from the events that took place in Charlottesville still fresh, it is important to consider ways we can resist hatred and bigotry without becoming emmeshed in violence.
As Christians, we look to Jesus and we have clear direction, though it is not always easy to follow. “You have heard it said, ‘You shall hate your enemy, but I say, love your enemy, pray for those who persecute you” (Matt. 5: 43). Nowhere did Jesus put these words into practice more perfectly than from the cross, when with his dying breath, he said, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The fact is the only person whose behavior we can change is our own, and change begins with self-examination and prayer.
In response to 3rd century heresies, St. Augustine advised Christians to proceed with love for mankind and hatred of sin. Later the phrase gained popularity as “Love the sinner, hate the sin,” and in his auto biography Gandhi wrote, “Hate the sin, not the sinner.” All of us are sinners, which may explain why we often find it so difficult to forgive ourselves. But unless we take responsibility for our own sinfulness, and ask for mercy, we, like the Pharisees in the Gospel, will confuse the sin with the sinner and throw stones at others, condemning the sinner along with the sin.
As Christians, we pray for peace and an end to violence, but what exactly does that mean? We know that one of the things that prayer does is change the heart of the one who prays. Therefore, we need to ask ourselves: when we pray for peace, do we pray to have our own heart changed and enlightened as well as the hearts of those whom we see as the enemy? Do we count ourselves among the sinners in need of mercy and forgiveness or do we set ourselves apart from those whose sins are more visible? Unless our prayer comes from a humble heart, mindful of our own sinfulness, we are at risk for becoming infected with the sin of self-righteousness. And in the process, we wound ourselves.
The German, Jewish philosopher, Martin Buber offers an insightful parable about anger. He asks readers to imagine that while peeling an apple, the knife in your right hand slips and cuts your left hand. The wound is painful and bleeding. So how do you respond? The left hand doesn’t grab the knife and react by cutting the right hand. Such a response would be madness since both hands are part of the same body. The natural response is to stop the bleeding and dress the wound so that healing can occur. It’s a good analogy.
We are all part of the human family created by the same loving God. Jesus came to earth, suffered and died and conquered death for all people. Therefore, whenever anger, whether justified or not leads to violence, the entire human family suffers. As St. Paul so eloquently explained, “The eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need of you; or again the head to the feet, I have no need of you.” (1Cor. 12:21)
The science of psychology identifies anger as a secondary emotion. The primary emotion is fear, which is why the word “Fear not” appear in Scripture more than any other. Peaceful resistance and non-violent protest have a place, and both require courage, humility and grace. We are all in need of healing and an ongoing change of heart. None of us is perfect and so we need the wisdom and guidance of the Holy Spirit.
During her many apparitions, our Mother Mary, Queen of Peace, has always imparted the same message. Over and over she asks us to pray. Mary doesn’t take sides nor does she offer solutions. She simply tells us to pray and turn our hearts to her Son, who alone can heal wounds of division that separate rather than unite. However, we all have a role to play. Dialogue and education are important tools that each of us can implement in our own way within the context of our lives. But, first and foremost, let us pray for a change of heart for all so that one day “swords will be hammered into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks, and nation will no longer fight against nation, nor train for war anymore.” (Isaiah 2: 3-4).
August 14, 2017
“The Feast of the Assumption of Mary into Heaven, which is celebrated in the United States on August 15, wasn’t designated a dogma of faith until November 1, 1950.”
Some might ask why if for more than 19 centuries Mary being raised up into heaven body and soul was not part of the deposit of faith, what changed? It’s a legitimate question and the easy answer would be that the Church moves slowly in matters of faith. But research offers a more enlightened perspective, which is that the Church operates within the context of the natural order. Therefore, how and when questions about faith and morals are defined is also prompted by the need for clarification in regard to what the faithful are to believe. Undoubtedly, the Assumption of Mary into heaven is one such doctrine.
In declaring the Assumption of Mary a divinely inspired revelation, Pope Pius XII was speaking “ex-cathedra” (or infallibly “from the chair” in his capacity as universal shepherd of the Church) which elevated the proclamation to the status of a dogma of faith. Despite its recent declaration (less than 70 years), the doctrine had entertained widespread belief from the beginning. As early as the second and third century written works about Mary being raised body and soul into heaven were in existence. The “Transititus Maria” or “The Crossing Over of Mary” was commemorated in the Eastern Church from early on.
There were no witnesses to Mary being raised from the dead, just as there were no witnesses to Jesus being resurrected. Jesus was seen by the apostles as he ascended into heaven, as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, but there were no such first-hand accounts about Mary. Since the New Testament is about the life and teachings of Jesus, it is understandable. References about Mary in Scripture are few and are limited to those situations that pertain to the life of Jesus.
Nevertheless, the Church has long held the belief that the “woman clothed in the sun” referenced in Chapter 12 in the Book of Revelations is Mary. The woman is linked to the woman in the Book of Genesis whose seed, God promised, would crush the head of the serpent. Mary, often called the new Eve, countered the curse of the first Eve by her perfect obedience to the will of God, just as Eve had disobeyed God.
There are also references to Mary in the Old Testament. Though the language is veiled, the meaning is undeniable and points to Mary who would be taken up to heaven to be with God. “Arise O Lord into your resting place. You and the ark of your majesty which you have sanctified” (Ps 131; 8). One of Mary’s titles has long been “Ark of the Covenant” for it was her womb that carried the Christ. Before Jesus became present in tabernacles throughout the world, Mary was a living tabernacle. Just as the Israelites carried the Law of God that was given to Moses in the desert, so Mary carried in her body the One who came to fulfill the Law.
In light of so high a privilege, it seems only natural that Mary’s body not suffer decay at the end of her life. The question remains whether or not Mary died or fell into a deep sleep before she was assumed into heaven. Though the term, Dormition is used in regard to Mary’s passing from earthly life, Pope Pius XII stopped short of declaring that Mary did not die. To those who would make the argument that being free of sin, Mary did not experience death, St. John Paul II explained that being free of original sin and its stain is not the same thing as being in a glorified, deathless condition. Jesus was also free of original sin and its stain, but still experienced death.
The early 20th century theologian Ludwig Ott wrote, “For Mary, death was a consequence of her freedom from original sin and from personal sin, not a punishment of sin. It seems fitting that Mary’s body, which was by nature mortal, should be, in conformity with that of her Divine Son, subject to the general law of death.” Numerous theologians at the time concurred with Ott. Before Pope Pius XII declared the assumption of Mary a doctrine, he called for a broad consultation in 1946, inquiring among bishops, clergy and the people of God as to the possibility and opportuneness of defining the bodily assumption of Mary as a dogma of faith. The result was extremely positive: only six answers out of 1,181 showed any reservations about the revealed character of this truth.
So why after so many years is Mary’s assumption into heaven so important? One explanation might be that during the earliest years, Church fathers were occupied with refuting heresies and defining doctrines deemed more important such as the Trinity and the dual natures of Jesus as both human and divine. In more recent times, renewed devotion to Mary following Marian apparitions such as those at Lourdes and Fatima, Mary’s role in salvation history once again came to the forefront of Catholic teaching. This may account for the need to pronounce Mary’s Immaculate Conception and her Assumption into Heaven as doctrines of faith. Mary’s presence in heaven is a prototype for our own resurrection at the end of the age when our bodies will rise from the dead and be reunited with our soul. Not only is Mary the Mother of God, but she is our Mother, and as such she intercedes for us before God.
July 31, 2017
Constant, Yet Evolving
“I listened with interest to a recap of the recent Catholic Leadership Convocation in Orlando…”
…that was held at St. Gregory the Great Church this past week. The evening included witness talks by four people who attended the four day event. Each offered reflections on the various breakout sessions they had attended which addressed the many challenges encountered by today’s Catholics. Subject matter covered a broad spectrum of concerns such as social media, youth ministry, people with disabilities, chastity, ecumenism, and science and religion to name a few.
In response to the growing number of Nones (People who identify as having no religious affiliation), Geriann Wentworth shared insights gleaned from the session she attended. The importance of moving out of our comfort zone and engaging those who identify as spiritual but not religious was a take away imperative for her, but what impressed me most about Geriann’s presentation was her authenticity. Her demeanor served as a reminder that it’s not what we say, but the way we say it that communicates a sense of caring. A non-judgmental approach, sharing our stories, and meeting people where they are can touch hearts in a way that teaching and preaching may never accomplish. Her message concurred with an insight that journalist Arlene Spenceley offered. She noted that one speaker pointed out that Jesus showed the apostles his wounds when they were struggling with disbelief.
During the past days I have reflected on the power behind this insight. There is nothing that turns people off as quickly as someone who comes across as having it all together, ready with a solution to every problem and an answer for every question. The fact is: when we admit our struggles, own our short-comings and recognize our need for healing rather than recounting our proficiencies, we become the children Jesus calls us to be. And no one is able to captivate hearts and minds the way children do. No wonder Jesus said, “Unless you become like little children you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Needless to say becoming like little children does not mean we are to remain ignorant, a topic that Deacon Bob May from Holy Family Church addressed. As a scientist at the Jefferson Lab in Newport News, Bob was naturally drawn to the breakout session on Science and Faith. As he pointed out, Catholic theology and authentic science have never been at odds. Since truth is the objective of both disciplines, they will eventually converge. The obstacle to this trajectory of course is when ethics and moral laws are transgressed or bypassed as we see happening with so many sanctity of life issues in our current culture. Faith and reason compliment rather than contradict, but too often rationalization is confused with reason and when that happens, objectivity ceases.
Having a father who is hearing impaired led Arlene Spenceley to attend the session on persons with disabilities. The take away word for her was the question “Why” and no, she was not referring to the conundrum about why some people have disabilities and others don’t. She was referencing the fact that with 20 percent of the population having some type of disability, when priests claim they have no one in their parish with disabilities, our first response should be “Why.” The obvious reason is that the parish has done nothing to accommodate them. Why would a deaf person attend Mass when they cannot hear what is being said or sung? Translating hymns and homilies through sign language should be common practice, not an anomaly if we are to be truly inclusive and a welcoming place for all God’s people to worship.
Sometimes it was “chance encounters” that became graced moments for attendees. Deacon Darrel Wentworth from St. Gregory told me later that he met the new Ecumenical and Interreligious Affairs Officer from the USCCB who shared with him that until Ecumenism is moved from the periphery of Catholic practice, the unity that Christ prayed for will not happen.
Each presenter shared how they were touched, not only by the number of cardinals and bishops who attended the convocation, but by their availability and eagerness to listen to the laity who were there. With so much negative publicity about Catholic hierarchy in the news these days, it is important to remember that the majority are good men, trying to live their vocational mission. While the Catholic Church is a divine institution, it has a human footprint, which accounts for the problems that have wounded and divided the Church over the centuries. And yet, despite the scandals and schisms the Church prevails because the Holy Spirit continues to guide it just as Jesus promised.
We are a Church that continues to evolve and grow in wisdom and grace. It is a mere 2017 years old and in human terms that may seem like an eternity, but in God years, it is but a blink of the eye. Therefore, as we consider the many challenges as well as graces that are part of the Catholic Church, we must remember that each of us are a microcosm of what the Church was, is and is called to become, and as such we are called to do our part. It may not seem like we have much to offer, but if everyone utilizes the gifts they have been given, we will be doing our part in helping to build the Body of Christ one day at a time.
July 17, 2017
Death with Dignity
“The sufferings of the present age are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed in us” (Rom.8; 18).
Though I had heard the words numerous times, they seemed especially poignant this morning while praying the Liturgy of the Hours. Only the day before, I had come across a headline announcing that 111 people in California have died as a result of patient assisted suicide since it became legal in June of 2016. The news brief had a short life span, barely 24 hours and it was gone. And yet, the memory of it continues to linger.
Having worked for several years as a hospice nurse, I have watched many people die, some young, some elderly and yes, some mere children. As heart wrenching as death can be, it is a sacred time – a time to reflect on the fact that the process of dying is as much a part of life as the birthing process. Both involve uncertainty and pain; usher in a new beginning, and are a means to an end. Obviously there are differences. In the case of dying, suffering often lasts longer and embracing the end requires faith.
During his last discourse when Jesus knew that his death was imminent, he drew a comparison with a woman in labor. He reminded his disciples that once the child is born, she no longer remembers the pain. Jesus was trying to console his disciples because he knew they would have to suffer. He also understood that death is not a solitary experience, but that it involves a much larger circle of family and friends. Death, like life, involves community and when that community includes people of faith, a very different perspective takes shape.
I am reminded of a recent conversation with a fellow parishioner whom I see at Mass every day. Her husband was diagnosed with end stage cancer a few weeks ago and he was given only a few months to live. As a result she and her husband made the decision to visit their children and grandchildren while he is still able to travel so that they could spend quality time together during these precious last months. She added that they both considered themselves blessed because they had time to prepare for his death.
Contrast their conversation and decision with that of persons contemplating assisted suicide. California law requires two doctors agree that a patient has six months or less to live before prescribing the drugs. It states that patients must be able to swallow the medication themselves and must affirm in writing, 48 hours before taking the medication, that they will do so. The irony of such a chilling contract, apart from the fact that it disregards the sanctity of life is that it isolates patients during a time when they are most vulnerable and in need of a supportive community. The agreement by patients to administer their own death cocktail stands in sharp contrast with the scenario about the parishioner I described.
The end of life law, which claims to promote death with dignity actually robs a person of the kind of community and family support that dignifies death. When death is viewed as a natural process that will follow its natural course, the dying and family members enter into a process of surrendering their will with Jesus who embraced death when he prayed, “Not my will but Thy will be done.”
It is not my intention to romanticize dying. I recall an incident described by St. Therese of Liseiux who during the last stages of her illness, when her body was racked with pain, noticed that the infirmary nun had left a full bottle of pain medicine at her bedside. She later wrote that the thought had occurred to her that she could take the entire bottle and end her suffering, which led her to caution others to never be so negligent. Since then we have come a long way regarding pain management, but her experience confirms the importance of keeping vigil with those who are dying. I was blessed to be with my mother and mother in-law when they died. Both had been under the watchful eye of hospice nurses and so their suffering was minimized, but it would be foolish of me to suggest that the months leading to their death were free of any suffering.
One of the greatest sources of suffering is the increased dependence on others for basic needs. It is humbling, but it can also be the beginning of a new awareness that we are all one Body in the Body of Christ. When I wash the face, the hands and feet of another, I am washing the face, hands and feet of Christ as well as my own. When I sit at the bedside of one who is dying and allow myself to be suffused with compassion, their pain becomes my pain as a shared reality of suffering takes hold. For me it begs the question: what about those who have no one to wash their face or feel their pain?
This is the real reason patient assisted suicide has become law. Rather than point fingers at others we do well to open our eyes and look within in order to deepen our collective responsibility to the Body of Christ, a body that skin cannot separate. This is the reason we pray for those who are dying, especially those who are alone so they will have the strength to ward off temptation and die a natural death with their eyes fixed on eternity where suffering will be no more.
July 3, 2017
Irony of Ironies
“God surely has a sense of humor.”
The comment is one I have often heard, and have drawn the same conclusion myself from time to time. It usually happens whenever life’s ironies come center stage and the only response is to smile at the seeming incongruities in which we find ourselves and imagine that God is laughing with us. This week I found myself pondering one such situation. I had just returned from Philadelphia where I had facilitated a weekend retreat on the mystics.
Since retreat houses schedule events far in advance of the date, such commitments and topics are usually made months, sometimes a year or more in advance. Therefore, I never know to whom I will be speaking. That in itself is not unusual, but what made me smile in retrospect was that as it turned out: participants on the retreat were primarily members of women’s religious communities along with a few lay associates, secular members and ecclesial lay ministers.
Since the name of the retreat was called “Mountain Climbing with the Mystics,” it seems logical that the topic would draw those who are serious about developing an ever deepening relationship with God. But it was the reciprocal dimension of the graces from a retreat that never fail to touch me in unexpected ways.
As I began the first presentation, I felt a smile rising from deep within as I was struck by the irony of the situation. Early in my life, I had wanted to become a nun and entered religious life with the all the starry-eyed enthusiasm that is befitting one who longs to devote their life to God. But as it turned out, it was not to be. A series of hospitalizations led to the decision that my health was not conducive to religious life. It was after all a foreign missionary order and good health was imperative.
And so it was that my life took a very different turn. Back in the “World” as they say, I became a nurse, married, have a beautiful family and so in many ways I have had the best of both worlds. And yet throughout the years, seeds that were planted during those early formative years continued to grow and form me in ways I could never have imagined. Always in the back of my mind was the desire for union with God which has led me to the wisdom of the mystics. An early spiritual director once told me that not all brides of Christ are called to live in a religious community. Only years later did I understand what he meant.
The call to union with Jesus, the Bridegroom of our soul is a universal call that began at Mount Sinai when God entered into a sacred covenant with the people of Israel. This is what led the Israelites to view every sin as an act of adultery towards God. The Old Testament is rife with descriptions that refer to a marriage covenant between God and humankind. Isaiah wrote: “Your Maker is your husband, the Lord of Hosts.” (Is54;5) Could it be any clearer?
And Jeremiah chastised the Israelites who turned their back on YHWH as guilty of adultery when he wrote, “Thus says the Lord, I remember the devotion of your youth, your love as a bride, how you followed me in the wilderness in a land not your own.” (Jer. 2; 2).
Jesus came as the Bridegroom for all to heal the covenant that had been broken between God and the human race. When all the world was groaning to be set aright, John the Baptist pointed to Jesus as the Bridegroom and Jesus referred to himself as Bridegroom. When the Pharisees were trying to discredit Jesus, they confronted him with the fact that he and his followers did not fast like John the Baptist. “And Jesus said to them, “The wedding guests cannot fast while the Bridegroom is with them, can they? As long as they have the Bridegroom with them, they cannot fast. The day will come when the Bridegroom is taken away from them, and then, they will fast on that day” (Mark 2; 19 -20).
The spiritual marriage is an analogy for a union of wills, and is neither limited by gender nor vocation. It is not an exclusive club, nor does it diminish in any way the gifts of those who consecrate their life to God as celibates and religious men and women.
The indistinguishable fire of human longing for God who alone can satisfy our deepest hunger is what draws souls to enter into a relationship with God so intimate that the only word that describes such a union is marriage. God created us in his own image and likeness and so the call to spiritual union remains at the very center of our being. It is the reason we were created, for Love begets love and we are the recipients of Love’s eternal reach, which draws all things to Itself.
Some may find the analogy of marriage shocking, but Jesus as the eternal Bridegroom invites all to be in union with him and the Father. “If you love me and obey my commands, my Father will love you and we will come and make our home in you.” This is our Baptismal calling. The degree to which we enter into it corresponds with our willingness to seek and surrender to God’s will. It is the journey of a life time, which is why every day is a blessed one.
June 19, 2017
The New Normal
“It’s become the new normal.”
.I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard that phrase used in recent years. It seems it’s become a way of accepting practices that would have been unthinkable at an earlier time. Security checks at airport and entertainment venues, cameras in stores and at intersections, and digital monitoring and no fly lists have become common place. In the name of safety, privacy has become a thing of the past. Still, we can hardly fault practices that are implemented to provide a level of safety, or at least attempt to do so.
Terror attacks, mass murders, and drive-by shootings have created an environment which instructs the public to be alert and notify police when anyone or anything appears suspicious or out of the ordinary. With wars and threats of war, fear mongering, whether justified or not has become a political ploy to garner support from a world that seems to have lost its way. And while I am not advocating that we bury our head in the sand when it comes to danger, it is important to balance such messages, with words from Scripture that tell us over and over not to be afraid.
Jesus’ words: “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matt. 10-28) stand in sharp contrast to the dictates of our culture and the world at large. Jesus wasn’t recommending a cavalier attitude, suggesting we throw caution and common sense to the wind. Rather, he was counseling his followers to keep a right perspective, keeping in mind that there is more to the human person than our physical well-being.
Unfortunately danger is part of life. Some of it is of our own making and some is beyond our control. Therefore, personal safety is important. After all, when a storm threatened to overturn the boat of the panic-stricken apostles, Jesus reprimanded them for their lack of faith, but he also reached out, calmed the sea and brought them safely to shore.
Prudence demands that we do what we can to remain safe. From seat belts and airbags to body scans and gun control laws, safety measures minimize the potential for bodily harm. But what about harm to the soul? How do we safe guard the spiritual well-being of ourselves and others? The thought occurs to me every time I go to the movies (which is becoming increasingly rare) and have to sit through previews of upcoming films. The level and amount of violence and sex that permeates the screen is shocking. Even though they are not movies that I would go see, I am alarmed by what passes for entertainment in our world, and sadly has also become a new normal. Along those same lines, comedy has likewise reached an all-time low. Comedians hoping to remain in the spotlight continue to cross lines of decency so that bad taste and vulgar innuendo have become another new normal. It is not enough to simply be alarmed; we must be proactive, especially when it comes to protecting the young.
As students begin their summer break and have more leisure time, insuring the spiritual welfare of our children and grandchildren is more important than ever. Minimizing television viewing and monitoring online visits may not make parents, grandparents or baby sitters candidates for a popularity contest. But if we care about the spiritual well–being of those who have been entrusted to our care, we will take precautions to safe guard their souls. Obviously no one wants to be hanging over a child’s shoulder 24/7 so teaching and encouraging healthy choices is important, not only when it comes to food for the body, but for the mind and soul as well.
Summer vacation does not mean a vacation from God or from attending Mass. Incorporating visits to shrines and learning about their origin can be a source of learning and spiritual growth for children and adults alike. When our grandchildren visit this summer, we are planning a trip to Busch Gardens and Historic Williamsburg, but we also plan to visit the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham in Williamsburg. The chapel, dedicated as a national shrine by Bishop Di Lorenzo in 2016 is a tribute to the shrine by the same name in Norfolk, England that has a rich history dating back to 1032. Visiting the shrine is a wonderful opportunity to learn about Our Lady’s apparition in England which during the middle ages was as famous as Lourdes and Fatima are today.
Should your vacation plans include a trip to Washington, D.C. be sure to include a visit to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception and the St. John Paul II Center. Shrines and places of Catholic interest are easy to find online and are ways we can teach young people about our rich Catholic heritage. And if you happen to be traveling over the weekend, Findaparish.com is only a click away. There is no better way to teach children about the importance of attending Sunday liturgy than by making an effort to include God in your vacation plans. Praying the rosary on road trips is another way to incorporate our faith into daily life. And while the practice might meet with raised eye brows and even a few groans initially, after a while it too has a way of becoming a new normal, whether at home or away.
June 5, 2017
Jesus, Judaism and Christianity
As video clips of President Trump praying at the Western Wall made headline news…
…noting that he was the first sitting American president to do so, I was reminded of a lively conversation I had a few years ago with friends who happen to be Jewish rabbis. We had just finished watching a movie together about the Passion of Christ when one complained that Christians tend to forget that Jesus was first and foremost a Jew. Then joining in the good humored exchange another rabbi added, “We gave you a favorite son. You should thank us.”
In retrospect, I think their point was well taken. The fact that it has taken this long for a president to pray at the ancient holy site while visiting Israel seems to add credibility to their observations. Despite our Old Testament roots, I find Christians often fail to appreciate the connection between Jesus, Judaism and Christianity. Rather than inspiring gratitude, our common heritage has too often led to a spirit of animosity. And while we cannot change the past, we can move forward by appreciating the best in what the other has to offer. Rich and striking parallels abound, particularly when it comes to the celebration of our most important feasts.
In my last column, I discussed similarities and distinctions between the Passover Meal and the celebration of the Eucharist, but the chords that bind us do not end there. For instance, 50 days after Easter Christians celebrate the Feast of Pentecost, and 50 days after Passover Jews celebrate the Feast of Weeks (or Shavuot). According to Jewish tradition, the Feast of Weeks is a celebration of the reception of the Torah on Mount Sinai by Moses. The feast symbolizes the harvest of the first fruits. However, the fruits are not viewed as an agricultural harvest, but as a spiritual and moral harvest. Shavuot celebrates the reception by the Israelites of a way of life that not only served as an instruction on how to live, but identified them as the chosen people of God. And it was from that chosen race that Jesus, the Son of God, inherited his human lineage and physical characteristics.
As the self-revelation of God, Jesus became the Way. He was teacher and rabbi who did not do away with the law, but fulfilled the law. Rather than an end, it was the beginning of a new covenant between God and his people. Through the person of Jesus Christ, the long awaited Messiah, the history of the Jews continued to evolve. And we became the beneficiaries of that new covenant.
As the Body of Christ, we are indebted to the Jews for the role they played in the earliest years of our spiritual heritage and formation. But we should also be grateful for their presence among us today. They remind us of our roots, and as the Catechism of the Catholic Church points out:
The “family of God” is gradually formed and takes shape during the stages of human history, in keeping with the Father’s plan. In fact, already present in figure at the beginning of the world, this Church was prepared in marvelous fashion in the history of the people of Israel and the old Alliance. (CCC.759)
When Jesus’ mission on earth had ended, it was to his followers, who were Jews that Jesus entrusted his Church. He reminded them that he must return to the Father, and promised to send an advocate. It was the coming of that advocate, whom we call the Holy Spirit, that Christians celebrate during the Feast of Pentecost. But the feast is more than a celebration of the coming of the Holy Spirit on the apostles in the upper room. It is a celebration of the harvesting of the first fruits that have been given to the community we call Church.
On Mount Sinai, Moses received the Ten Commandments as a help to guide the Israelites to live their lives according to the laws of God. On that first Pentecost in the Upper Room in Jerusalem, the apostles received the Holy Spirit as a guide and in that moment received the first fruit of our inheritance, fruits such as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, God’s children are sent to bear fruit in the world, not apart from our Jewish brothers and sisters but side by side.
Perhaps nowhere can we find a better reference to our relationship to the Jews than in St. Paul’s letter to the Romans.
If the part of the dough offered as first fruits is holy, then the whole batch is holy; and if the root is holy, then the branches are also holy. But if some of the branches were broken off, and you a wild olive shoot were grafted in their place to share the rich root, do not boast…but remember it is not you that support the root, but the root that supports you. (Roman 11; 16-17)
These are important words to bear in mind, especially in light of Jesus’ words: “By their fruits you will know them” (Matt. 7; 20). May we as the people of God continue to bear good fruit and walk humbly with God with people of every race and nation and creed as was ordained at that first Pentecost.
May 22, 2017
Back to the Future
“During the past week I kept picturing the zany scientist in the film “Back to the Future.”
“Doc,” as he was fondly referred to by Michael J. Fox in the film, had his young protégé bouncing back and forth between the past and the present in order to effect the future. This is exactly what I found myself doing.
During this post-Resurrection season, I have been writing about the Triduum for two separate publications. They will not be in print until March of 2018.
Since publishing houses typically ask for time sensitive articles anywhere from eight months to a full year in advance, this is not unusual, but in the meantime the practice has converted my computer into a sort of time machine.
Every morning during this Easter season, I have been transported back to the Upper Room where the Last Supper was celebrated.
While researching and reflecting on the Passion of Christ, I followed Jesus to Calvary and kept vigil outside the tomb where he was buried.
Then in my mind’s eye, I relived the Easter vigil in triumphant celebration while trying to be mindful of future readers. The challenge has proved enlightening.
The more I juxtaposed events that took place centuries ago with current liturgical practices, the better I understood and appreciated the Jewish roots of the Eucharist.
In a way, it could be said that the Mass itself is an exercise in time travel with rites and language artfully transforming old covenant practices into those of the new covenant.
The Paschal Mystery, which is the centerpiece of the Mass, does not stand alone.
Woven into the very fabric of the celebration are Scripture and ritual action from both the Old and New Testaments. Some threads are obvious, bearing close resemblance to the Passover meal, while others are more subtle.
Words and rituals that were familiar to first century Jews were also radically different.
Some I have only recently discovered while researching the topic.
In his book “Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist,” theologian Brant Pitre explains that every Passover meal required four cups of wine.
According to rabbinical tradition, on the eve of Passover the father of the family would pour the first cup of wine ushering in the beginning of the celebration by offering a prayer of praise over the cup.
During the pouring of wine into the second cup, which was called the proclamation cup, the head of the household would tell the story of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt.
Next he would explain the meaning of the lamb, the bread, and bitter herbs, all essential foods to be eaten during the Passover meal in remembrance of what God had done for them.
Only after that the third cup of wine was poured and the blessing said would those present begin to partake of the food.
This third cup was known as the blessing cup. It is the cup Jesus used when he took bread, blessed it, broke it and gave it to his disciples saying “This is my Body. Take and eat.”
Then He did the same with the cup of wine with the words “This is the cup of my blood which is being poured out for many. Take and drink.”
The fourth cup was poured and consumed at the end of the meal, followed by the singing of the Hallel (Psalms 115-118) which concluded the Passover meal.
As Brant Pitre points out, this is significant. According to Luke’s gospel, after Jesus transformed his bread and wine into his Body and Blood, he and the disciples left the Upper Room singing hymns.
Rather than bringing the celebration of the Passover meal to a conclusion at the table, Jesus led the group to the Garden of Olives where his passion was about to begin.
The final Passover would be completed not in the Upper Room, but on Calvary where Jesus, the Paschal lamb, would lay down his life.
The First Eucharist was celebrated in anticipation of the sacrifice that would be offered on the cross as an act of communion that would redeem humankind through the death and resurrection of the Son of God.
The Resurrected Lord, no longer bound by the chains of time, became the “Eternal Now” whose sacrifice on Calvary, though completed once and forever, continues to take place in real time where ever the Eucharist is celebrated.
Four cups are no longer needed because Jesus is the cup of our salvation. And yet, as I reflect on the knitting of the Passover meal with the Christian Passover from death to life, the four stages represented by the four Passover cups seem to be reflected in the Liturgy.
The Introductory Rite of the Mass, the Liturgy of the Word, the Liturgy of the Eucharist, and the Dismissal rite appear to coincide with the four cups that were part of every Passover meal.
I believe the correlation, though subtle, is significant because every Eucharistic celebration is an act of remembrance.
The celebration reminds us of our roots, even as it anticipates the eternal banquet where we will gather around the banquet table in the New Jerusalem.
And so it is, that when we enter into communion with Jesus, we celebrate not only the present, but the promise that was made in the Garden of Eden, fulfilled on Calvary and is yet to come.
Now that’s cause for celebration!
May 8, 2017
Just Not Equal
“No one ever said life is fair.”
The familiar saying, which has reverberated in my life in a variety of settings has once again found its way to the forefront of my thinking.
The reason has to do with my Monday morning dates during the past school year, not with my husband, but with first grade students with whom I meet for one-on-one tutoring sessions.
The program was designed for students in the Virginia Beach public schools who were struggling academically as a way to help improve their reading and writing skills.
The first graders who were assigned to me were performing far below grade level and while both started at level two, the disparity in their abilities, progress and attention span was decidedly different.
By February one of the students was reading at level 18 while the other was still at level four.
While one student gained proficiency in sounding out words, the other continued to struggle.
By year’s end, both little boys had made their way into my heart, but as I prepare to bid farewell to them, I realize that one is ready to move on to the next grade level while the other might be repeating first grade.
I can’t help but wonder how this might impact his self-esteem, particularly since towards the end of the year the struggling youth would repeatedly inquire what level his little friend had reached.
Although I couldn’t disclose the information, children are quick to notice when they are not on the same level as their peers and he was no exception.
The tendency to compare ourselves to others seems almost instinctive and begins early in life.
In some cases the tendency may be so deeply seated that it becomes problematic, clouding a person’s ability to recognize and appreciate the unique goodness in themselves and others.
I suspect none of us are entirely free of the tendency to draw comparisons, a practice that has both advantages and disadvantages.
So called societal norms function as standards that can inspire, motivate and encourage competition, but they can also lead to envy, resentment or self-deprecation which hinders appreciation for the unique gifts that each person has been given.
With so much emphasis by our culture on productivity and accomplishment, the tendency to evaluate self-worth based on achievement rather than effort is a continual struggle.
It is not unusual to want to rush in and fix that which is not to our liking both in ourselves and in others, especially when it involves challenges and suffering.
This can be a good thing for we are called to work for justice. Yet, it is important to remember that justice is not the same as equality.
Justice is about working to ensure that each person’s rights are respected and that every person has an equal opportunity to become the person they were created to be. However, it does not mean each person will have the same capabilities.
Whenever I struggle with this seeming lack of fairness, I take comfort in a passage from the “Treatise of Love of God” by St. Frances de Sales who wrote:
“It is not helpful to ask why one person is blessed in a particular way. God’s grace is sufficient for each of us. Why are melons bigger than strawberries? Why do lilies grow taller than violets? Why is rosemary not a rose or dianthus not a marigold? Why is a peacock more glamorous than a bat, a fig sweet and a lemon sour? The beauty of the world depends on variety. Differences and what appear to be inequalities are essential and inescapable.”
And so it is that we are called to look beyond that which is outside our ability to control and know there is a reason for things too great for us to understand. This is why meditating on Scripture is such an important part of the Christian journey.
The Gospels are replete with instructions by Jesus to seek the lowest place because in the kingdom of heaven the last shall be first.
But he also said blessed are the poor, those who hunger and thirst and are persecuted.
This was not meant to glorify suffering, but to understand it too is part of life and at times is beyond our control.
During the Easter season we are continually reminded of the close proximity of the cross with the resurrection. Both remind us that earthly achievements are fleeting. They are a means, not an end.
In the Acts of the Apostles we read accounts of the apostles witnessing and preaching in the temple areas, but we also read accounts of them being imprisoned and persecuted for the faith.
Just as there would have been no Easter Sunday without Good Friday, so we can never separate the cross from life as we know it.
Life may not always seem fair, but the end for each of us is yet to be written.
When the next chapter beckons and we come before God at life’s end, the only performance that will matter is our own, and that includes helping others, especially the young, the poor and the stranger in our midst.
Once again Pope Francis offers a beautiful example of what this looks like in the way he embraces the poor and the marginalized, the sick and disabled, friends and enemies, for all are children of God.
And what better way to evangelize than to let others know that they are loved and that their life matters.
April 24, 2017
Jesus, Master of Disguise
There is something about the post resurrection stories that continue to fascinate me.
Perhaps it’s because they reveal a side of Jesus that we weren’t privy to prior to his death.
In the aftermath of his passion and death, Jesus allowed his followers to experience him in a way they hadn’t seen before. Unbeknown to them, Jesus began engaging them in what I like to refer to as a game of hide and seek.
Beginning with the scene at the gravesite, Jesus appeared to Mary Magdalene as an ordinary gardener.
Only after Mary asked him if he knew where the body of Jesus had been taken, did he reveal himself.
But did you ever stop to consider what would have happened if she had not bothered to question the gardener because he was just an ordinary workman?
And what about the disciples that Jesus encountered on the road to Emmaus?
What if they had not invited Jesus to stay with them because he appeared to be just another traveler?
Had they said goodbye when they reached their destination, they would have missed an opportunity to recognize Jesus in the breaking of the bread.
On each occasion, Jesus revealed himself as the risen Lord only after the others engaged him in conversation.
Mary Magdalene was so distraught that she sought help from a gardener. And the disciples who couldn’t stop talking about the events of the past few days shared their dilemma with a stranger.
In both accounts, Jesus revealed himself when they least expected him. Isn’t that often the way he comes to us?
How often when I feel confused, alone or am searching for direction, the Lord speaks to me through a friend, a book or in the quiet of my heart.
And like Jesus in the post resurrection stories, he transforms what seems like a crisis into a moment of grace, but only when he decides the time is right.
It is easy to forget that God is everywhere and that he comes to us within the context of ordinary human encounters.
And like the early disciples, we often fail to recognize him. This is why their stories are also our stories.
When we reflect on our lives, we can often point to times when we realize that the reason we were able to survive this or that crisis, disappointment or challenge is because Jesus had been there all along.
Like Mary Magdalene and the disciples, we might not have felt his presence or recognized his face, but he was there.
And sooner or later if we take the time to consider subtle ways he has broken into our lives, our hearts overflow with wonder and gratitude.
But since Jesus rarely reveals himself in the way we expect to find him, we are called to trust that at just the right moment when our hearts are ready, he will appear and we will know that God is in our midst.
As a Master of Disguise, Jesus may reveal himself dressed as a street person who blesses us for a donation, as a sunset so radiant that it takes our breath away or in the words of encouragement from a friend just when we are most in need of them.
Jesus may come to us when we are driving a family member to and from the doctor’s office, in the melody of a song bird that awakens us to a new day, or as an unexpected emergency that seemingly spoils our well thought out plans.
We never know when or where Jesus will reveal himself, and often we only recognize him in retrospect.
Like the poem about the footprints in the sand, Jesus carries us when we don’t have the strength to take the next step on our own.
He comes disguised so as not to impede our free will because Jesus never forces himself upon us.
He is neither an appendage to life nor a magician who we can call upon to make our struggles disappear.
He is an integral part of every moment, and our role as disciples is to discover him in the here and now so that we can make his presence known to others.
Note that in the post resurrection stories, there are no accounts of Jesus performing miracles for others, because he wanted his followers to understand that he is the miracle.
He is the reason we are called to trust that he is with us, hiding in plain sight, helping us to see life through the eyes of faith.
His patient presence prepares us so that we can do our part to engage him in our lives.
We need to be vigilant and not simply take things at face value.
If we really believe that the Kingdom of God is in our midst, then we will see beyond the disguise and recognize the Master in our post resurrection story.
When Jesus was on earth, he told us that the Kingdom of God is at hand, but he also told us that it is coming . . and so it is.
The resurrection story was not a once and done event but is ongoing.
We are reminded of this with every sunrise and in the cry of every newborn baby and most especially in the lives of ordinary people who recognize Jesus not only in the breaking of the bread, but in the breaking and transforming of their heart.
April 10, 2017
From Passover to Easter
This year the feast of Passover begins…
…on Monday of Holy Week.
It stands not only as a poignant reminder that our faith is rooted in the Jewish tradition, but that Jesus the Paschal Lamb brought to fruition the message of Moses that God would free his people.
The Israelites were instructed to smear the blood of the lamb over the portal of their doors as they prepared to eat that first Passover meal.
The blood was to serve as a sign for the angel of death to pass over their household and spare their sons, unlike the first born sons of the Egyptians.
It was the event that marked the beginning of the Israelites’ journey from exile to freedom that continues to be memorialized to this day.
The Book of Exodus tells us that when Pharaoh at last freed the Jews, they left the land where they had been enslaved for 400 years singing for joy.
But their joy was short-lived. It didn’t take long for the grumbling to set in.
Fear and anxiety led them to place their trust in a golden calf and as a result they wandered for 40 years in a desert that could have been crossed in less than two weeks.
The story of the Israelites of old is a pithy story that reflects the journey from exile to return that is part of the spiritual life.
The human tendency to make ourselves a god is as old as the story of Adam and Eve and continues to be our story. We see shades of this throughout human history, but nowhere is it played out more dramatically than during the Holy Week liturgies.
On Palm Sunday we remember the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem.
The irony that the man who was hailed King of the Jews would enter the city riding on the colt of an ass bears witness to the paradoxical nature of the events that were about to unfold within the coming days.
In fact it took less than five days for cries of “Hosanna, Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” to be drowned in a sea of cries to “Crucify him, crucify him,” thereby setting into motion the death of the Son of God.
During his last discourse, Jesus tried to prepare his followers for the events that were about to take place, but they seemingly fell on deaf ears.
And yet, we can hardly blame them. After all Jesus spoke in veiled language and only after the coming of the Spirit did his followers begin to understand that “Jesus did not deem equality with God something to be grasped. Instead he emptied himself and took the form of a slave.”
During the holiest week in the Church’s calendar, Christians around the world reflect on the image of Jesus, the God man who took upon himself the sins of humankind.
Only God who created us in his own image and likeness could remedy the death that we brought upon ourselves.
And so it happened that the Father sent his Son into the world to die for people who “know not what they do.”
The words of forgiveness that Jesus uttered from the cross are not only an injunction that we must follow his willingness to forgive, but they serve as an invitation for us to open our minds to the horror of sin so that we will come to know and repent for our role in the events that took place more than 2,000 years ago.
It is impossible for us to fully comprehend the depth of love that is contained in the death of the Lord and so it should come as no surprise that as we move through Holy Week, the events pose more questions than answers.
When Jews celebrate the Passover meal, the youngest child voices the question: “Father, why is this night different from every other night?”
The question is followed by a retelling of the story of the exodus of the Jews from Egypt.
As Christians who stand at the precipice of Holy Week, we might pose a similar question. “Why is this week different from every other week?”
In response to the question, the Church retells the story of our exodus from death to life through the sacred liturgies of the Triduum.
We follow Jesus as he passes from his triumphant entry into Jerusalem to his shameful exodus from that same city on Good Friday. It stands not only as an indictment against earthly glory, but as an invitation to carry the crosses of life with the same silent dignity with which Jesus carried his.
We need the events of Holy Week to be played out because like the Israelites who lost sight of the joy they experienced when they left Egypt, we often lose sight of the magnitude of the miracle that takes place when bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Jesus.
We need the events of Jesus’ death and resurrection to be played out every year so that we will never forget why our Passover is unlike any other Passover, our exodus unlike any other exodus.
And because it is unlike any other.
During every Eucharist we remember and celebrate that God loved us to his death, is with us here and will accompany us when we finally pass from this life to the new life that awaits us in the next.
March 27, 2017
My Lenten Christmas Cactus
I am sitting here at my desk…
…staring at the Christmas cactus on my prayer table which I bought two weeks into Advent. At the time it was covered with buds and I had expected it to be in full bloom by the time Christmas arrived, but that was not to be.
Day after day I stood by helplessly as I witnessed every bud on the plant wither and fall to the ground. I thought I had purchased a dud. However, rather than throw it out, I repotted it and continued to nurture it, making sure it was placed by a window that provided direct sunlight.
The result was that by Ash Wednesday, tiny buds began appearing at the end of each leaf. Throughout Lent, the buds have been growing larger and larger and from the way it looks now, my Christmas cactus should be in full bloom by Easter. The fact that the flowers are lily white makes everything about it point to the resurrection story.
As I view my plant in light of its history, it serves as a reminder that life doesn’t always turn out the way we expect it will. Parents are known to bury their children, a young man with a promising future is diagnosed with a life threatening or chronic illness, a faithful employee is passed over for a promotion, and couples who began life filled with hope end up divorcing.
As much as we hate to admit it, suffering is part of life, but when we view it through the lenses of faith, the cross never has the final word. The problem is that when we are in the throes of disappointment, all we notice are the buds that are withering and dying in the very place where we expected flowers to bloom.
This might explain why after Jesus told his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem to suffer and die three times, they still clung to the illusion that he and they would be heading for glory.
The fact is: Jesus was and so were they, but not in the way that they had expected. The disciples did not understand that the cross must precede Jesus’ glory, and because they failed to understand this simple truth, they ran away when the storm clouds gathered.
St. Paul called the cross a folly for Greeks and a stumbling blocks for Jews, but we who profess to be Christians should have a different understanding. In theory, I suspect most of us do. But the real test comes when the cross intersects our lives, hijacks our well thought out plans and seemingly throws us a curve ball.
And this is where my Christmas cactus offers a lesson —benign though it may be. Had I thrown it out after it looked as if it was a dud, I would never have experienced the wonder of seeing it bloom out of season. Life, like the cactus that disappointed during Christmas, needs to be nurtured, even in and especially during its darkest hours.
Still, letting go of preconceived notions and expectations is never easy. When everything we thought would happen gets uprooted, it often seems unfair and makes no sense. At such times we need another perspective, not so different from what my little cactus experienced when I transplanted it into a larger container.
While I was uprooting it from the pot that it came in, I wasn’t sure if it could withstand the trauma. But over time I realized that it only needed more time and room to grow. The roots were being stifled, but once they were placed in a new environment, the roots could expand and become the plant it was meant to be all along. Albeit, according to a different timetable.
Locating it to a place where it experienced direct sunlight several hours every day made a huge difference. And so it is with us. When we place ourselves in the direct light of the Son, we find reassurance even during the bleakest of times.
Jesus told us that if we have faith, we can move mountains. When I reflected on these words, I would often wonder why the mountains in my life did not move. Then one day I realized that it may not be my faith that is lacking as much as my sight. When I fail to look at life through a Kingdom perspective, I become short sighted. Perhaps this is why the Gospels are replete with stories of Jesus curing the blind. Like Bartemeus who cried out, “Lord that I may see,” we need to make sure we are standing in the light of Christ. Then and only then will our faith bloom like a cactus in the desert or like my Christmas cactus during Lent.
It is said that into every life a little rain must fall, but sometimes and for some people, rain seems to come in the form of a torrential downpour that washes away hopes and dreams that had beckoned at an earlier time. But when we stand at the foot of the cross, we need to understand that Easter is just around the corner, and we can only get there by means of the crucifixion.
My Christmas cactus has been preparing for Easter throughout the season of Lent. Unbeknown to me, and unseen by the human eye, that which appeared dead has not only come back to life but promises to be quite glorious in another couple of weeks. Therefore, as we continue our Lenten journey may we hold fast to the glory of what is to come, so that we too will bloom on that glorious day.
March 13, 2017
Let it go
We gathered in Florida for the weekend—three generations of the Hughes girls.
The occasion was granddaughter Callie’s Confirmation.
It was a full weekend where cousins who don’t get to see each other on a regular basis had a chance to play together and, as eventually happens, sing.
Returning from my morning walk, I heard strains from the Disney movie “Frozen” greeting me before I even reached the front door.
Anyone familiar with the movie will recognize the familiar lyrics “Let it go, let it go” from the song with the same title.
Over the months, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve watched the movie with our two-year-old granddaughter, but I was somewhat surprised to hear teenagers opining the same lyrics.
For those who haven’t seen the movie, Queen Elsa sings the song when at last she seeks refuge in a self-perpetuated land of ice and snow releasing the full weight of her magical powers that turns everything she touches to ice.
After years of having to restrain her powers by avoiding contact with others, she escapes and finally is able to “Let it go.”
When Elsa’s sister Anna eventually finds her, she is accidently turned to ice, and the only thing that can save her is a kiss from someone who truly loves her.
But unlike most fairytales, the kiss comes not from Prince Charming, but from her sister Elsa.
It is the love between the two sisters that melts Anna and true to Disney style, they all live happily ever after.
It should come as no surprise that the story and the music have captured the hearts of little and not so little girls around the globe.
The power of love to melt hearts is the theme of the movie. And while the initial power of turning everything to ice was viewed as a curse, the final scene shows the entire town skating on an ice rink that Elsa created. Alas, Queen Elsa is able to contain her power and use it for good.
I find there are comparisons that can be drawn with real life. It reminds me that it is often fear that forces us to hold in the gifts we have been given.
Rather than allowing love to transform our thinking, we focus on the negative and in the process we either stifle what has been given to transform the world or we unleash the power by condemning others.
In the movie, love between the sisters conveys a kind of innocence, a selfless unknowing that moves Queen Elsa to embrace her sister, not knowing that the embrace would bring her little sister back to life.
Motivated simply by love, Elsa reached out to her sister in her wounded condition and both are transformed in the process.
It is the story of reconciliation, especially reconciliation between family members.
When St. Mother Teresa was asked how to bring peace to the world, she told those who posed the question “Go home and love your families.”
Some might call her response overly simplistic, but it conveys the understanding that peace begins with each person and with members of their family.
It poses the obvious question: how can we claim to love our neighbor if we cannot love our brothers and sisters, parents and extended family members?
During the presidential campaign, I lost count of the number of people who told me that their adult children refused to speak to one another because of divergent political views. It is but one example of how easily pride can become an obstacle to relationships.
When the need to be right or perhaps self-righteous replaces the commandment to love, we are like the elder brother in the Parable of the Prodigal Son who refused to go into the banquet hall to celebrate his brother’s return.
No one wants to be left on the outside of the banquet hall, and yet old wounds and injuries often prevent family members from asking and granting forgiveness.
Refusing to let go of all that keeps them from being the best version of themselves, keeps them on the outside looking in.
No difference should ever be more important than the people with whom we disagree, which is why Jesus said, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you.”
As I watched our granddaughters with microphones in hand, and a little help from the karaoke machine, belt out the words to Disney tunes, I thought how easily cousins who are separated by miles can enjoy the pleasure of one another’s company with no memory of past squabbles.
No wonder Jesus told adults that unless we become like little children, we cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven.
The season of Lent is traditionally a time for reconciliation, but before we go to the Sacrament, we might also reflect on the words of Jesus who said, “If you bring your gift to the altar, and remember that your brother has anything against you, go reconcile and then bring your gift.”
More than platitudes, these are words we have been given for us to live by. They were given to set us free.
And so as we journey towards Holy Week, we do well to reflect on the areas in our life that keep us in bondage to sin, and ask to be forgiven.
Then when we go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, with the help of God’s grace, we too can experience the peace that comes when we “Let it go.”
February 27, 2017
Arise from Your Slumber
As we stand at the threshold…
…of another Lenten season, it helps to consider Lent within the context of the liturgical calendar.
For several weeks we have been journeying in Ordinary Time.
Unfortunately, the very word ordinary can seem routine, ho-hum, even boring.
It certainly lacks the luster of other seasons, and as products – or should I say victims – of a culture that seems to require constant stimulation, the temptation to grow complacent during Ordinary Time can take hold.
Therefore, if you have settled in a bit too comfortably, perhaps even found yourself stifling a yawn or two, then take heart because we are about to be aroused from our slumber.
The season of Lent is upon us and it truly is a time of re-awakening.
Even nature seems to herald the sound of new life. Birds are busy building nests, buds are sprouting on trees that only last week were dormant, and lawns are being transformed from drab to green.
All around us, nature’s symphony is preparing for its annual crescendo of color.
So with all this new life around us, how do we explain the annual Ash Wednesday ritual?
Amid signs of re-birth, Christians around the world will once again step forward to receive on their forehead a reminder they will return to dust.
The fact is Lent is a bit like waking up in the middle of a love story. Somewhere between the Epiphany and Lent Jesus grew to manhood.
In recent weeks Liturgical readings took us from Jesus’ Baptism to his public ministry at near lightning speed amid stories of miraculous healings that became weekly events.
However, in the event that we were less than attentive, the Church takes us back to where it all began, which was with Jesus’ entry into the desert where he faced temptation following his baptism.
Once again we are reminded of the hallmarks of Lent. And although the Church places prayer, fasting and almsgiving on center stage, Jesus reminds us that we are to practice them in secret.
No one likes a boastful person, and it seems neither does God.
Nor are we being asked to simply multiply the number of prayers we say. Not only does Jesus tell us we are to go to our inner room and close the door when we pray, but we are not to ramble on as if it was quantity rather than the quality of our prayer that matters.
St. John Damascene defined prayer as “offering our heart to God.” Now it seems to me that when we offer our heart to God, the first thing we notice is that our heart is rather tainted.
Those thoughtless, unkind words that have a way of making their way to our lips are all of a sudden not so inconsequential.
In fact they reawaken in us the need to fast, not so much from food and drink, but from thoughts, words, and actions that hurt the Body of Christ.
The story is told of a spiritual seeker who told a desert father that when he was tempted to speak ill of another, he bit his tongue until it bled.
To which the desert father responded that only when blood came before he bit his tongue can he know that he has mastered the sin.
The moral of the story, of course, is that sometimes saying nothing is more painful and requires greater self-discipline than being self-righteous or having the last word when opinions differ.
Fasting and acts of self-mortification should be seen as a means and not as an end in themselves.
There is nothing spiritually efficacious about skipping a meal or giving up sweets. Dieters do the same.
However, when we choose to fast as a way to enter into the suffering of others, we become one with the poor and the sick, refugees, victims of war and many more.
Fasting also reminds us of our own emptiness, which can only be filled by God.
When Jesus was tempted in the desert, he admonished Satan by proclaiming, “man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”
Scripture is manna for the soul and in order to be faithful in good times and in bad, we need food for the journey.
It does little good to fast unless we have first feasted on the Word of God.
We might begin by reflecting on the words of Psalm 81: “I am the Lord your God. . . Open wide your mouth and I will fill it. . . I would feed you with finest wheat, and with honey from the rock I would satisfy you.” When we have been filled by the Lord, our heart overflows with gratitude.
When we partake of the bread from heaven and drink from the cup of his blood, the fruits of that heavenly banquet naturally spill over into our daily life.
It should follow then that we will be a bit kinder and more inclined to help others, whose needs we begin to see as our own.
These forty days of Lent invite us to journey with Jesus towards the climax of the greatest love story ever told.
With so much to ponder and pray over, we need to be awake.
Therefore, let us arise from our slumber and eagerly greet the season of Lent, for the day of our salvation is at hand.
February 13, 2017
Happy St. Valentine’s Day
Depending on a person’s age…
…and personal circumstances, Valentine’s Day means different things to different people.
And it can trigger a plethora of responses.
For elementary school children it means exchanging valentines with classmates, maybe even a small party with cupcakes.
If you happen to be a teenager or young adult without a date, February 14 looms overhead like a storm cloud threatening to ruin your life, especially if you have to listen to friends and co-workers gush with feigned surprise when flowers arrive.
Shouldn’t there be a law against such deliveries at work or in school?
On the other hand, jewelers and candy makers welcome the day, which they view through lenses of green, especially when husbands and soon-to-be-husbands scramble to make up for missteps during the past year.
And then there is the mother to whom often falls the task of soothing hearts aching with disappointment in the absence of a boyfriend, perhaps even hiding her own disappointment because her husband forgot that it was Valentine’s Day. Knowing the way to a child’’s and a man’s heart is through their stomach, for Mom Valentine’s Day means planning and preparing a special meal or dessert as her way of letting her family know they will always have her heart.
Okay, so I’m a little biased towards moms, but as the mother of five children, I can speak from experience.
Sorry, Mike, but even the best husbands forget Valentine’s Day every now and then.
Actually, heartaches may actually be more in keeping with Valentine’s Day than we realize. A perfect example is Cupid who aims arrows, not flowers at hearts he is targeting.
And then, of course, there is St. Valentine, a priest who was beheaded because he was marrying two Christians according to the Christian rite in direct violation of Roman law.
While Valentine’s Day can be a day to celebrate love, we can never forget that sooner or later real love involves pain.
It is what distinguishes love from romance, which is all about feeling good.
Authentic love requires sacrifice and commitment in good times and in bad. Given the culture of divorce in our country, we need reminders like this more than we need a box of candy.
This makes Valentine’s Day the perfect day to reflect on John 3:16– “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son.”
And so I ask: Can anyone look at a crucifix and not understand what true love entails?
The Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary have a special place in Catholic tradition and bear thoughtful reflection on this occasion as well.
The Heart of Jesus is always pictured inflamed with love.
Often it is encircled by a crown of thorns, representative of the ignominy Jesus suffered during his passion.
The piercing of Jesus’ heart is a physical manifestation of the piercing of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, who is pictured with a sword passing through her heart.
Prophesied by Simeon when the infant Jesus was presented in the temple, her heart felt her son’s pain as she knelt at the foot of the cross.
For Catholics, the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary are emblematic of love, and have inspired devotion through the years.
Some might ask that if this is what real love feels like, why would anyone want it?
It’s a natural response. But when we look at love through the lenses of faith, we understand that because God loved us enough to offer up his only Son. The price of our salvation has already been paid.
We will never have to endure what Jesus did. Yes, suffering will always be part of life, and countless martyrs like St. Valentine have been called to heroic witness.
However, for most Christians, love takes the form of everyday acts of kindness.
It might mean exchanging tickets to a football game for a night at the symphony, filling the car with gas on a cold blustery evening so your spouse won’t have to do it in the morning. It might be taking a turn sitting with a sick child so your spouse can catch a few hours of sleep.
When compared with what some have suffered, such examples seem paltry, and yet those small acts of kindness, when added up, are the crown jewels of authentic love.
As simple as such acts seem, the human tendency to put ourselves and our comfort first will always tempt us to look the other way, missing opportunities to reach out and make God’s love real.
I recently read that Thomas Aquinas defined sloth as sadness about doing a task that is difficult.
That definition alone could be food for a whole other column. But it also makes me wonder how often I take the easy way out rather than do an act of kindness that could lift the spirit of another as well as my own.
Or the times when I am simply oblivious to the needs of others.
In retrospect, Valentine’s Day may not be such a bad idea after all.
It reminds us that acts of kindness and love come in many ways.
A box of candy, a paper heart or an invitation to share a meal can remind others that they are loved, especially when the act is done with love for the sake of Love, who died so we might live.
January 30, 2017
United We Stand
As I write this column I am watching…
…the protests in Washington, D.C. following the inauguration ceremony of President Donald J. Trump.
While the major mood of the inauguration was celebratory during the transfer of power, no one can discount the divisive political rhetoric that has been going on for years.
Perpetrated by people on both sides of the aisle, the division was exacerbated by the 50-plus Congressional leaders who boycotted the ceremony.
Despite this as a backdrop, I remain hopeful, particularly as I reflect on the Ecumenical Prayer Service that was held recently at St. Gregory the Great Church in Virginia Beach marking the 50th Anniversary of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Speakers represented four Christian traditions.
St. Gregory the Great Church in Virginia Beach hosted a prayer service entitled “Unity in Diversity” Jan. 19 to mark the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. St. Gregory’s had invited ministers from three other Christian denominations in Virginia Beach to speak on various topics. Parishioners from various Christian denominations in the Tidewater area attended and joined in prayer and song in celebration of the event which was observed throughout the United States. From left are Father John Manuel, of St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church; Rev. Dr. Dale Coulter, Church of God and associate dean of the School of Divinity at Regent University; Deacon Darrell Wentworth of St. Gregory the Great, and Rev. Dr. Mark Cartledge, ordained a priest of the Church of England and faculty member of Regent University. A reception with fellowship followed the prayer service.
Rev. John Manuel, a priest from the Greek Orthodox Church, talked about the importance of focusing on the truths which Christians share in common.
Rev. Mark Cartledge, from the Church of England, whose talk was entitled “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,” traced the high and low points of the years following the Reformation, emphasizing how we have at last learned to work together rather than attack one another.
Rev. Dr. Dale Coulter, Pentecostal Minister of the Church of God, shared how talking about his beliefs with people of other faith traditions helps him better understand his own faith identity.
Deacon Darrell Wentworth from St. Gregory the Great Church talked about how a cloud of witnesses are needed to model Christian values to a secular world, especially when it comes to marriage and family life.
He reminded us that when Christians stand together their voice is heard and we can affect change within our culture.
At the closing of the prayer service, all four clergymen blessed those who had gathered to pray for and in support of Christian unity.
The prayer service at St. Gregory the Great was the first of what hopefully will be an annual tradition, but lest we become too self-congratulatory, I have to remind myself that the Protestant Reformation took place over 500 years ago, not to mention the Great Schism between the Churches of the East and West which dates back to the twelfth century.
For so many centuries, religion divided Christians, but thankfully the Second Vatican Council put much of that to rest. With the help of the Holy Spirit we have been able to set aside our pride and reach across aisles that have divided the people of God for far too many centuries.
The document, Nostra Aetate which came out of the Second Vatican Council, not only opened minds, but doors as well.
Until then, Catholics who attended weddings or funerals of family members when held in other Christian traditions were told they had sinned. How many tears were shed over such rulings we will never know.
But the Holy Spirit always has the last word and so we are finally able to call fellow Christians our brothers and sisters in Christ.
Admittedly, progress has been slow. We have been at it for 50 years now, but we are finally talking with one another, praying together and focusing on common beliefs.
More importantly, we have stopped demonizing one another in the name of religion.
Building bridges is never easy because it requires focusing on the good we see in the other rather than the speck in their eye.
But most importantly it requires humility, a virtue that many saints have claimed is the first rung on the ladder to holiness, but the hardest to live.
We have only to look at our world today with all the wars and conflicts to understand how difficult it is to reconcile differences. This is the reason we come together to pray.
We know we cannot do it alone and only with the help of God’s grace can healings of such magnitude take place.
While we could easily give into despair, committed people and events like the one last evening at St. Gregory’s remind us that it is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.
One of these people is Pope Francis.
The theme for the 50th anniversary of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity was “Christ’s love compels us,” taken from his encyclical “Joy of the Gospel” in which he quotes St. Paul:
For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again. (2 Cor. 5; 14-15)
We are blessed in this country to enjoy religious freedom. Prayer is part of every inaugural ceremony, with people from several Christian denominations and a Jewish Rabbi offering prayers for our country and for the newly elected leaders.
Not all nations are so fortunate. In fact, as was mentioned last evening, more Christians have been persecuted for their faith in this century than ever before, including during the earliest years of Christianity.
We remain one nation under God, and as people of faith we need to bear witness to our belief, and we do that best when we stand united.
This does not mean that we ignore differences, but that we take seriously the mission to work for unity that one day we may realize Jesus’ words “that all may be one.”
January 16, 2017
While shopping for storage containers…
…with one of our daughters, I learned that January was organization month.
That might explain the overabundance of plastic bins of every size and shape filling the aisles in big box stores after Christmas.
And while the notion of organizing closets, pantries and drawers may simply be one more marketing ploy by the retail industry, it does provide an incentive to clean closets, pare down and simplify, which is especially appealing after the holidays when over-abundance seems to be the operative word.
The fact is most of us could do with a whole lot less. I am reminded of this every year when I take down the Christmas decorations.
As much as I enjoy seeing our home aglow with tree lights, holly and wreaths, I find that when the decorations come down and are neatly tucked away for another year, the entire space seems cleaner and more orderly, helping me to appreciate once again that less can be more.
Whenever I think about less being more, I am reminded of St. Francis of Assisi. When one of his friars was making the case for the friars to own a Bible, St. Francis countered with the argument that if they have a Bible, they will need a table or some place to put it.
If they wanted to read at night, they would need a candle, which means they would have to own a candlestick.
And if the candlestick was valuable, someone might try to steal it and then they would have to defend it and they would no longer be free to be simple friars.
The saint’s almost comical approach to poverty may seem extreme, and obviously through the centuries Franciscans have made adjustments to the saint’s rigorous approach to the vow of poverty.
However, one can hardly deny the tendency that St. Francis was trying to address, which is that owning one thing leads to another and another and another.
If you’ve ever replaced an old piece of furniture with a new one, you probably noticed that everything around it all of a sudden seems dated and before you know it you are planning your next purchase.
If home decorating is not your Achilles heel you might consider whether buying a new dress automatically leads to “needing” a new pair of shoes.
The other day I watched a fellow shopper admire a vase and as she did so she turned to me and said, “I need this like a hole in my head.” Then she smiled, said “Oh well” and proceeded to put the vase into her cart.
But women aren’t the only ones who fall prey to consumerism. Consider the big screen TV that has become a must have when guys gather to watch football.
At one time or another, I suspect we have all rationalized purchasing things that we really don’t need, which is why reminders about embracing a more simple life can be helpful.
In a pamphlet entitled “Embracing Simplicity,” Donna Schafer suggests that when we are tempted to buy more and more, we should try countering the impulse by saying “I need less” and “I have plenty.”
To that I would recommend adding a prayer of thanksgiving for what we have and consider what we can do for those who truly are needy.
That may be incentive enough for some to get to work cleaning closets, donating what is no longer needed or worn and then standing back and admiring the neat and tidy space that has just been created.
It’s amazing how such a small act can generate genuine feelings of satisfaction.
When we deliberately choose simplicity we are turning up the volume on our inner voice, the one that re-orders our priorities.
Rather than seeking enjoyment in material things, we become more sensitive to the quiet beauty that surrounds us.
In the absence of external clutter our mind is able to breathe and appreciate little things like quiet moments, curling up with a good book or watching a squirrel scamper up a tree.
Rather than having the external world control us, simplicity allows us to be guided by our inner voice and in so doing we are able to better manage our lives and our time accordingly.
Embracing simplicity is not just about simplifying a physical space, but about simplifying schedules to make time for prayer.
It may require re-organizing our day, but if we are sincere we will find a time, commit to it and allow it to become a habit.
A wise spiritual guide once said “If you are too busy to pray, you are too busy,” which is another way of inviting busy people to re-evaluate priorities.
If our relationship with God is important, we will make prayer a priority.
A dedicated space can help. It can be as small as a quiet corner with a chair and a table.
On the table you might place a Bible, perhaps a religious picture and a candle to set the stage for your daily encounter with God.
It sounds simple and it is. The difficult part is remaining faithful to the practice.
But for those who do, that corner and that time of day will become a favorite space, and a precious time, from which every other moment and activity can and will flow.
And when that happens embracing simplicity becomes as natural as breathing the air around us.
January 2, 2017
The Gift of the Magi
Who were the Magi?
No Christmas creche would be complete without figures of the three kings, and yet Scripture suggests that Jesus could have been several months, even a year old by the time they arrived.
Although their visitation is recorded only in the Gospel of Matthew, they are part of the infancy narrative and with good reason.
The biblical account of the adoration by the Magi represents three important theological truths: (1) Jesus was the promised Messiah, (2) His kingdom was a threat to the reigning king, who was Herod and (3) His coming was a source of joy and a light to the nations.
Just how the three men happened to set out on their journey is less clear. In the absence of precise information, questions and legends abound.
Who were they?
What was their country of origin and why were they looking to the heavens for a sign?
Glimpses to the answers to some of these questions are offered by historians and theologians who view the visitation of the Magi within a historical context and through a wider cultural lens than is offered by the traditional nativity scene.
The fact that these travelers have been referred to as Magi leads some to believe that they came from the Persia, since the word magi in the Persian language is the equivalent of philosophers.
This also explains why they are referred to as wise men in some translations.
The New American Bible calls them astrologers and while their country or countries of origin is unknown, some scholars speculate they may have come from Babylon since many in Babylon were familiar with the Hebrew Scriptures due to the years the Jews were in exile during the Babylonian captivity.
One legend has it that a group of learned men met regularly to discuss the Hebrew Scriptures and the foretelling of the coming of the King of Judah. According to this golden legend, during one such gathering while looking up at the heavens, the men saw a star in the shape of a child. This was the impetus for their journey.
Others believe they came from Iraq or Turkey, which would mean they traveled between 800 and 900 miles to see the King of the Jews.
The conjecture that one was from Africa didn’t come about until centuries later when one of the men was depicted by an artist as having black skin. This gave rise to the notion that each came from a different land and somewhere met along the way as their paths and quest converged.
Another theory offered is that they represent the three sons of Noah who were dispersed after the flood.
However, less important than from where they came is the faith, hope and humility that compelled these men of considerable stature to embark on a journey into the unknown to worship and pay tribute to a newborn babe in a foreign land.
As we look at our world today, the lessons that we can take from this Scripture account are more relevant than ever.
We are all wayfarers on the journey who are seeking God, not only in the Christmas manger but in the people in our lives, and yes, even in the stranger and in people who live in foreign lands.
The journey of the Magi represents nations outside the chosen people of Israel and speaks volumes to us about the inclusivity of the Kingdom of God.
The Magi fell on their knees because they recognized the Christ which begs the question: would they recognize the Christ in me?
Whether the Magi came from Babylon, Iran or Africa is irrelevant.
Inhabitants from these countries were considered pagans and unbelievers by the Jewish people, and yet it was these outsiders who recognized the arrival of the promised one, while the chosen people remained in darkness.
The commemoration of the visitation of the Magi is named the Feast of the Epiphany, which means gift.
But for too long and for too many, the focus of the word gift has been on the gold, frankincense and myrrh that the wise men presented to the Christ child.
However, the real gift that we celebrate on this feast is the gift that the Christ Child is to people of every nation, color and creed.
The Feast of the Epiphany is anathema to the spirit of nationalism that seems to be gripping our country.
It cries out against building walls and turning a blind eye to the plight of innocent victims of war, many of them children.
Pictures of three- and four-year-old children that go viral in minutes must do more than evoke feelings of pity. Unless tears shed for them are supported by real action, we are no different from Jesus’ neighbors, good Jews who did not recognize the long awaited King in their midst because he was poor, homeless, imprisoned by hatred and ignorance and rejected by the powerful.
As the Christmas season draws to a close, let us take time to reflect on the Christ in our communities and in the faces we come to know only through the media.
Let us take ownership of the ways we are called to be a gift to them so that like the Magi of old, they will recognize the Christ who said: “I was hungry and you gave me to eat, homeless and you welcomed me. . .”
Well, we know the rest, but it is not enough to know the words. And while no one person can do everything, we can all do something because it is in doing that we will become a light to the nations.
December 19, 2016
Pregnant with God
Over the years I’ve facilitated a number…
…of Advent retreats entitled: Pregnant God. While the title seemed perfectly logical to me, more often than not, I encountered quizzical looks when suggesting the title.
Perhaps, it’s because we have been culturally conditioned to view the Incarnation of the Son of God as a historical event rather than an ongoing reality.
When the Holy Spirit came upon Mary and the power of the Most High overshadowed her, the Word of God was conceived in her womb in real time and within the context of history.
But as post-resurrection Christians, we have the privilege of knowing the Incarnation was about more than setting into motion the advent of the promised Messiah.
Therefore, Advent reflections should not be limited to an event that took place more than 2,000 years ago. That was only the beginning of God’s ongoing self-revelation to humankind.
When Mary’s womb received the divine seed, it was a miraculous event, but the miracle is continuous.
God’s seed is everywhere; the earth is God’s womb; our soul is the garden in which the divine seed is planted.
The miracle of the Incarnation never ceases, nor does it stop in Bethlehem. It cannot be fully appreciated apart from the teachings of Jesus nor from the Paschal Mystery.
While visiting the Holy Land, I was surprised by the close proximity of Bethlehem, the place of Jesus’ birth to Jerusalem, the place of His death and resurrection.
But even more surreal was the barbed wire fence positioned on top of the wall that surrounded Bethlehem bearing the words “Peace on earth.”
Before approaching the city of Bethlehem, we were required to transfer from an Israeli bus to an Arab-owned vehicle as soldiers armed with automatic rifles looked on. And yet, we believe in peace because the Incarnation is not merely a historical event bound by time or space.
Christians, whose souls have been impregnated with the seed of God, walk by faith. We are a light to the world because Jesus told us we were.
This is what it means to be pregnant with God. When we were baptized, the seed of God was planted in our soul.
At that moment, the Holy Spirit came upon us, the power of the Most High overshadowed us and we were commissioned to bear fruit in the world because the seeds of faith, hope and charity were implanted in our soul.
To the human eye, they were invisible. It appeared as though nothing had changed, especially if we were baptized as infants.
But over time, nourished by the sacraments, and watered by prayer and study, and cultivated by our sisters and brothers in Christ, we embrace the universal call of Christians to be a light in the darkness.
This is our mission, not so different from that of Mary who was called to bring Christ into the world.
Our birthing of Christ is not limited in time or space to the town of Bethlehem. It occurs in our family, our neighborhood, the work place, and in the community where we serve as volunteers and agents of change.
Unlike modern Bethlehem that is surrounded by a concrete wall and barbed wire fence, our world is as open and as large as we allow it to be.
In Luke’s Gospel we read that following the angel’s announcement to Mary, she hurried to the hill country of Jerusalem to aid Elizabeth during the final months of her pregnancy.
Mary’s response to the information was to go forth. And so we are called to respond in a similar manner.
To be pregnant with God means to be filled with God. So how does God fill us?
Simply put, God fills us by expanding our hearts, and when our hearts expand so does our world. This is what Pope Francis meant when he said that building walls is unChristian.
Walls are products of fear, but Scripture tells us over and over “Be not afraid” and Jesus instructed his followers not to fear those who can harm the body but those who can harm the soul.
As pilgrims on the journey, we embrace our calling by allowing God to fill us and give us larger and larger hearts with which to carry his love and light into the world.
This is the real meaning of being pregnant with God. This is the mission to which we have been called.
It is the journey to Bethlehem, the City of Bread that stands in the shadow of the City of Crucifixion because we cannot separate the cross from the crib, as difficult as this may seem.
G. K. Chesterton wrote: “The truth is that the Christian life has largely been found difficult and left untried. And because of that we’ve never actually experienced the fullness of the Christian ideal.”
Chesterton goes on to explain that if we look at the saints, we know that some have fulfilled this mission.
But this is not a mission for only a few privileged souls. We are all called to be saints.
It is neither a right nor a privilege, but a responsibility that accompanies the Sacrament of Baptism to which every Christian has been called.
Therefore, we can rightfully say: we are pregnant with God; our mission is to give birth to the Incarnate Son of God and we trust that one day peace will reign not only in our hearts, but throughout the world.
Come Lord Jesus, Come!
December 5, 2016
Our Mother’s Face
Several decades ago Amy Grant recorded a song…
…entitled, “You Have Your Father’s Eyes.” While I no longer remember the words to the song or even the melody, the title, which provides much food for thought, has stayed with me.
It seems to me that to have our Father’s eyes is to be able to look at the world around us and see people and events through the eyes of God. To some it might seem like the height of presumption, especially when Scripture reminds us that God does not see as man sees. And yet the disparity between God’s way of seeing and our limited vision should not deter us. In fact it should serve as a clarion call for Christians who, through the Sacrament of Baptism have been baptized into the family of God.
However, families are about more than just the father. Therefore, as we journey through Advent and celebrate the feast of the Immaculate Conception, it seems only natural to ponder the role of Mary within the dynamics of this family unit.
If part of our spiritual DNA involves having our Father’s eyes, clouded though our vision may be, what is it that we have inherited from our mother? As we grapple with such musings, the words of Pope St. John Paul II might shed light on our understanding of the human-divine partnership that began with Mary’s fiat.
In his apostolic letter, Rosarium Virginis Mariae, the saint wrote: “In a unique way the face of the Son belongs to Mary. It was in her womb that Christ was formed, received from her a human resemblance, which points to an even greater spiritual closeness.”
When Mary consented to be the Mother of God, her human DNA was united with the divine seed. At the moment when the Word of God was made flesh in the womb of Mary, Jesus inherited the physical genes of his mother. Just as children bear the resemblance of their parents, we can be assured that Jesus inherited the physical characteristics of his mother.
The relationship between Jesus and Mary was and remains unique, having both a spiritual and a physical bond. And yet as members of God’s family we share in this bond, at least in a spiritual sense. Since we are recipients of our Father’s spiritual heritage and Mary is our spiritual mother, could we not conclude that like Jesus, we have our mother’s face?
This may explain why during Marian apparitions, Mary takes on the physical characteristics of the visionaries to whom she appears. When Mary appeared at Fatima, Lourdes or Knock, she had the appearance of a European woman. Our Lady of Guadalupe appeared in Mexico as a native Indian, Our Lady of Kibeho in Rwanda as an African, and Our Lady of Akita as Japanese.
It seems Mary dons the ethnicity of those to whom she appears because she begins with the obvious. Although she is our spiritual mother, she does not disregard the importance of our physical nature. We are after all physical beings, not angels and so whenever Mary appeared, she came wearing the physical characteristics of those she visited. She spoke the language they would understand. Mary is neither European nor Mexican, African nor Japanese. She is none of them and yet she is all of them. Mary is mother of all people because she is the Mother of God, the one whose body was chosen to house the Son of God, and whose face served as a blueprint for her Son.
As our tainted nature’s solitary boast, Mary’s fiat resounded through the heavens and yet we know so little about her. Among the gospels, only Luke gives an account of the angel’s visit, of Mary’s fiat, the visitation and her Magnificat.
The little we do know about Mary from Scripture amounts to less than the size of a paragraph, and yet her silence speaks volumes about the one who was chosen to give birth to the Son of God.
There was nothing false or duplicitous in Mary. Upon greeting her, the Angel Gabriel declared Mary full of grace. Bishop Robert Morneau wrote that to be full of grace meant that Mary was aware within every fiber of her being what it meant to be loved by God.
Her words, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord” were less about servanthood than about her self-identity which could not exist apart from God. Rooted in this type of self-awareness, Mary was able to surrender her will to the will of God without hesitation or reservation.
And so it was that the Holy Spirit came upon her and the power of the Most High overshadowed her. In that moment that became forever sacred, the Son of God entered the womb of a young girl in the backwater village of Nazareth.
And so it was that unbeknown to all but her, the world turned anew so that we might see the world through our Father’s eyes and experience redemption through the Son whose likeness bore the resemblance of our mother.
With so much to ponder, may we never grow weary of gazing upon the face of the one who was chosen to be the Mother of God and our mother too.
November 21, 2016
Helen Keller once said, “When one door of happiness closes, another opens;
…but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.”
Now that the Year of Mercy has officially ended with the closing of the Jubilee Door at the Vatican on the Feast of Christ the King, her words serve as a timely reminder.
Rather than focusing on the closed Door, we do well to direct our gaze toward the reality that God’s mercy is ongoing. Hopefully, the Door of Mercy that marked the past Jubilee Year has served as a gateway to a deeper understanding and appreciation for the never ending mercy of God.
“His mercy is everlasting” chanted the psalmist, a particularly poignant refrain as we stand at the threshold of the season of Advent and begin a new Liturgical Year.
Hope is once again restored as we await with longing, the celebration of one of the greatest Mysteries of our faith.
During the Advent liturgies, we walk in the footsteps of the Israelites who longed to see the face of God. However, our journey is not a re-enactment, but a remembrance of a time when all the earth was groaning under the burden of sin. We recall that when it seemed the world could no longer bear the pain, God broke into human history and forever changed the face of the world.
And so it is that Christians prepare to receive what has already been given.
During the season of Advent, we ponder, we pray and ask: could there be any greater sign of God’s mercy than his becoming one of us?
It seems only fitting that as the door to the Jubilee Year of Mercy closes, the door to the new liturgical cycle opens reminding us once again, of the never ending cycle of Christ past, Christ present and Christ coming at the end of time.
We prepare for his coming with a spirit of hopeful expectation, confident that the cyclical nature of the journey allows us to celebrate each new beginning with a new way of seeing the world through the eyes of ever-deepening faith. Even when it seems that nothing has changed, we are mindful that we are changing.
Life goes on in an endless sequence of explorations, a condition that T.S. Eliot captured in poetic verse when he wrote:
“We shall not cease from exploration, And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we start And know the place for the first time.”
To arrive where we began may seem as if all our seeking has been in vain, until we take into account all that we have learned along the way.
It speaks to the reality that life is a journey, not a destination and explains why the cyclical nature of the Church’s calendar is an important component of our faith journey.
As one liturgical cycle draws to a close, a new cycle beckons, providing a way for us to mark time, not unlike the mile markers that dot the highways we travel.
As we stand at the threshold of one more liturgical cycle, we look back but we also look to the future.
We might ask: “What has changed in my life during the past year and how will it affect me as I go forward?”
Each new beginning is an opportunity to examine how my relationship with God has changed within the context of those external changes.
So much of life is beyond our control. People come and go, events and circumstances impact our lives in unexpected ways.
All have the potential to form and deform us, but we are not helpless bystanders. We may not be able to control many of the events in our life, but we can control the way we respond to them.
Opportunities for growth are endless. Embedded within the blessings and challenges of life are hidden treasures waiting to be discovered.
And so it is that as one more Advent season beckons, we begin by asking: What was it about last Advent that inspired me and how can I build on it?
What were some of the obstacles that kept me from entering into the spirit of the season?
Was I too caught up in the busyness of doing?
Did I allow sufficient time for prayer, spiritual reading and reflection as a way to prepare for the coming of Christ?
What can I do differently this year and how might I share the spirit of joyful expectation with family and friends?
We may find the answer in the practice of gift-giving since it can tell us a great deal about the value we place on relationships.
We don’t give just any old thing to someone we love. We plan ahead. We imagine what gift would be most pleasing.
We might even begin saving and making sacrifices to buy that special gift.
And so it is with Advent. We have four weeks to think about the gift we will present to Christ on Christmas Day.
This Advent is unlike any other because once again “we are at this place for the first time.”
We will never pass this exact way again. Therefore, as we cross the threshold of yet another Advent season, let us focus on the doors that lead us to the heart of God, whose love and mercy are everlasting.
November 7, 2016
November is a time for remembering.
We began the month by commemorating the lives of those who have gone before us, celebrating the feasts of All Saints and All Souls.
We recall saints we have known who may never be canonized, but who have inspired us on our faith journey, and we honor those whom we know only remotely through our shared membership in the Body of Christ.
However, for many November is a bittersweet time—particularly if someone they love has died during the past year.
To move through life void of the companionship once enjoyed leaves a hole in hearts that at times seems impossible to fill, especially when the holiday season beckons.
Like a pall over the table on Thanksgiving Day, the absence of a family member can trigger tears amid celebrations, but they need not be tears of sorrow if we remember that eulogies should not end at the funeral service.
Telling stories about people who are no longer with us is one way to keep them present, another is to pray for them and pray to them.
People rarely think about praying to family members who have died, but as members of the Body of Christ. Whether they are in the state of ongoing purification or enjoying the fullness of life in God, they remain in communion with us. And while the souls in purgatory, as members of the Church suffering do not pray for themselves, they can intercede for others.
Consider that they are moving towards a perfect union with God, and no longer capable of sinning, which makes them powerful advocates for us.
The belief in purgatory is one of those doctrines that is uniquely Catholic and yet there is a great deal of misunderstanding, even denial surrounding the doctrine of purgatory.
Perhaps it’s because people often think of purgatory as a place rather than a state of being.
But as St. Pope John Paul II pointed out, the notion of an actual place belongs to a temporal concept and purgatory is a spiritual reality.
According to the Catholic Catechism, “Those who find themselves in a condition of being open to God, but still imperfectly, the journey towards full beatitude requires a purification, which the faith of the Church illustrates in the doctrine of ‘Purgatory’” (cf.Catechism of the Catholic Church, n. 1030-1032).
This is why Masses are offered for the dead and why the deceased are remembered during the Prayers of Intercession and at the Eucharistic prayers during every Liturgy.
As Christians, we are a resurrection people. We look forward with a profound sense of hope and anticipation to a life where we will enjoy perfect union with God.
Our life here on earth is a journey towards that fullness, but only God knows the state of souls when they die.
Some we know for certain are with God, and we trust that all those we know and love are either with or on their way to enjoying the perfect union with God that we were created to live.
Reflecting on his wife’s death, C. S. Lewis wrote, “Today’s sorrow is part of tomorrow’s joy.”
His words serve as a reminder that dual, even conflicting, emotions are part of life and so while we mourn the death of those we love, we also celebrate their entrance into new life.
As people of faith we believe the best is yet to come, though not removed from the way we live our life on earth.
Jesus told his disciples that the Kingdom of God was in their midst, but that it was also coming. It is made visible with every act of kindness done in the name of God, but that doesn’t mean we have to verbalize every intention.
God knows the genesis of every act within the secret of our heart and rewards us accordingly. Therefore, we do well to move through life with one eye on the here and now and the other on the hereafter.
The Scriptures help us in this regard.
During the month of November they take on an “end times” theme, reminding us to set our sights on higher things. The psalmist laments, “The span of our life is seventy years, or if we are strong, eighty; yet at best it is toil and sorrow, over in a moment, and then we are gone.”
Even nature takes on a somber tone as days grow short and leaves fall gently to the ground. However, November is also a time to remember good things that have come our way.
As family and friends gather around the table on Thanksgiving Day, we give thanks for blessings received; for the joys and yes, even the sorrows, for they too are part of the journey that leads to our heavenly home.
Life indeed is a precious bouquet of both tears and laughter, but as we look beyond the smallness of our world, we can come to appreciate the words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow who wrote, “Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, blossomed the lonely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.”
And while there is much about life that we do not understand, when we contemplate divine mysteries, we know that without a doubt, heaven is ours now and forever.
October 24, 2016
A Two-sided Coin
Water is like a two–sided coin.
It is both life-giving and necessary, but it can also be deadly when it reaches a level that threatens survival. Hurricane Matthew was one more reminder that what is a great blessing can also cause destruction and heartache. Nature can be just as treacherous as it is beautiful when its power is unleashed, particularly if you happen to live in one of the poorest nations on earth. We saw it ten years ago when an earthquake devastated Haiti and we are witnessing it once again in the aftermath of Hurricane Matthew. As it took aim at the tiny island, tin and cardboard dwellings were no defense against the 140 mile an hour winds that took the lives of more than 1000 people. Add to that the outbreak of cholera, and the tragedy continues to escalate. The poor are the most vulnerable members of society. It was the case during the time of Jesus and it is still true today.
People sometimes ask, what kind of God would allow such atrocities to happen? The answer is simple, so simple that it often alludes us. It is the same God who created us in his image and likeness and gave us free will. God created the world, but he gave us dominion over it. Therefore, much of the climate and the culture that we inhabit is of our own making. And while it is easy to look around for a scapegoat, even if it means blaming God, we are called as individuals and as a society to examine the countless ways we contribute to the problems, which over time victimize us.
In order to show us how to live, God became man. The Son of God subjected himself to the wiles of human nature. He pitched his tent among us, was unjustly judged and finally executed by the very people he created. Through the centuries, the evil that began in the Garden of Eden has been perpetrated through ignorance, self-centeredness and bigotry. While we may not be able to control the forces of nature, we have within us, through the grace of God, the potential to control the forces of evil in the world.
There is an intrinsic yearning deep within the human person that longs for a more perfect life. We dream of a better world; we long for a more just society; we envision a world without bombs and bloodshed. Politicians build careers on promising such a world and superheroes capture the hearts of children by magically wiping out crime. But is such a world only mythical reality? Is a world where people of every race, color and creed live side by side beyond our reach? Is it possible to celebrate a kaleidoscope of nations working together instead of demonizing such a reality?
If we look closely at the Gospels, particularly the parables that Jesus told, we begin to see what it would take to create such a world. We hear about the Good Samaritan, a foreigner whose charity put a scholar of the law and a priest to shame. He tells about a man who upon discovering a field that contained a hidden treasure, sold everything he had in order to purchase it. And we hear about the Father who celebrated the return of a prodigal son despite the way the son had treated him. These were not simply stories to entertain the crowds. They are a blueprint for how we are to live, a blueprint which Jesus validated through his own life and death.
Jesus reached out to the blind man whom his disciples were trying to silence. He made it a practice to heal the least and the lowest, to comfort the afflicted and to include the marginalized. When asked by his followers if they should pay taxes, Jesus responded by instructing them to give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s. And this in a culture where the Jews were severely oppressed by Rome.
All this brings us back to the question of the two-sided coin. I suspect that the reason we have so hard a time giving to Caesar what belongs to Caesar is because we have a hard time giving to God what is God’s. When St. Ignatius of Loyola developed his rules for discernment, one of the steps he put forth was to imagine that you are advising someone else about a decision because it is much easier to tell others what to do. Perhaps this is why Jesus regularly rebuked the religious leaders of his day.
As a spiritual writer and educator, I find it much easier to break open the Word of God than to follow it, which is why I keep close by me the lament of St. Paul who feared that after preaching to others, he might be lost. Unless those of us who have been blessed with faith are willing to listen to both sides of the coin, we become empty gongs and clanging cymbals or as Sr. Joan, my high school chemistry teacher used to say “Empty tin cans rattle.”
As we look around our world today, it is imperative not only to speak, but to listen to both sides, to ponder in silent prayer and then attend to what God is asking, not of someone else but of me. Jesus never promised us a perfect world; he promised to be with us and he called us to be a light to the world.
October 10, 2016
All God’s people
During recent trips to Washington, D.C.,…
I watched with anticipation as the National Museum of African American History and Culture gradually took shape.
In fact, the edifice was impossible to miss – its color and contour standing in sharp contrast to the white stone structures that surround it on the National Mall.
Like the people whose history it represents, the long-overdue tribute highlights diversity and memorializes a people upon whose backs much of our country was built and prospered.
Hues of brown, black and bronze catch the sun’s rays and reflect the beauty of all God’s people, reminding us to celebrate diversity rather than fear or suppress it.
From the slaves who helped build the White House to the workers in the field, from artists and athletes to professionals and blue collar workers, we are a rich blend of races whose past bears the scars that ignorance, greed, and self-righteousness have inflicted on those who appear different from us.
And so it is with a mixture of sadness and pride that our new national museum acknowledges a race which has risen from the ashes of slavery, yet continues to bear the burdens imposed by generations of prejudice and racial discrimination.
We have only to watch the news unfold to understand the depths of our sinfulness.
As President Obama noted during the dedication of the museum, “A clear-eyed view of history can make us uncomfortable. It will shake us out of familiar narratives.
“It is precisely because of that discomfort that we learn and grow and harness our collective power to make this nation more perfect.
“That’s the American story that this museum tells. One of suffering and delight. One of fear but also of hope.”
As I reflect on the words of our president, the line from Scripture, “I no longer call you slaves, I call you friends” (John 15; 15) comes to mind.
It would seem that the words Jesus spoke to his disciples during his last discourse conjure up very different feelings in the lives of African Americans, whose heritage is one of slavery more tthan it does for those of us whose ancestry and skin tone provide us with a birthright to freedom.
To be sure the wheels of history move slowly and growth is often painful.
By our very nature we are destined to grow and not to do so is to be less than human.
Ironically, we grow more often from our mistakes than from our successes.
Admitting past mistakes and listening to the pain of those whom we have hurt is important. Therefore, as Americans we grow when we allow ourselves to learn from the very people we once enslaved.
A perusal of Black Folk Religion in America offers valuable insights. Having been treated as subhuman by slave traders even before they arrived on American soil, African Americans had lost any reason for joy in this world.
As a result, they set their sights on the joy that would be theirs in the next life. Knowingly and perhaps unknowingly, American slaves integrated the religion of their masters into their own culture, and quite naturally identified with the displaced children of Israel who longed for a messiah.
Historians note that Southern slaves saw slavery as the triumph of evil. But by the grace of God, their passive submission to an earthly master was accompanied by an interior knowing that they had another Master, one whom no earthly master could beat into submission.
Courtesy to an earthly master was not so much a sign of submission as it was an act of humility for which the Heavenly Master would reward them.
Their longing for a better life gave voice to songs of deliverance, a cry to which the Emancipation Proclamation must have seemed like an answer to prayer straight from the Psalms that reassured them that God hears the cry of the poor and is close to the broken hearted.
Through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we have all been freed from the bondage of sin, but it is up to us, as individuals and as a society, to break the chains that continue to enslave and divide us.
Yes, we’ve come a long way since 1776, when a courageous group of slaves and a few free blacks secretly gathered under a brush arbor in the woods outside of Williamsburg.
Feeling naturally estranged by Christian churches that continued to assign them a place apart from white congregants, their heart’s deepest longing found expression in the open air cathedral.
And so it happened that strains of their music and prayers moved a Southern white family to offer them a humble wooden structure that became the First Baptist Church in America.
How appropriate that the bell that rang during the dedication of the museum could be traced to those early worshippers, reminding us that we are one nation under God.
As our first African American president said about people of like heritage, “We are not a burden on America or an object of shame and pity for Americans, We are America.”
As we look at our country today and the divisive rhetoric that seems to bring out the worst in people, we are called to make a difference, to change the world.
But change begins with each person who in the end will be held accountable to God for his or her decision to grow or not to grow.
September 26, 2016
God With Us
I’m not sure if life is speeding up or if I’m slowing down.
Even in a semi-retirement mode, it seems there is often more to do than I have time for and so I am learning to be selective.
After a summer of hosting family who were visiting from various parts of the country, and with deadlines looming and multiple talks waiting to be written, I did something that might seem a bit irresponsible.
I booked a flight to St. Paul, Minnesota for a week long retreat. As it turned out it was exactly what I needed.
From the moment the plane left the runway, my attention shifted from doing to simply being. With my lap top at home, the temptation to write one more talk or answer a few e-mails was a non-negotiable. I needed this trip to be a vacation with God, and so it was.
By way of preparation, I brought with me a book I had gotten years ago. It’s one I return to every now and then because it continues to inspire me in new ways.
The book, Behold the Beauty of the Lord: Praying with Icons‚ is a meditative guide written by Henri Nouwen.
It features four Russian icons, including two that occupy a privileged place in our home office, which also serves as my prayer room.
One of the icons is Andrei Rublev’s portrayal of the Trinity and the other is the Virgin of Vladimir, painted by an anonymous Greek artist in the early12th century, and brought to the Vladimir in 1183.
Over the years I have come to know by heart almost every detail of these images and yet they continue to move me.
In light of this, you can imagine my surprise and delight when upon entering the room assigned to me at the Benedictine monastery, a representation of Rublev’s Trinity hung over my bed and in the adoration chapel, adjacent to the tabernacle was an icon of the Virgin of Vladimir.
As if that wasn’t enough, when I entered the dining room, a life size mural of Rublev’s Trinity greeted me from across the room.
Coincidence or providential? I’ll let you be the judge, but I definitely felt surrounded by love with food for thought everywhere I looked.
I have long been captivated by the mysterious beauty of icons. Unlike the religious paintings by Renaissance artists, whose intent was to inspire devotion, icons invite us to look beyond the physical image.
Their beauty lies not in the attractiveness of the person they represent, but in their ability to draw those who gaze upon them into the mysteries they contain.
In the words of Nouwen, “Icons are like windows looking out upon eternity.”
If it all sounds a bit ominous, I would invite you to spend time praying with these works of art. Hopefully, you too will discover they possess a language all their own, one that speaks to the soul, where the heart of God speaks to the heart of the one who is praying.
Every detail in an icon serves a purpose and signifies a deeper reality.
The use of color is carefully chosen to reveal mysteries hidden within each prayerful stroke of the brush.
The eyes, which typically seem to gaze inward, invite seers to discover the divine within their own soul.
Hands, which often appear disproportionally large, cause us to seek and linger with their larger-than-life meaning.
Each work is a product of selfless humility, inspired by the artist’s prayer, which is why icons were never signed.
To this day many of the greatest works remain anonymous. More than works of art, icons are prayers that have been gifted to the world for the edification of those who have eyes to see.
While Mary is central in the icon of the Virgin of Vladimir, her attention is totally and exclusively for the child in her arms.
Her eyes look inward to the heart of Jesus whom she holds and outward to the heart of the world.
Holding him close, she is consumed by the breath of God for whom she has become the Christ bearer. Rather than contradict her virginity, her motherhood completes it.
Not unlike the icon of the Trinity, the Virgin of Vladimir is a House of Love. The more I pray over these two icons, the more it seems that one completes the other.
The angels representing the Trinity in Rublev’s icon are seated around the altar which signifies the altar of sacrifice that redeemed the world.
The small opening on the front of the altar beneath the chalice represents the narrow gate through which we must enter and while Christ is the way, it is Mary who continually points us to Christ.
As the new Eve, Mary holds a hallowed place among her children and within the heart of God.
Perhaps this is why it is difficult for me to ponder the icon of the Trinity without reflecting on the Virgin of Vladimir.
Having prayed over these icons for almost a week, I returned home ready to embrace the tasks at hand, but in a slower and more intentional manner.
As a result, I continue to be drawn into the mysteries these sacred icons reveal, each one inviting me to dwell in the house of the Lord, which after all is not a physical place, but a way of being with God-with-us.
September 12, 2016
For many families, especially those who have school age children, it seems that the sense of new beginnings is more prominent during September than on the first day of January.
Amid the dog days of summer, students seem to miraculously muster a fresh outlook, despite the tempered enthusiasm of older students who deem grumbling to be more socially acceptable—that is until they are college bound.
And so it happens that every September students, along with parents, become willing participants in the annual ritual of assessing wardrobes in light of growth spurts, purchasing school supplies and gradually adjusting bedtime schedules.
To be sure, nothing quite compares with the aura of excitement that surrounds new beginnings when it comes to reigniting dreams that may have fallen short of the imagined goal during the past school year.
Whether the quest be in pursuit of honor roll status or admission to a varsity sports team, hope for students once again springs eternal.
Add to that the excitement of renewing friendships with classmates they haven’t seen since the dismissal bell in June, along with a cadre of unknowns, and you have a perfect recipe for butterflies-in-the-stomach syndrome that goes hand in hand with venturing into new territory.
By way of an antidote for this gut-wrenching malady, students can take comfort in the fact that admittance to a higher grade level makes them a dubious one year older and, as parents hope, one year wiser.
But to discuss the surge of renewed expectation that accompanies new beginnings in regard to the school year without reflecting on the cyclical nature built into everything from the earth’s rotation around the sun to the rise and fall of the ocean’s tide would be to overlook the reality that every end carries within its bosom the hope of a new beginning.
As the Book of Ecclesiastes reminds us, “To every season there is a time and purpose for everything under the sun.”
The truth of this reality seems to be built not only into nature, but into the very core of human existence. And so I would suggest that we never outgrow the need for new beginnings.
Some new beginnings are by choice, others may be forced upon us by life circumstances, but regardless of the reason, timing is also a factor.
In his Poem, “A New Beginning,” John O’Donohue wrote:
In out-of-the-way places of the heart, Where your thoughts never think to wander, This beginning has been quietly forming, Waiting until you were ready to emerge.
For me this poem speaks to the God factor that often goes unnoticed until we look back and see how all the dots of our life have been connected by grace.
From early childhood to adulthood, we have been formed and sometimes deformed by the circumstances of our life, and yet nothing is outside the heart of God.
Often when it seems we are floundering and adrift among a sea of uncertainties, God is forming us, preparing us to take the next step in faith because today, unlike yesterday, we are ready to begin again.
This applies not only to our mental and emotional readiness, but to our spiritual readiness as well.
However, for new beginnings to be truly effective, it is important to pause and reflect on the reason we feel the nudge to begin again.
More often than not it comes when that inner voice we call a conscience suggests we should be living a more God-centered life.
This is where I find the Sacrament of Reconciliation is of great value. Sadly, it is perhaps the most undervalued sacrament for many Catholics and for a myriad of reasons, some valid and others not so much.
From a human perspective, a certain type of discomfort is natural whenever we have to admit our failures.
I admit there are times when the old-butterflies-in-the-stomach syndrome returns when I think about confessing my sins. But then the grace of the sacrament takes over and I am able to leave feeling renewed as once again I understand that God has been waiting for me to emerge, a better version of my former self, one that relies more fully on the mercy of God than on my own lack of resolve.
And so it is, that like students who begin the new school year feeling they have been granted a fresh start, we are able to begin again, taking comfort in God’s reassurance that bygones are indeed bygones.
Recall the words of the prophet Isaiah who said, “The Lord said, ‘I am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more’.” (Is. 43; 25)
We find a similar message in the New Testament in the book of Hebrews where it is written, “For I will forgive their iniquities, and remember their sins no more.” (Hebrews 8:12).
September may not carry with it the tradition of making New Year’s resolutions, but the theme of new beginnings certainly remains culturally prominent.
Therefore, it seems a good time to remember that the time is ripe for us to wander into those out-of-the-way-places of our heart where new beginnings are forever forming. Thankfully we have the perfect reason to begin again because now is the season.
In the spirit of beginning again, I wish to correct an error in my last column. The translation of “Ora et Labora” is Pray and Work, not work and pray, which certainly makes better sense since all good works should flow from prayer.
August 29, 2016
Ora et Labora
Ora et Labora” (work and pray) has been a motto for Benedictines through the…
…centuries and the words are as relevant today as they were 1,500 years ago when the teachings of Benedict of Nursia came of age in the Western Church.
Often referred to as the Father of Western Monasticism, St. Benedict had a keen appreciation for the importance of both work and prayer, a rhythm which he held sacred not only for monks, but for all Christians. Mindful of Benedict’s understanding of labor, I find his insights worthy of reflection as our country turns its attention once again towards the celebration of Labor Day.
Amid a cultural tendency to regard monetary compensation as a barometer to measure the worth of a particular form of labor, we may be at risk of losing sight of the sacredness of work itself.
The beauty of Benedict’s approach to labor is that he was able to integrate the spiritual dimension of work with the external activity that is demanded for a job well done. Like any person of prayer, Benedict understood that prayer is essential if we are to view the work of our hands as holy.
The injunction that our first parents would earn their bread by the sweat of their brow is evident throughout Scripture.
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were herdsmen and farmers. Eventually, the Israelites became craftsmen and artisans, putting their skills to use when building the temple, but the work of human hands reached a new dignity when God became man in the person of Jesus of Nazareth who made his living as a carpenter.
When God pitched his tent among us, he entered into our human nature, not as one who dons a costume that he can slip in and out of, but as one who like Adam would earn his living by the sweat of his brow. In so doing, the New Adam took what was once perceived as a punishment and made it forever holy.
Even after he was called to be an apostle for Christ, Paul continued his trade as a tent maker and in his letter to the Thessalonians he chided the early Christians with the words, “For even when we were with you, we used to give you this order: if anyone is not willing to work, then neither is he to eat” (2 Thess. 10; 3).
Work is about more than simply providing ourselves with a means of livelihood. Through the work of our hands, we enter into the communal dimension that is at the very core of who we are as people of the Covenant, a covenant with God and with one another. Therefore, it can rightly be said that nothing we do is done in isolation. The bread we eat depends upon the supplier, the baker and the farmer not to mention the one who transported the bread to the grocery store where we purchased it. There is nothing that we can touch with our hands that does not have its genesis outside of us. Even our body exists because God through the procreative action of our parents brought us into being. In fact, everything we have is an act of labor either by us or through an act of God who after six days rested from His labor.
From the beginning, the Creator who called us into being commanded that we observe a day of rest, not for the sake of the law, but for our own well-being. This was at the heart of Jesus’ invitation to find our rest in Him, the God man, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.
It is with this understanding that we are able to baptize and bless all that we do, thereby, transforming the ordinary into something sacred.
And so it was that St. Benedict was able to counsel his monks “To regard all utensils and goods of the monastery as sacred vessels of the altar.”
According to Benedict, dealing with tools, handling money, managing property all had to do with God when done well and for the honor and glory of God.
And so it was with saints through the ages. Work was not an exclusion of prayer, but a continuation of prayer. St. Teresa of Avila was known to have told her nuns that God can be found just as surely among the pots and pans as in the chapel. Not unlike the prophecy of Zechariah, who said, “On that day, every cooking pot in Jerusalem will be sacred to the Lord.” (Zech 14; 20 -21), she understood that prayer is not an escape from everyday responsibilities.
Today amid a growing disparity among wage owners, Christians are once again reminded that all work is holy and all who labor deserve a just wage.
Ever mindful that every human talent is a gift from God, we are called to rise above artificial distinctions that award inflated compensations to a few while many work two and three jobs just to put food on the table.
As we gather to pray this Labor Day weekend, may the words of St. Benedict inspire us not only to pray, but to work for a more just distribution of goods so that all may find not only a means of support in their work, but a way to praise and give honor and glory to God.
August 15, 2016
A Russian Folktale
I don’t recall when or where I first came across this particular Russian folktale…
…but as I looked at the calendar and saw that the feast of the Assumption of Mary was upon us, the story about Jakof came to mind.
According to the tale, Jakof was a widower who was left with three young children to raise: 12-year-old Anna, Nikolai who was 7 and 6-year-old Maiya.
Jakof loved his children, but being a poor peasant had little to offer them by way of material possessions.
He worked long hours just to put food on the table, and so much of the care for the younger children fell to Anna.
One day Anna learned of a dance that was to be held in the village and she longed for a new dress to wear for the occasion. But her pleas for one were in vain. Alas, all Jakof could tell her was “no.”
The next day, Anna could scarcely hide her tears as she went about the task of fixing breakfast for her sister and brother. To make matters worse, Maiya spilled her milk, and when Anna scolded her, Nikolai yelled at Anna for making their little sister cry.
Hurt and angry, Anna ran out of the house sobbing. Eventually she found herself in the little church around the corner from where they lived where she fell on her knees and wept.
As she looked at the statue of the Virgin Mary, dressed in a beautiful garment with a royal crown on her head, she prayed. “O Mary, you have such a beautiful dress, if only I could be a queen like you. My life here is so difficult. No one cares about me and ever since my mother died, I feel so alone.”
Suddenly, Anna felt herself being transported through the air, and she became one with the statue.
As she looked down at her beautiful dress, she wanted to touch it, but could not. Her arms had become as fixed as the statue. And so it was that she remained there for most of the day.
As she watched people come and go, she felt helpless.
Late in the afternoon, she watched her little brother Nikolai come into the church. He asked Mary to forgive him for yelling at his sister and prayed, “If only she would return, I promise I will be more helpful. I know she works hard to take care of us and I will be kind to her if only you bring her back to us.”
Then Nikolai took his favorite rock from his pocket and placed it at Mary’s feet. “Here, take this rock,” he said. “It doesn’t shine the way it did when Anna would hold it.”
Anna wanted to reach down and put her arms around Nikolai, but her arms could not move.
Next little Maiya came into the church. She was sobbing and she looked frightened.
She told Mary that Anna had run out of the house all because she had spilled her milk. She told Mary that if only her sister would come back, she would be more careful and not act like such a baby.
“I will try to help Anna and not always ask her to help me,”she cried as her tears fell on the feet of the statue of Mary.
Before she left, Maiya placed at the Virgin’s feet a bouquet of wild flowers she had picked on her way to the church. Anna wanted to gather them up, kiss her little sister, and smooth her ruffled hair, but once again, her arms would not move.
Later as the sun began to fade from the sky, the door of the church opened once again and this time it was her father who entered. He was carrying a box and as he knelt before the statue of Mary, he thanked her for giving him extra hours of work so that he could buy Anna a new dress.
He bowed his head and then, just before he was about to leave, he took the cigar from his pocket and laid it at Mary’s feet. With that he promised to quit smoking so that he could afford to buy Anna a pair of shoes to go with her new dress. Then he slipped out of the church.
In an instant, Anna was back in the pew from where she had been transported earlier in the day. Once again she could move her arms and legs, but this time, there were no tears.
Her heart danced with joy as she thanked Mary for giving her such a wonderful family. Anna raced home where she saw her father, Nikolai and Maiya as Mary saw them, and then she knew that she was indeed a queen and this was her heaven on earth.
Like with every good story, numerous lessons can be gleaned from this folktale. We might begin by placing ourselves in the role of each of the characters, and reflect on who best represents who we are.
We might ask ourselves: if I were to leave a gift at Mary’s feet, what would I bring and what wish would I ask Mary to grant me?
I might consider whether I ask Mary to do for me what I am being asked to do?
And finally, does my yearning for heaven above, keep me from seeing the heaven that is mine right here on earth?
And so we pray: Mary, Queen of heaven pray for us that we may better appreciate our role here in this time and in this place.
August 1, 2016
Education, Collaboration and Inspiration
The book entitled “Jesus” arrived in the mail.
I had been told to expect it, but that it was not a gift. The sender was affiliated with a Catholic publishing house and had asked me to read it and offer a professional opinion about the merits of their condensing the work and publishing it as a formation tool.
I was happy to oblige, especially since I was not the only one who was asked to weigh in with an opinion. Asking for input from a variety of professionals is common practice among publishers before they commit to purchasing copyrights to a piece of work. Even magazine articles are reviewed by several editors prior to purchasing a submission, and with good reason.
Despite standard guidelines and objective criteria that are used to evaluate a manuscript or article, one cannot discount the presence of personal limitations or biases regarding any given topic. Rather than a sign of weakness, seeking the opinion of others is a sign of strength, and speaks to the value of collaboration. Most people would agree that a person’s willingness to listen is a sign of wisdom. When we listen to others, not only is our understanding deepened, but our vision is expanded.
However, this is not the same as being swayed by every thought and theory that is espoused or perpetuated by our culture, but about the process of gathering and evaluating information, followed by prayerful discernment.
Every day we are bombarded by messages from the media, politicians, activist groups and organizations, all claiming to advance the best interests of society and the world.
Therefore, as Christians who claim God as our first and most important authority, discernment is an important part of spiritual growth, and should be approached intellectually, collaboratively and prayerfully.
On an intellectual level, the role of education should be obvious, but is it? In order to grow spiritually, more is required than a ten minute homily at Sunday Mass.
With the world and national issues becoming more complex, unless we make an effort to deepen our understanding of Scripture and Church teachings, it is easy to fall prey to a culture that is becoming increasingly more secular.
In today’s rapidly changing world, continuing education is required for almost every job and profession. So why should it be any different in an area as important as our faith life?
Taking a lesson from publishing houses, we do well to consult people in the field when it comes to matters of faith, and it has never been easier.
The availability of CDs and videos on spiritual topics, many offered in conjunction with parish adult education programs, provide Catholics with important tools for spiritual growth.
Catholic magazines and newspapers are another faith formation tool that provide insight and guidance regarding current affairs morality. And, subscriptions to Catholic periodicals make wonderful gifts to give and receive.
Book clubs can be a fun and enlightening way to grow in faith, while learning and being inspired by others—which speaks to the collaborative element of learning. When I listen to what others have to say about a story or from a particular author, my own understanding is broadened.
As I listen to the faith sharing of fellow sojourners in small groups, I am often in awe of the many ways God is working in the lives of ordinary people, and in turn my own faith is enhanced.
When it comes to inspiration, we can find no better source than the inspired Word of God. And so we do well to ask: Do I make an effort to read Scripture every day?
Daily Scripture readings are available online through the USCCB and on many diocesan and parish websites. But it is not enough to simply read a passage – which is why I discourage sandwiching God into your day. Make a date with God, and regard as sacred the time you spend with the greatest Teacher ever. Read the words slowly and thoughtfully, allowing them to sink into the fabric of your soul. You may wish to read a passage two, even three times, as the words move slowly from your head to your heart.
I was reminded of the importance of reading from the heart when I started reading the book “Jesus”. Mindful that I was to offer an opinion, I approached it as an intellectual activity and found it offered nothing new. I was disappointed. Realizing my mistake, I began reading with my heart, thoughtfully and prayerfully and came away with a whole new appreciation for the reign of God present and working in our world, just as it was when Jesus traveled the roads of Galilee.
That’s the amazing thing! Through the Holy Spirit, Jesus is present here and now—a willing teacher, instructing us in the ways of God. And when we listen, we are rewarded, often in surprising ways.
Hidden graces that seem to come out of nowhere are revealed, sometimes when we least expect them, but more often when we need them most.
July 18, 2016
Little Pieces of Light
The picture had gone viral in a matter of hours.
It was the photograph of a blood-stained running shoe belonging to one of the doctors in the hospital emergency room the night the mass shooting occurred in Orlando.
In his posting, the doctor explained that his shoes were new, but as he began treating victims that were brought into the ER, his shoes were soon covered with blood.
But rather than throw them away, he decided to hang one of the blood stained shoes in his office as a reminder of that night.
When I first heard this, I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would want to be reminded of such a horrible night. But then I learned the reason behind his decision, and I was deeply touched.
The physician explained that the shoe would remind him of the many people who came to the hospital to help, some bringing the wounded, many ignoring their own injuries while they cared for those who had more serious wounds.
Although most were strangers until the horrific events of the night began to unfold, the doctor was inspired by their concern for the other and wanted to remember the goodness he witnessed within the context of unbelievable suffering.
As I read the account, I was reminded of a very small book – less than 70 pages in length – written by Joyce Rupp, OSM.
The book entitled “Little Pieces of Light” invites readers to discover what this wise physician was able to glean from a night rife with the cries of pain and anguish. The lesson is that hidden within the darkest of times are little pieces of light.
It is a message that is especially poignant and bears reflection at a time when mass shootings and acts of terrorism have become almost common place.
However, it is not a message to be applied only to events on a national or global stage. Times of darkness invade the life of every human being. As much as we would like to whisk them away or quickly move beyond them, they are fertile ground for transformation.
Let me be clear, I am not referring to sin, acts of evil or illness that triggers the dark times in life.
I am talking about the pain and suffering that accompanies such events, bringing us to a crossroads where we can either choose to accept and befriend the darkness as an opportunity for spiritual growth, or curse it.
Without periods of darkness, transformation would not happen. When darkness seems to shake the very ground upon which we stand, rather than turning our anger outward, we do well to examine it within the context of prayer, trusting that hidden within every moment of pain and suffering is the Light that cannot be extinguished.
When we look closely, we will discover tiny pieces of light shining through, ready to make their way into our heart.
Recognizing such points of light are moments of grace that break through our blindness and allow us to see beyond the sin and pain that unfortunately will always be part of life. But suffering need not remain a negative experience. When we turn to God and open our heart, we will discover that points of light hidden within the darkness become a window for spiritual growth.
There is such a thing as holy darkness, and by that I don’t mean to imply that suffering is good. But when we sit with the unknown and invite the wisdom of the Holy Spirit to open our eyes, we will begin to glimpse rays of light that gradually transform our heart by imbuing it with deepening faith, hope and charity.
When that happens, we begin to realize that hearts of stone, having been broken, are being transformed into human hearts, hearts that were created to reflect the love of God, the God in whose image we have been created.
The only heart we have control over is our own, but when darkness assails us, the natural tendency is to want to escape the pain by controlling the situation or changing the hearts or those who are responsible for our pain.
But as Joyce Rupp points out, the path of darkness carries within it a not so gentle nudge pushing us towards interior growth.
Therefore, we need to be attentive. We need to look for those little pieces of light, which often come unexpectedly through the concern of family members or a friend.
An insight from a homily or a book, offering insight can break through the darkness of an otherwise cloudy day and are pieces of light.
Be assured their presence is no accident. They are gifts from God who is forever calling us to become the person that he created us to be.
In her book Joyce Rupp shares the comment of a blind friend, who once said “I think we are all little pieces of light for one another.”
That light can come to us in many ways and through many people if we take the time to notice. Then like the doctor in the ER who discovered love in the midst of chaos and darkness, we too will be able to discover within the midst of life’s suffering little pieces of light that guide our feet along the path that will lead us to the Light of the World.
And each time we absorb pieces of his light, we become a little piece of light for those who dwell in darkness.
July 4, 2016
Independence, not individualism
Amid picnics, parades and fireworks, Americans everywhere celebrate the Fourth of July with great festivity.
The United States has long prided itself on its independence and with good reason. The sacrifice and vision of our founding fathers has led not only to declaring our independence from Great Britain, but to forming a Constitution which has set the gold standard for freedom. However, independence is not the same as individualism, something that I fear has escaped the collective mindset of many in our country today.
Individualism is inward looking, concerned with individual rights, whereas the spirit of independence that motivated the early colonists was concern for the common good. The welfare of the citizen body was the motivating factor that led to America’s independence from the oppressive governance of King George. It was a collective view versus one motivated by individual gain, for the welfare of all came at great cost to some.
Centuries before Patrick Henry gave voice to his famous cry, “Give me liberty or give me death,” Thomas Aquinas wrote that a right relationship with God requires commitment to the common good of our neighbors and creation. And long before either of them walked the earth, Aristotle argued, “The good of the community should set the direction for the lives of individuals for it is for a higher or more divine good than the particular good of private persons.”
Nurturing the common good is at the very heart of the principles upon which our country was founded. The United States of America has a long-standing tradition of welcoming the stranger, to which the inscription on the Statue of Liberty attests.
Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
They are words every American can be proud of because they echo the compassion of people who knew what it was like to be tired, poor, and oppressed. Obviously the plight of those arriving on our shores was not perfect, nor was it free from difficulty. But what it did offer was hope and through the process of resettlement, our country became a rich melting pot of diversity long before the world became globalized.
It is to our credit that hospitality became a cornerstone of democracy, but even more importantly, hospitality is central to Christian discipleship. Hospitality is a way of overcoming the tension that exists between those who perceive themselves as natives and insiders and those who are looked upon as foreigners and outsiders. Therefore, it is imperative that those of us who are American born remember that unless we are Native-Americans, our ancestors came from distant lands in search of a better life, much like the refuges who are fleeing war and hardship today. And yes, clearly there are also differences. The threat of terrorism is real and our immigration system needs reforming, but the answer to these problems does not lie in hate speech or a spirit of isolationism.
As arguments about immigration and other hot-button issues are waged on the floor of Congress and judicated by the Supreme Court, we do well to reflect on the Scripture passage from Jerimiah. “If you do not oppress the resident alien, the orphan and the widow, if you no longer shed innocent blood in this place, or follow strange gods to your own harm, I will remain with you in this place, in the land that I gave your fathers long ago.” (Jer. 7;5-7)
As I reflect on this passage, it occurs to me that perhaps what our politicians need is not a recess, but a retreat. Rather than assaulting one another with hateful rhetoric, staging sit-ins or turning their backs on one another, they need time to reflect on the divinely inspired principles upon which our country was founded.
Time and again, I hear politicians say they are doing the will of the people. Perhaps what they need to do is concern themselves with doing the will of God, because only if we love God will we be able to love our neighbor as our self. It is not easy to rise above selfish inclinations that put personal gain above the common good. And so leaders and followers alike need to seek divine wisdom and the strength to overcome the spirit of individualism. That doesn’t mean all need to be Christian. The law of God has been written in the hearts of every person, but how can it be discerned unless each person rises up against the false gods of money and power and places the common good above personal gain?
I find it ironic that religion is often used as a scapegoat, and blamed for wars when the opposite is actually true. Religion binds us to the laws of God, calling us to love our neighbor as ourselves. Individualism seeks personal gain at the expense of the laws of God. As a country, we have been richly blessed and so this Fourth of July, may we never confuse the spirit of independence from oppression with independence from God. May our land continue to welcome strangers, provide for the poor and support life in all its forms from the womb to the tomb, so that we can indeed be a light to the nations.
June 20, 2016
Fatherhood and Divine Providence
By the time this issue of the paper arrives in your mailbox, Father’s Day will have come and gone.
However, given the fact that most fathers don’t receive the same amount of attention that mothers get, I’ve decided the least I could do would be to offer some belated thoughts about fatherhood via this column.
Actually they are not my thoughts, but are reflections from the novel “Home” by Marilynne Robinson. They are for fathers whose children are about to leave or have already left home as young adults, but sooner or later all fathers will be in that position, so her message is worth sharing.
The author compares this stage of the fathers’ journey with Abraham in the Hebrew Scriptures who twice during his lifetime had to trust God during some pretty heart wrenching circumstances.
Most people are familiar with the story of Abraham and Isaac when God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac on the altar to God. It is a Biblical account that most parents, mothers and fathers alike find difficult.
The other account actually happened first, but is less well known and involves Abraham sending his son Ishmael into the desert.
Ishmael you will recall was the son of the union between Abraham and his wife’s maid servant Hagar.
Author Marilynne Robinson makes the point that Abraham was actually called to sacrifice both his sons. Isaac on the altar, and Ishmael by sending him into the wilderness, which would have meant certain death.
But as Robinson points out, in both cases, the Lord sent angels to intervene at critical moments to save each child.
In the case of Ishmael, the angel pointed to a spring of water that staved off death. As we know with Isaac, the angel held back Abraham’s arm just before he was about to plunge the dagger into his son’s chest.
While no father today has, nor probably will be called to, send his son into the desert or to offer him to God on an altar of sacrifice, every father eventually finds himself in the situation where he is sending his child and or children into the wilderness, so to speak, and trust in the providence of God.
We know from the book of Genesis that Abraham himself had been called from his father’s land and sent into the wilderness, trusting only in the providence of God.
Perhaps that made it a bit easier for Abraham to trust God when it came to Ishmael and Isaac, but in a way Abraham’s story is a narrative for every generation.
When fathers have done their best to raise their children according to the faith and equip them with principles and values needed to survive in the world, every parent comes to a time when it is time to let go and entrust their offspring to the providence of God.
That doesn’t mean that fathers will be physically or emotionally separated from them, although that may be the case.
Sadly there are a good many fathers who neglect, abuse or abandon their children. And we need only to watch the news to understand that it is not unusual for young adults to be victims of violence, become seriously ill or make poor choices.
But as Ms. Robinson writes, “They too remain in the providence of God and this is no less true if the angel carries such children home to their faithful and loving Father in heaven than if he opens a spring of water in the desert or stays the knife and lets children live out the sum of their earthly years.”
If ever there was a human personification of trust in God, it can be found in Abraham.
The three Abrahamic religions claim Abraham as father, and although Christians do not claim him in the same sense as Jews and Muslims do, every father can learn from his implicit trust in God during times of difficulty and strife.
The reality is that parents never stop being parents no matter what the age of their children is. But once children reach adulthood, the importance of entrusting them to the care of their heavenly Father through prayer is more important than ever.
Like Abraham of old, we can’t know what the end of their journey will look like. But fathers, and mothers for that matter, should never lose sight of the fact that if we, who love our children so imperfectly, want only what is good for them, their heavenly Father desires it even more.
Every adult male or female at some point leaves their father’s home and enters into the so-called wilderness of the unknown. John the Baptist entered the desert and even Jesus was sent into the wilderness before he began his public ministry.
The wilderness serves as a time of trial, self-examination and discovery. No young person experiences the wilderness or responds to it in the same way.
I suspect that Abraham’s prayers accompanied Ishmael into the desert and no doubt he prayed the whole time he traveled with Isaac to the mountain to sacrifice him to the Lord.
Abraham could not know how his prayers would be answered, nor do parents today.
But like Abraham of old, we are called not to ask WHY but to ask HOW to walk faithfully and then pray for the strength to trust in the providence of God, knowing that our children are accompanied by their own special angel God will send to their aid in ways we may never witness nor fully understand.
June 6, 2016
Nature: A Unique Library
As another school year draws to a close, minds, which only yesterday fretted over final exams and grade point averages, happily migrate to images of leisure time and summer travel.
While the annual exodus from all things intellectual could signal a cause for concern, balancing work and play is essential for students, teachers and parents alike.
With life’s seeming demands infringing on personal free time at an increasingly earlier stage of life, the importance of taking time to stop and smell the roses cannot be overestimated.
Unfortunately, with the growing intrusion of technology into the lives of people, less and less time is spent outdoors, which recent studies indicate have a negative effect on children’s development.
Conversely, time spent outdoors has long term positive developmental consequences, which cannot be dismissed.
Some positive results of children spending time with nature include increased cognitive function, greater attention span, better motor coordination, increased social interaction skills and an overall increase in emotional and physical well-being.
To that I would add an increased awareness of the wonder and glory of God, which contributes to their spiritual well-being.
Unlike in decades past, when summer vacation was synonymous with children playing outdoors from early morning until dusk, television and computer screens currently hijack the attention of far too many young people.
Therefore, unless a deliberate effort is made to incorporate outdoor activities into the lives of our children and grandchildren, precious hours that could be spent enjoying the fruits of nature will be lost.
Such a travesty affects not only individuals, but society as a whole, for it is a proven fact that those who spend time with nature tend to have a greater concern for the environment.
This year as our nation celebrates the 100th anniversary of the National Parks system, we have a wonderful opportunity to help young people develop an appreciation for the natural treasures that have been bestowed upon us as a nation. Our national parks include 84 million acres of some of the most stunning natural landscapes in the world.
They span the length and width of our country and can be enjoyed even when budgets are limited; some without leaving the state of Virginia.
In a culture that thrives on overstimulation of the senses, why not plan a vacation around a visit to some of our natural wonders?
While the adventure may not receive as enthusiastic a response from children as a trip to an amusement park, the benefits will far outlast the thrills and bragging rights that accompany the latest roller coaster attraction.
Enjoying the sights and sounds of nature can add depth to the soul and change lives in innumerable ways.
The national parks have been called the lungs of America because they connect us to our life source in a tangible way.
In the face of a world that validates one’s worth by possessions, power and prestige, nature lifts us above the false idols of self-aggrandizement and expands our vision beyond mere human capabilities.
Upon returning to society after spending years in the wilderness, John Muir, who is credited with being the father of the national parks system, wrote: “I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men.”
Later while visiting Yellowstone, he wrote, “Take a good look into the grand geological library of the park and see how God writes history.”
“Nature serves as a history book which chronicles the world’s existence, and serves as a window for scientific enlightenment. Its array of colors rival any artist’s palette and as a theology book, nature offers credible testimony for the existence of God.”
I recall while working as the director of the RCIA in a parish, one catechumen told me that although he had not been raised to believe in God nor had ever set foot inside a church as a child, he remembered lying in the grass when he was about ten years old.
He said, “I looked up at the sky, and I knew there was a God.”
The landscape and scenery in nature surpass anything a human artist could reproduce on canvas.
No camera can capture its majesty; no poem its grandeur; no melody do justice to God’s love song.
God spoke the world into being and holds it tenderly in the palm of His hand.
Nature is truly a sacred holding space that reveals the presence of God and the interconnectedness of all things.
It is impregnated with divine kisses that flow from the fountain of the Most High God. Like braided streams, every aspect of nature is one with the river of humankind, recipients of the Father’s overflowing love, divine messengers coursing through the Word into all of creation.
Truly nature is an inexhaustible wonderland.
And yet, with the miracle of creation so readily available, we can become blind to its wonders and dismissive of its ability to renew the spirit.
During these glorious summer months, when we find ourselves moving a bit too quickly or planning one too many activities, we would do well to take time to stop, look and listen for the sights and sounds of the glorious world that God has created for us.
And each time we do, may our hearts give voice to a song of praise and thanksgiving.
Then no matter how the rest of our days go, our summer will be filled with countless God-moments!
May 23, 2016
It has been said that some form of “Fear not” or “Do not be afraid” appears 365 times in Scripture.
While the number is not factual, the injunction appears with greater frequency than any other in the Bible.
Some sources have set the number at 103, while others, which apply a broader version, place the number closer to 500.
But regardless of the exact number of times the message is conveyed, the number 365 has a symbolic value. Since it coincides with the number of days in a year, the number 365 serves as a reminder that we need to place our trust in the Lord every day of the year.
Fear is a human reaction. The first thing that Adam and Eve did when they sinned was to hide from God because they were afraid.
When we come face to face with our own sinfulness, we tremble. Oddly enough, we do the same thing when we come face to face with our own goodness.
When the Angel Gabriel appeared to Mary with the salutation “Full of grace,” she was told, “Do not be afraid Mary, for you have found favor with God.” (Lk 1; 30).
Life is a journey that is filled with unknowns and conflicting feelings. We look for signs and we seek reassurance because we find it difficult to believe that God could love us.
But when we give in to such thinking, the only thing that remains is fear. Not only is fear anathema to trusting in God, but it gives rise to a culture of pessimism.
There is always a case to be made for pessimism which explains why during the Mass the priest asks God to free us from undue anxiety. Fear and pessimism feed on the negativity and obscure the presence of goodness in the world.
War and violence, poverty and addictions of every kind, a culture of death, even the current state of our political culture —which has sunken to a historical low—have the potential to instill in us a morbid state that regards everything as a moral threat.
While it is natural to become alarmed by the presence of evil in the world, to succumb to fear mongering is an affront to Christian principles. There is nothing prophetic about being a pessimist.
Pessimism is contagious. It suppresses human aspirations for good and depresses a sense of the possible.
The culture of pessimism, which is rampant in our world today, is a direct affront to the Holy Spirit. Rather than holding fast to the gifts of the Spirit, pessimism provides grounds for alarm and collective suspicion that creates hostility and division. Our current political climate is a prime example of what happens when we see only what is wrong with our country and the world in general.
It is part of the human condition to suffer, not because God is a vengeful God, but because life is an ongoing pilgrimage of purification.
Along with his peace, the only thing that Jesus promised his followers in this world was the cross. “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves, take up their cross daily and follow me.” (Lk 9; 23)
To deny ourselves is to deny the culture of evil that threatens to derail us. It was not easy for Jesus and it will not be easy for us.
The cross no longer stands on Calvary, but is embedded in the challenges and suffering that are part of life. Not knowing what form the cross will take is frightening, which is why Scripture reminds us, not once, but again and again: “Do not be afraid.”
Lest we lose sight of the reality that the cross is also a sign of victory, we are reminded during every Eucharistic celebration that our faith journey does not end with the sacrifice on Calvary, but with our participation in the heavenly banquet, a prototype of what awaits us in the New Jerusalem. Before he ascended into heaven, Jesus promised, “I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice and no one will take your joy from you.” (Jn16; 22)
We need not be afraid because we have been given food for the journey. The awesome reality is that God comes to us because we are created in his own image and likeness and therefore, we are a reflection of God’s own goodness.
We have the potential to do great things, but only if we embrace the grace of optimism. The grace of optimism is not a denial of evil, a pie in the sky kind of faith, or wishful thinking.
Rather it is rooted in the childlike trust that allows us to see beyond the cross because to do otherwise is to deny the presence of God in the world and the work of the Holy Spirit.
Like the apostles of old, who were filled with the Holy Spirit at that first Pentecost, we are called to boldly proclaim the Resurrection of Jesus.
Therefore, let us pray that we do not fall prey to the culture of pessimism that is rampant today, but live each day by placing our trust in the Lord who promised to be with us until the end of the world.
May 9, 2016
Waiting on the Spirit
If you’ve ever placed your hope in someone or something only to have the rug pulled out from under you…
…then you can imagine what it was like for the apostles as they stood on the hill outside of Jerusalem and watched Jesus ascend into heaven.
After his resurrection, they were ecstatic. The reality of Jesus’ death had been reversed. He was alive!
Desolation had been transformed into joy and hope for a messianic kingdom had been restored.
According to the Acts of the Apostles, prior to Jesus’ ascension into heaven, the apostles were still asking, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” (Acts 1; 6)
They continued to believe that the Messiah was going to set them up as earthly leaders. They just didn’t get it, even after Jesus said that his kingdom was not of this world.
And yet, we should not be too hard on the apostles. After all, we are very much like them.
How natural it is to seek the first place, to want to be liked and esteemed even though Jesus said the last shall be first and the first shall be last.
Just as the apostles wanted to experience the Kingdom of God as one of power and prestige, we too can fall into the trap of wanting the Kingdom of God on our terms.
In response to the apostles’ questions about restoring Israel to its former glory, Jesus warned them, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by His own authority.” (Acts 1; 7)
It has been said that knowledge is power and to know is to be in charge. We are naturally inclined—hard wired, if you will— to seek answers to questions and find solutions to problems.
One of the first questions children pose is: “Why?” Curiosity drives learning and every good journalist approaches a story with the questions: who, what, where, when and why as a backdrop. We live in an age of information, where answers to all kinds of questions are only a click away. Therefore, it can be frustrating when burning questions go unanswered.
Trusting divine providence does not come easily. Jesus knew this and so he promised to send the Holy Spirit as an advocate.
I suspect this was not much of a consolation as the apostles stood on Mount Olivet, watching Jesus disappear behind the clouds.
Who was this Holy Spirit anyway? They wanted Jesus, not some helper. I can almost hear the murmuring as they asked each other “what now?”
According to Scripture, they remained in the upper room where they devoted themselves to prayer.
And so it happened that after nine days, the Holy Spirit transformed a group of deeply flawed men into a bold and prophetic force that would change the world. And herein lies a clue as to how to respond when life throws us a curve ball. Discernment is crucial and requires prayer, patience and waiting on the Spirit.
A wise spiritual guide once said, “When faced with a decision, it is best to do nothing until a particular direction is revealed.”
That nothing, however, does not apply to prayer since when we come to a fork in the road, prayer is the light that guides our path.
What this guide meant was that we are to maintain a posture of patient listening, the direct opposite of following the human inclination to fight or take flight.
For those who tend to be action oriented, a great deal of restraint may be required to not react, by seeking an immediate solution or by rushing in to fix or rescue someone who may be struggling.
For those who tend to take flight, the natural disposition may be to deny problems, turn a blind eye or be paralyzed by the magnitude of the situation. In this case, patient listening requires being actively open to a possible directive that may present itself in time.
I was reminded of this recently when a young woman, who had moved to another part of the country, called to ask me to help her discern whether she should resign from her current position.
She felt overwhelmed by the responsibilities of the job, and was afraid she could not live up to the expectations of her boss.
After a period of prayerful reflection, we identified how fear impacted her desire to flee. In doing so, she discovered that in the past whenever she changed jobs, she had acted not out of fear, but because she felt called in another direction.
Rather than running away from, she was running to something, and so it seemed best to wait.
A few weeks later, she was offered a job in an area of ministry to which she felt called.
Life is a process. Through prayer we come to a deeper understanding of ourselves, and through discernment of external signs, we open ourselves to the Holy Spirit for guidance.
Every decision is a step along the way and even negative experiences can be an opportunity for a new direction in life and spiritual growth.
But to discover the hidden grace within a seeming crisis, we need patience and prayerful listening. And that means waiting on the Holy Spirit, who breathes on us at just the right time because only God knows what the future holds.
April 25, 2016
Finding God in the Verbs
As long as I can remember, I have been an avid reader.
However, with an appetite for books that far exceeded the limits of my pocketbook, I developed a longstanding relationship with the public library that continues to enlighten and challenge me on a regular basis.
Last week while perusing the shelves in the religious book section—one of my favorites— my eyes lit upon a book that immediately captured my attention.
The title: “Finding God in the Verbs” aroused my curiosity. I checked out the book, and happily it did not disappoint.
Over the years, my search for God has led me to find God in nature, in people, in the events of life, and of course in prayer. However, I can honestly say, that even as a writer, it never occurred to me to look for God in verbs.
The book, co-authored by two members of the Quaker religion, J. Brent Bill, a minister and author, and Jennie Isbell, offers a unique perspective, inviting readers to make a list of the verbs used when praying from the heart.
According to the authors, the verbs we choose can provide important insights into our perception of God and the role we ascribe to divine intervention in our life.
Using words such as teach, nourish, enlighten, guide, and help are words that invite God to be actively engaged in our life in a way that involves us. In other words they imply a kind of partnership with God as we move and work through the joys and challenges of life.
On the other hand, words such as change, grant, transform, make or remove may imply that our perception of God is a bit like a divine Santa Claus or Superman whose role is to fix our problems and grant our requests with little effort beyond asking.
The authors make a point of saying that words do matter, pointing to the fact that prayer is the most important conversation we will ever have. However, in keeping with Quaker tradition, they note that as important as words may be, listening is even more important.
It is reminiscent of the words of Teresa of Avila who counseled her nuns about the importance of listening when we are in the presence of someone who is more intelligent than we are. That someone, of course, is God, and listening, I might add, is a verb and a very active one at that.
Listening in prayer does not mean we enter into a position of passive surrender, but that we gaze with affection towards the One to whom we are listening.
Those who have tried this know that active listening requires a great deal of effort. While the practice may invite a renewed appreciation for silence, it is also about entering (another active verb) into that secret room where Jesus instructed his followers to go when they pray.
It is about being quiet so as to hear the voice of God that is described in the Book of Kings as a gentle breeze. Listening to God does not involve so much an audible sound as it does a quiet revelation deep within that makes the Good News of Biblical times forever new.
Perhaps this is best described by the martyred Archbishop Oscar Romero who wrote:
“This is the beauty and the prayer of the Christian life; coming to understand that a God who converses with humans has created them and has lifted them up. . . He has lifted us up so that he can talk with us and share his joys, his generosity, his grandeur.”
He goes on to say that God is a God who converses with us and because he converses with us, at least half of our prayer time should involve listening. Archbishop Romero calls human beings God’s other self.
Indeed we have been created in the image and likeness of God and we are called to know God but we can only come to know God if we make time to converse with Him and that kind of conversation requires listening as well as speaking.
Just as Adam and Eve once walked with God, so we are called to walk and talk with God, to listen and to come to know God as truly as another self, for it is in God that we find our truest identity.
During the Transfiguration of Jesus on Mount Tabor, a cloud overshadowed Peter, James and John and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Beloved Son, listen to Him.”
These words were not meant simply for the three apostles who were privileged to witness the transfiguration. They were meant for all of us.
Like the disciples on the Road to Emmaus, Jesus was revealed in the breaking of the bread, but Scripture reminds us that their hearts were burning within as he walked and talked with them.
It was in the walking, talking, listening, and remembering the breaking of the bread that led them to recognize Christ in their midst. And so it is with those who walk, talk, listen, revere and consume.
Our God is not a passive God but a God who is forever re-creating the world anew and inviting us to be partners in the process.
What an awesome privilege and responsibility! So let us be attentive and alert, attuned to his every word so we too can find God in the verbs.
April 11, 2016
The Power of Love
The picture of the “Praying Hands” is undoubtedly the most popular work credited to print artist and painter, Albrecht Durer, but few people are familiar with the story behind the painting.
It is a story worth telling because once we understand the noble sacrifice freely offered by the person whose hands inspired the work, we can better appreciate the reality that prayer changes the one who prays.
Durer was one of 18 children born in fifteenth century Germany. Albrecht and one of his brothers dreamed of becoming artists, but the family could only afford to send one of the sons to study art. As the result of a coin toss, Albrecht won the opportunity to study art in Nuremberg.
However, the brothers agreed that once Albrecht completed his studies, he would use the money from the sale of his art work to finance his brother’s dream. Four years later after Albrecht had completed his studies, he returned home to help his brother, but it was too late. During the four years that he was away, his brother had labored in a gold mine, where he had sustained several broken fingers. Pointing to his arthritic hands, the brother explained, with tears in his eyes, that his hands had become too crippled and work-worn to paint.
If the story had ended there it would indeed be a tragedy, but one day while Durer observed his brother in prayer, he was touched by the sight of his twisted hands and decided to paint his hands folded in prayer as a gesture of love and gratitude for his brother’s noble sacrifice. The work when first completed was entitled “Apostles Hands” but through the centuries it has become known simply as “The Praying Hands.”
Although the brother’s dream was never realized in the way he had hoped when he was young, his generosity was rewarded in a most unexpected way. Rather than becoming an artist, his hands have become a work of art, one that has lasted through the centuries. The brother never achieved the fame that was awarded Albrecht. In fact we don’t even know the name of the one who had sacrificed so much. And yet, while many famed paintings by Albrecht Durer hang in art galleries and museums throughout the world, the print of “The Praying Hands” is both profound and ordinary enough to have achieved a place of honor in homes and offices everywhere. It has been replicated as bookends, subjects for needlepoint and stand alone figurines.
I suspect its popularity is due to the fact that more than a work of art, the likeness of “The Praying Hands” serves as an invitation to ponder the transcendent. We can’t know if those hands were offering a prayer of praise and adoration, or if they were pleading or giving thanks. But the fact that they were pointed upward invites all who gaze upon them to look beyond life’s passing realities and recognize the importance of a loving relationship with God. Knowing the story behind this particular work of art, reminds us how God can transform disappointments, suffering, and even lost dreams into a reality we could never have imagined.
Durer’s hands folded in prayer remind us that despite our best efforts, human effort alone is insufficient. Life happens. Things don’t always work out the way we plan, and there are limits as to what any one person can accomplish. But when we offer our meager efforts to God, even when our work is less than perfect, God can do amazing things. Every time we unite our suffering with the suffering of Christ, we experience the Paschal Mystery, not just as a mystery of faith but as a lived experience. When our seeming failures rise from the ashes as a benediction for others, we experience the Resurrection in real time and in a very personal way. Each time we look beyond the crucible and celebrate the presence of God in our midst, we proclaim the death and resurrection of Jesus.
In his book “Christian Contemplative Living,” Thomas Santa, C.S.S.R. posits that conversion is more a change of attitude than it is a change of action. He goes on to explain that once we know in our deepest center that we are loved, it is an attitude of being loved that empowers us to change our behavior.
The recent murder of five nuns who were killed by the terrorists is one such example. Yes, their death was a tragedy, but when we view their dying through a transcendent lens, we can celebrate their martyrdom, knowing that while they are enjoying the fullness of glory with God, their blood is seeding the Church for generations to come.
These faith-filled nuns could go to their death because they knew God loved them. Their ministry was one of caring for the elderly in the nursing home where they worked, a ministry that allowed them to return the love that had been theirs. Not unlike Albrecht Durer’s brother, who remained faithful despite the turn his life had taken, the peace and love these nuns had was rooted in their relationship with God, a relationship that not even a group of terrorists could take from them.
March 28, 2016
Back to the Future: A Post Resurrection Story
Have you ever wondered about the women who set out with spices to anoint the body of Jesus on that first Easter morning?
They were the same women who had remained on Calvary and saw Jesus entombed without a proper burial because the Sabbath was fast approaching.
Surely they had witnessed the placing of the huge stone at the entrance of the tomb, and yet it did not deter them from their mission.
How would they gain access to Jesus’ body? Who would roll away the stone?
Did these women possess the combined strength it would take to carry out their task?
Could it be that they were hoping to see some of the apostles there?
As Christians, we know the answer to these questions, but in real time, these bold women of faith were not privy to the Resurrection story. And yet, despite unanswered questions and inconceivable obstacles, they continued the journey. Compelled by love, it seems they could do no less. They continued to believe in Jesus even after witnessing his terrible crucifixion and death.
Their journey from Calvary to the tomb was a journey from faith to faithfulness. As faithful followers of Jesus, their journey took them from witnessing Jesus’ miracles to the scene of his murder.
But their love for him did not end there. Though consumed with grief, they did not allow it to paralyze them. Instead they set out to minster to Jesus even when they thought he was dead.
Unable to quell the desire to serve their Master, they followed their heart’s deepest longing to be near Jesus, no matter that conventional wisdom would deem them foolish.
The determination of these women serves as an ongoing example of what it means to be a disciple of Christ and begs the question: what about us? Do we believe only when things are going our way, or do we remain faithful in the presence of criticism, rejection and obstacles of every kind?
Do we remain faithful disciples in the presence of family discord, illness or financial problems or do we become bitter and cynical or indulge in self-pity?
Do we allow our weaknesses or past failures to stand in the way of a mission that we are being called to embrace?
Like the women at the tomb who were sent to tell the Good News, we are being called to go and tell our brothers and sisters what we have seen. When the apostles heard the testimony of the women, they ran to the tomb half in disbelief, half out of curiosity.
But then isn’t that the way of human beings? We demand proof, we look for signs. It is why we relate so well to Thomas who demanded proof before he would believe that Jesus had risen from the dead despite his witnessing Jesus bring Lazarus back to life.
We don’t know a lot about the women who went to the tomb on that first Easter morning but we do know that one of them was Mary Magdalene from whom seven devils had been cast out.
She knew what it was like to be imprisoned by evil and she knew what it was like to be set free.
For the Magdalene, there was no going back. After the others left the tomb site, Mary stayed behind and wept. She could not bear life without Jesus. She even begged the gardener to tell her where Jesus’ body was taken.
In the midst of her grief, Mary didn’t recognize Jesus until he called her by name. And so it is with us.
We have all been called by name but unlike Mary, more often than not, we fail to recognize Jesus who is standing in our midst in the person or situation that needs our attention.
Caught up in the business of our lives, we may turn a deaf ear or fail to see the person of Christ in the person on the street, the cashier who is moving slower than we would like, or in a family member who is in need of a smile or a word of encouragement.
In a recent interview, Pope Francis reminded us that God does not hide himself from us. He dwells among us but his presence cannot be contrived, it must be found.
Numerous saints have proclaimed that God is found in the messiness of everyday life. St. Teresa of Avila told her nuns, they could find him in the pots and pans as surely as in the chapel.
This is not to diminish the importance of prayer, but reminds us that we cannot restrict God’s presence to the Church. Francis of Assisi encountered Jesus in the leper whom he embraced on the road and Mother Teresa found him in the streets of Calcutta.
So where will we find Christ?
Like the women who went to the tomb on Easter Sunday, we are on a journey, but no two journeys are alike. If we take the time to listen, we will hear our name being called, not once but again and again until at life’s end we will hear the words we long to hear, “Well done good and faithful servant, come and share your Master’s happiness.” (Matt. 25; 23)
And then, we too shall rise with Christ and encounter God in the fullness of Divine glory.
March 14, 2016
The Impact of the Irish
It’s the time of year when beer and water fountains are apt to turn green…
…shamrocks decorate napkins and front doors and everyone claims to have a wee bit of the Irish in their family tree. Considering how Irish immigrants were discriminated against when they first arrived on U. S. soil, this is quite an accomplishment. However, it was not only the potato famine that brought Irish citizens to American shores in the 19th century. With seminaries in Ireland overflowing with soon to be ordained priests, and a strong Protestant, anti-Catholic climate in the United States, missionaries from Ireland began arriving in record numbers to what was viewed as fertile ground. The majority of priests were sent either to the Bible belt in the Southern United States or to Boston to minister to thousands of Irish immigrants who were settling there.
With the proliferation of Irish priests in Boston, the city soon became almost synonymous with Irish Catholic and as Irish priests were appointed bishops, their role in the community quickly positioned them as power brokers who enjoyed close ties to politicians. It was in this climate that some would argue, the stage was set for the culture of secrecy that allowed bishops to transfer pedophile priests and for prosecutors to look the other way. Given what we now know about the systemic nature of the handling of abusive priests, we can hardly lay culpability for the decision by some to protect the institutional Church at the expense of victims at the feet of the Irish. However, it does serve as a reminder that unless power is balanced with Gospel values it can easily corrupt.
Having lived in the Deep South during the first 20 years of our marriage, I can attest to the fact that the Irish Catholic landscape of the South maintained its missionary spirit. With the Catholic population remaining anywhere from two to eight percent in most areas, the spirit of elitism that plagued the North was a nonstarter in the South. Irish clergy were rarely well received and even today, many foreign born Irish priests are referred to as FBI, either affectionately or pejoratively, depending on a person’s predisposition towards foreign priests. But rather than allowing the small number of Catholics to become an obstacle, parishes pastored by Irish clergy in the South used the situation to their advantage.
While I was working in parish ministry in Georgia, we combined our vacation Bible school with that of a neighboring Christian church and quickly doubled the numbers of participants. Since the Baptist churches held worship services on Wednesday evenings, and city sports leagues worked around their schedule, we moved Catholic religious education classes to Wednesday evenings as well. And regularly scheduled ministerial luncheons for area clergy of all traditions became sacrosanct for most Catholic priests.
Rather than be outdone by the Baptists or Jehovah Witnesses who went door to door, our Irish pastor in Anniston, Alabama organized a cadre of lay volunteers who accompanied him when he knocked on doors, inviting people to a Town Hall Meeting entitled “Everything You Wanted to Know About the Catholic Church but Were Afraid to Ask.” People were gracious and often invited volunteers in for a cup of coffee so it was no surprise the attendance turned out to be greater than we had imagined. Our beloved pastor, who was no youngster, credited his idea to an Irish Bishop he had worked with in the Diocese of Mobile, who would literally stand on a street corner and preach the Gospel.
I write about all of this because as a Church we owe a lot to the Irish. In addition to the practice of individual confession for all Catholics, Irish monks copied Scripture and other important works during the Dark Ages of Western Europe, thus preserving sacred texts for the Western Church. And after the barbarian invasions, it was the Irish who sent priests to catechize and minister to the remnant church.
February 29, 2016
Necessary, but not Important
Every now and then I hear or come across pithy sayings that not only stay with me, but over time seem to take on a life of their own.
By that I mean that with each recall the meaning seems to expand to a wider appreciation and application within the context of my life.
Since a number of such pearls of wisdom have recently graced my path, I have decided to share a couple of them with you in this column. My hope is that you will find them as thought provoking as I have.
Last month while I was facilitating a weekend retreat in Alabama, the priest who presided at Mass Saturday morning told us, “As Christians we are necessary, but not important.”
It was the feast of one of the early Christian martyrs about whom we know almost nothing except that she died for her faith.
Consequently, the priest concluded that although she had a role to play in the life of the Church, her personal life was not all that important. He went on to compare her with the Apostles about whose lives we also know very little – other than the fact that they preached the Gospel and all but John died for their faith.
We assume almost all were married, but what about their wives? Did they have children and if so, what became of them?
The Apostles were companions of Jesus, but if we look at the Gospels, we learn mostly about their blunders and the fact is: they were necessary to the mission of the church, but the particularities of their lives were not important. Only after the coming of the Holy Spirit did they finally seem to understand what John the Baptist meant when he said, “I must decrease so he can increase.” (John 3:30 in which John is speaking to his own disciples, not Jesus’ disciples.)
The more I reflect on Father John’s theory that we are necessary, but not important, the more I feel a sense of relief and I wasn’t the only one.
As I met privately with retreatants during the weekend, I was impressed with how often that saying was quoted as a take-away phrase.
Perhaps it is because we place too much importance on what we do when all we really need to concern ourselves with is whether we are furthering the mission of Christ. Anything more or less than that is simply a case of ego having its way with us.
Valuing ourselves because of what we have, what we do, worrying about what others think of us or believing that we are indispensable are all part of what Thomas Merton called the false self.
It was the false self that Jesus was referring to when he said, “Those who lose their life will save it.”
The false self is that part of us that must die in order to bear fruit. We are necessary but not important, because it is in our dying with Christ that we will live life to its fullest.
During that same retreat, I met an 88-year-old nun who, in my estimation, characterized the epitome of death to the false self. During each presentation, she sat in the front row directly across from where I was standing, and if ever I saw the face of Christ, it was in her smile.
Later when she came to talk with me, she told me that she had spent 50 years working in Africa in the Cameroon. While there, she had established a hospital for disabled children where more than 3,000 children had been rehabilitated. Despite its success, her order called her back to the United States.
She was devastated and to this day she has never been given the reason for her recall. For the past 18 years, she has been working with the poorest of the poor in Selma, but her heart remains in Africa.
The theme of the retreat was based on Jesus’ question to the apostles, “Who do you say that I am” and my question to each person making the retreat was “How would you answer Jesus’ question?”
During the course of my conversation with this saintly nun, she shared with me that for her Jesus was “The Divine Absence.” Listening to her share her story was like reading the book, “Come Be My Light,” a collection of letters and journal entries written by Mother Teresa of Calcutta.
One of my favorite paragraphs in the book is the following journal entry written by the saint: “Lord, who am I that you should forsake me? The child of your love—and now becomes as the most hated one—the one you have thrown away as unwanted—unloved. I call, I cling, I want—and there is no One to answer. The darkness is so dark and I am alone.”
It seems it is the way of saints to experience the absence as one more purgation, not because they need it, but because their lives reflect ever more deeply the life of the One in whose footsteps they walk— the One who from the cross cried out, “My God my God why have you forsaken me?”
It is one more paradox that those most loved should often feel the most abandoned, but it is also in keeping with Jesus’ words, and even more importantly with his life.
Clearly, feelings about the closeness of God are not a good barometer for measuring our relationship with God. Rather it is about allowing ourselves to be part of the mission, because every person is necessary, though not important—at least not in the way the secular world measures importance.
February 15, 2016
Priesthood of the Laity
Send flowers, not chocolates.
We had barely washed the ashes off our forehead when temptation arrived in beautifully embossed heart-shaped boxes. What’s a person to do? It would seem rude not to indulge in at least one of those creamy delights from a well-intentioned giver. But can we eat just one? For some the answer is yes, but for others, tucking the box out of sight for the remaining days of Lent doesn’t necessarily verify, “out of sight out of mind.” Whether your Achilles heel is chocolate or some other means of instant gratification, some temptations are simply harder to resist than others. But if Lent was merely about giving up things we enjoy, we could either throw up our hands and surrender to enticement’s allure or don sack cloth and sit on an ash heap. Neither would be an appropriate choice.
While Valentine’s Day may seem at odds with the season of Lent, a more informed consideration proves otherwise. If the purpose of Valentine’s Day was only about hearts and flowers, candy or even diamonds, the day would be reduced to a celebration of consumerism. And while florist, jewelers and chocolatiers may benefit from the holiday, the real gift is the love that inspires the gift-giving.
Like anything that has a deeper meaning, subjecting Lent to an all or nothing mindset obscures the spiritual profundity of the season. The fact that Lent is inaugurated with a sign that marks our forehead as a reminder of our own mortality is a sobering thought. It invites us to examine our life in terms of Gospel values and to respond to the call to repent. It is the Church’s way of helping us create space in our life to better confront those areas where we fall short. In a spirit of repentance, we enter the desert of our heart to slay our inner demons with Scripture, prayer and fasting, much the way Jesus did when he was tempted. Consider that when Jesus emerged from the desert, he went to the synagogue where both he and his message were rejected. The same is bound to happen to us. So the real test is not about how we are treated but about how we treat others.
Experience has taught me that it is much easier to give up candy than to decide to love when I would rather judge or condemn the actions of those with whom I disagree. Therefore, remaining faithful to the spirit of Lent is not about whether or not we break a self-imposed fast from candy, alcohol or some other source of enjoyment, but about the way we treat the people with whom we share this world. Do we treat family members or co-workers with the same kind of respect that we afford people whom we choose as friends? And how about the poor, the marginalized, prisoners, refugees or victims of war? Although we may not come in close contact with them on a regular basis, do we help them carry their cross? This is where our sacrifices, small though they may be, take on a whole new dimension. When inspired by love and heart-felt concern, prayer becomes a leverage to help those who carry a cross much heavier than ours.
Those of us who have been blessed with a roof over our head and food in the pantry, ought to welcome the opportunity to write a check on behalf of those who lack life’s necessities, keeping in mind that more will be asked of those who receive more. But God’s abundance is never limited to temporal gifts. Being mindful that every moment is full of grace, elevates seemingly insignificant moments. Moments that include standing in line at the grocery store, folding clothes, walking to the car, pumping gas, the list goes on and on. Short phrases like, “My Lord and my God” spoken on behalf of those who turn away from God, or “My Jesus Mercy, save us from sin” for those who are victims and/ or perpetrators of violence become spiritual gifts for the world.
Like Christ who remained silent in the face of persecution and criticism, there may be times when no response is the best response. Holding our tongue when we are criticized, passing on dessert, refraining from a second helping at the dinner table, less dressing on a salad are small ways that when practiced regularly and united with the cross of Jesus lighten the burden of others and transforms the one who is doing the lifting. It is never about the magnitude of the sacrifice, but about the measure of love that unites it with the ongoing love on Calvary.
This is the priesthood of the laity at its finest. It is a vocation we were called to at our Baptism. Just as the ordained priest stands at the altar as mediator between God and the people, so each person is called by virtue of their baptism to stand as mediator between God and those we are called to serve in the marketplace of life, be that through prayer or sacrifice. It is what transforms giving up chocolate for Lent into a sacrifice worthy of our calling. Such sacrifices become small only when we allow them to become more important than the God who transforms them. The God who is working through us even when we give thanks by enjoying a piece of chocolate on Valentine’s Day.
February 1, 2016
God of Surprises
I should know by now that God can use us in unexpected ways, and yet whenever it happens I am pleasantly surprised.
One such occasion occurred a few weeks ago while attending an annual dinner event with my husband. After making the rounds and catching up with people I had not seen since last year, I found myself standing next to a table where a woman whom I had not met was sitting all alone.
Although I knew most of the people at the next table, it would have been rude to join them when we were instructed to take a seat. Consequently, I introduced myself to the woman, sat down and within a few minutes discovered, much to my surprise, we actually had a great deal in common.
She was a nurse and since my first career was in nursing, it was easy to find common ground.
As the evening progressed, she began to ask how I ended up in my current role, and before I knew it she confessed that she was Catholic but had not been to Church since the clergy sexual abuse scandal became public.
She admitted that she missed going to Mass and asked how I could remain in and even work for a church that had failed children in such an egregious manner. Her tone was non-confrontational and I sensed she was genuinely looking for an answer.
I told her that I continue to go to Church because God is so much bigger than our human failings. And that when I go to Mass and receive the Eucharist, I am encountering Christ and no priest or Bishop, no matter what their failings might be, can diminish that reality.
Before I knew it, she was asking me to recommend a Catholic church where she could slip in unnoticed. She said she didn’t want people coming up to her, asking her a lot of questions or inviting her to join this or that organization. This was between her and God.
As I listened I couldn’t help but smile to myself. During the years when I facilitated Parish Council retreats, I would inevitably hear people say they needed to be more welcoming as a parish, and here was a woman saying she wanted to return to the Church, but just wanted to be left alone.
Her comment reminded me of a story I once heard about a little Jewish boy who asked his grandfather why they go to synagogue. The old man thought for a while, scratched his head and proceeded to explain.
“You see people go for all kinds of reasons. Take my friend Jacob. He goes to synagogue to talk to God. And then there is my friend Zeke. He goes to synagogue to talk to Jacob.”
One lesson to take from the story is that we need to be sensitive to where people are. If we tend to be outgoing and a joiner, it is easy to assume everyone is like us. However, the faith journey is as divergent as the people making it. And everyone is at a different place.
Therefore, it is important to meet people where they are, and we can only do that if we pay attention to their body language along with what they are saying. Respectful listening is an essential part of being welcoming when we approach people whom we do not know, especially when it comes to evangelizing.
We never know what they have experienced or the struggles they may have encountered.
The conversation with my dinner partner ended with my recommending a Catholic church that was near her home. I explained that it was very large and assured her that she could easily slip in without being noticed if that was her choice. She said she would try it.
Afterwards I wondered whether I should have offered to go with her, but her return seemed to be something that she needed to do alone.
I admit that with so much emphasis on the role of the laity in evangelizing, there are times when we’re not exactly sure what to say or how to say it, but we can never go wrong if we listen to others respectfully and then simply share our own perspective without telling others what they should think or do.
Lecturing others only diminishes their sense of worth and may antagonize them. It helps to remember what Archbishop Oscar Romero said so eloquently, which is that we are seed planters, not harvest masters.
We plant seeds and then allow God to do the work of transforming hearts. It is liberating to acknowledge this because we never know if our words will fall on rocky soil or fertile ground.
Therefore, it is equally comforting to know that we are not the only person that God can use to change hearts. As part of the Body of Christ, we all have a role to play and if we are attentive to others, those opportunities present themselves and, most often, when we least expect it.
January 18, 2016
Clues or Clueless
The truism that we learn from our mistakes has almost become a cliché.
Nevertheless, I doubt we can overestimate the importance of lessons we learn along the way.
I was reminded of this over the holidays as I was playing a board game that we gave our grandchildren for Christmas. The game was “Clue” and although it has been around for decades, it was new to us and the instructions seemed anything but simple.
By the third re-read, we decided we had enough information for a first attempt, but once into the game, our initial response was “This doesn’t make sense.”
Since tenacity would not allow us to abandon ship, we plodded along and eventually, it paid off. The very issues that had been a stumbling block led us back to the instructions, which now with some on hands experience made perfect sense.
And isn’t that pretty much the way life works?
Too often parents and even grandparents expect those with less life experience to have the kind of insight and wisdom that it takes years to acquire. Consequently, while their gentle, or sometimes not so gentle, advice makes perfect sense to them, until those who are decades younger have had real life experience, they may come across sounding a bit like the adults in a Charlie Brown television special.
No one would deny that trials and tribulations are part of life, but they are also part of the learning curve. While we can appreciate lessons learned the hard way, we instinctively want to spare loved ones from life’s hard knocks.
But that may not always be in their best interest. Part of parenting involves alerting children to the dangers and pitfalls of risky behavior. However, when such warnings go unheeded, standing by with emotional tourniquets as needed goes a long way to ensure understanding at a later time.
Again we can turn to the Gospels for reinforcement of this principle. When Peter bragged that he would follow Jesus anywhere, Jesus warned him that within a few hours he would deny him.
The warning went unheeded and Peter denied the Lord all the same. Afterwards Scripture tells us that Peter deeply regretted his behavior and wept over his sin.
Failure, remorse and return is the way most of us make advances in the spiritual life. Trust does not come easily, especially when life does not go the way we hope or expect it should.
And yet, if we persevere and turn to our loving Father despite our doubts, the very teachings that we questioned earlier eventually make sense.
That may be why we need the Year of Mercy. We have Scripture and the teachings of the Church to guide us along the way and still we stray.
The human tendency to be lured into worshipping the false gods of pleasure, prestige and possessions is universal. Therefore, reading and re-reading the teachings of Jesus alerts us to the fallacy of a cultural doctrine that says we can have it all and right now.
Nothing of worth comes without personal sacrifice, perseverance, and patience, but in a world of fast food, Instagram and credit cards, delaying gratification does not come easily.
Whether we realize it or not, we all struggle with some form of addiction. It need not be alcohol or drugs.
Over indulging in exercise, shopping, social media, television or food – to name a few – can be a way to achieve immediate gratification to soothe an aching or restless heart.
Although these things are good in themselves, we can be lured into believing that they will make us happy. The Beatitudes tell us otherwise and until we have felt the emptiness of passing pleasures, we remain blind to the fact that the poor in spirit, those who hunger and thirst for justice or are persecuted for Jesus’ name are indeed richly blessed.
Only when we experience first hand the disillusionment of what the world calls “Having it all” does the Sermon on the Mount make sense.
I am always amused when our adult children, who are now parents, pass on the very values that as children they questioned or rejected. Obviously adults have a different vantage point than children and the same holds true as we travel the road to Christian maturity.
We grow into our faith one step at a time. Like any good parent, God is patient with us, but we cannot feign ignorance forever.
Life holds plenty of clues. We have Scripture, spiritual books and the lives of the saints to help guide us, but one reading or even two are insufficient.
Several years ago I decided to read the Bible from beginning to end which took more than a year. Now habit, reading it has become a daily practice and I am always surprised by how much escaped me during previous readings.
While Scripture doesn’t change, we do, and so our understanding deepens with life experience.
It may not happen immediately, or even with every re-read. But over time we will find hidden within its pages clues that may have eluded us earlier.
On the other hand, we can adopt a ho-hum attitude, believing we know everything it contains and remain forever clueless. However, if we take on faith that God is present in every aspect of life, perseverance will pay off, our understanding will deepen and we will be better equipped to meet the challenges that are part of every life.
January 4, 2016
Not Politics as Usual
“I know what I don’t know and so I would surround myself with the brightest and most knowledgeable people in the field.”
The honest acknowledgement of his limitations by Jeb Bush during the December 15 Republican debate was a welcome, though admittedly highly unusual tactic.
In the face of other candidates whose bluster would lead us to believe they have all the answers, Bush’s assessment that no one man can know everything came as a refreshingly novel approach.
It was also reminiscent of an exchange between Pope Francis and some reporters in Rome in which the Pontiff said, “A danger for the pope too, you know, is believing that I can answer all your questions. The only one who can answer all your questions is the Lord.”
The irony to all of this is that when we search the Gospels, rather than giving answers, Jesus often addressed his audience by posing questions.
Parables such as the Good Samaritan were followed by the question “who was the good neighbor?”
Or consider the parable of the two sons, after which Jesus asked who was the obedient son. The one who said yes, but never followed through or the son who said no, but later changed his mind and did as the father had asked?
And when the Pharisees asked Jesus by whose authority he cast out demons, he responded with a question of his own, asking them by whose authority John the Baptist preached? When they feigned ignorance, Jesus said “then neither will I tell you by whose authority I cast out demons.”
Even in regard to his identity, Jesus asked, “Who do you say that I am?”
Over and over Jesus reminds his followers that we are part of the process. The Kingdom of God is not some distant faraway place but is in our heart.
It is part of an ongoing journey and each of us has a role to play in bringing it to fruition.
And as much as we may dislike the rhetoric of politicians, they too are part of the process of transforming the world in which we live.
In a recent interview, one political pundit described the Republican debate as a stage of angry players. But neither party is immune from exhibiting negative rhetoric.
As candidates, when both Democrats and Republicans make the case that they are the most qualified person to hold the highest office of our land, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that Pope Francis called politics “one of the highest forms of charity” since it seeks the common good.
But he also acknowledged that politics can be “dirty, frustrating and fraught with failure.”
And so, here we are. Entering another election year. Campaigns will get messy, language will get ugly and issues will bring out the best and the worst in people.
The social decorum to avoid discussing religion and politics if you want to remain friends is irrelevant in this day and age. Nevertheless, just as we are to hate the sin but love the sinner, we are called to look for the good in those who have political leanings that are different from our own, and thus avoid turning politics into hate mongering.
What would Jesus do? Actually, the Gospels give us a pretty good idea about not only what Jesus would do, but about what he actually did.
When he began his ministry, he chose a staff not of the brightest and most knowledgeable, but a group of uneducated men. Among them was a tax collector, a doubter, a betrayer and a denier.
Then there was Mary Magdalene from whom he had cast out seven devils. Throughout his ministry Jesus went among the poor, the disabled and the marginalized.
The life and teachings of Jesus remind us that God does not use the same standard for measuring a person’s worth that our culture uses, nor does he give up on people. No matter how far we stray or no matter how long ago we remain outside his loving embrace, God is waiting to take us back.
And so, as we enter into the Jubilee Year of Mercy, we pray that God will transform our hearts so that we can be a transforming influence in our world.
As we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6 we do well to remember that we do not have all the answers—only God does. And then reflect on the fact that the only time Jesus was surrounded by wise men, they remained silent in his presence.
They brought the newborn King the best of what they had to offer and knelt in quiet adoration, knowing their wisdom paled in comparison to that of the Babe whose star they had followed.
May we follow their example and continue our journey in faith with our eyes on the Lord so that he may speak to our hearts and grant us the wisdom to acknowledge what we do not know so that the wisdom of God may be revealed to a world that is desperately in need of healing and forgiveness.
December 21, 2015
Jesus, Light for the World
Does it strike you as ironic that amid strains of Silent Night, bombs are exploding in the Middle East and guns are being fired in otherwise peaceful neighborhoods in our own country?
Does it seem implausible that angelic greetings of “Fear not” are being drowned out by politicians using scare tactics to promote a false sense of security? Or how about parents silently weeping at the bedside of a dying child on Christmas Day or the widow who is experiencing her first Christmas without her husband after almost 50 years marriage? Then there is the elderly couple spending Christmas alone because their children live on the other side of the country and they can’t afford a plane ticket to be with them? And what about military families who are spending another Christmas without Mom or Dad because they have been deployed one more time?
When people ask has anything changed since that first Christmas, it might be because we have confused that first Christmas with the Currier and Ives version of Christmas Eve. In our rush to make everything perfect, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that God Incarnate broke into human history in a world that was nothing like the Hallmark images that adorn greeting cards and decorate mantles. Even churches burst with decorations that promote a version of Christmas that the first witnesses of Christ’s birth would not recognize. Beautifully carved statues of the Holy Family in mangers aglow with twinkling lights on artificial greenery have become the norm, when in reality, Mary and Joseph might be better represented by the homeless who huddle by a makeshift fire warming themselves against the cold.
May we never forget that the Son of God came to earth, and was born in a remote village that was under Roman occupation! That during the last month of her pregnancy, Mary traveled to Bethlehem with Joseph in compliance with an order issued by a corrupt demagogue. And that far from the comfort of family and friends, this humble couple from Nazareth presented the Savior to the world in a cave that had been a sheltering place for animals. Then, as if this weren’t scandalous enough, God chose to announce the birth of His Son to shepherds, men whose occupation and reputation placed them among the lowest class of people. How do people of faith reconcile such inconceivable paradoxes?
Amid tidings of great joy, choirs proclaim Jesus, Wonder Counselor, Lord of Lords and King of Kings. So He was, is and will forever be, and by means of our Baptism, Christians have entered into his royal lineage. But, if our King came to us as a humble babe, homeless and having to make do with a feeding trough for a bed, what manner of life could he be calling us to emulate? How we celebrate his birth says a great deal about our perception of the Kingdom of God.
Now I am not advocating that we throw out the Christmas tree and declare a fast on Christmas Day. However, I do believe that every person who bears the name Christian is called to examine popular traditions against what Pope Francis called “spiritual worldliness” in his Apostolic Exhortation: “The Joy of the Gospel”.
“Spiritual worldliness” says the Pope “hides behind the appearance of piety and even love for the Church consisting in seeking not the Lord’s glory, but human glory and personal well-being.” He goes on to say that it wears many faces, one of them being an ostentatious preoccupation with the liturgy, doctrine or the Church’s prestige.
While we can point to angel trees and food baskets as a way that churches provide for the poor during the holiday season, let us not forget that civic organizations, shopping malls and many private businesses do the same. So how are we different? Is our generosity inspired by a need to assuage feelings of guilt or do we see Jesus in the face of poor?
The humble abode that the Son of God chose stands in sharp contrast to what we have made of Christmas. And so I wonder: if our churches were stripped of the myriad of poinsettias and lights, would Christmas liturgies lose their appeal, or would we hear more clearly the gentle cry of the newborn babe making his presence felt from deep within our hearts? Would we see more clearly the heartache of the sick, the poor and the marginalized? And would we hear in the cry to close our borders to immigrants and refugees the innkeepers slamming their doors to Mary and Joseph?
Our world is filled with challenges, but no more so than it was when the Lord of heaven and earth came to us. During his life on earth, Jesus proclaimed the Kingdom of God is here but also that it is coming. It seems an absolute paradox until we understand that the Kingdom of God is within and that it is up to each of us to let it shine. How else will the world come to know Christ if not through us? And so, with these thoughts as a backdrop during this wondrous season, let us pray that the Light of Christ within our heart will be the brightest candle that we light this Christmas.
December 7, 2015
The Face of Mercy
As we cross the threshold to enter the Year of Mercy, I find myself wondering how it will play out for me personally, for the Catholic Church and for the world at large.
Much speculation has already taken place, some of it grounded in fact; some in wishful thinking.
However, whether the Year of Mercy serves as a gateway to affect changes that are beyond the role of the laity to decide is not the issue, because the Year of Mercy has an individual as well as a collective dimension, which is both spiritual and practical. Unless the practice of mercy becomes visible in our lives as Catholics, the year will come and go and little will have changed.
Taking a lesson from the Letter of James, who reminds us that faith without good works is dead, I believe the same holds true when it comes to mercy.
We cannot claim to be people of faith and not show mercy because mercy is woven through Scripture like thread on a weaver’s loom. From the promise of redemption in the Garden of Eden to the promise of paradise to the good thief on Calvary, the mercy of God is on display.
God’s mercy is evident everywhere, but mercy cannot be solely the action of God.
Jesus said, “Blessed are the merciful for mercy shall be theirs” and he taught us to pray, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
These words contain not only a promise, but a challenge, and if that wasn’t enough, Jesus left his followers the parable of the unjust steward who owed a vast sum of money to his master.
Filled with compassion, the master cancelled the debt of the steward, who in turn went out and tried to extract full payment from a servant who owed him a much smaller amount.
If listening to the parable leads only to a sense of indignation over the behavior of the unjust steward, we have missed the point. Until we understand that the parable is about every one of us, and that we have been and continue to be the ungrateful steward, nothing will change.
We cannot simply remain on the receiving end of God’s mercy and expect to be saved. We must extend that same kind of mercy to others.
God did not have to die a horrible death in order to save us, but in his great mercy, he became one of us so that we might know what mercy looks like. Jesus became the Mercy of God so that we might see the face of God.
He did this when he healed the sick, forgave the woman caught in adultery, and when he called sinners to be his disciples. Before he died, Jesus asked the Father to forgive those who crucified him, because mercy cannot exist outside of forgiveness.
Even after his resurrection, Jesus continued to be the face of mercy. He showed us the face of mercy when he responded to a doubting Thomas by appearing to him and inviting him to touch his wounded hands and side.
After Peter denied the Master and was nowhere to be seen during the crucifixion, Jesus reciprocated by entrusting him with the Keys to the Kingdom as his Vicar on Earth.
As followers of Christ, we are also called to reveal the God of mercy just as Jesus did. Therefore, mercy must be visible in the way we treat not only our family and friends, but also our enemies and the strangers in our midst.
It must be obvious to all that we are people of mercy by the way we speak, and act and dream. The debt that was owed by humankind was paid by God once and for all, but with every privilege comes responsibility, and so we ask: How am I revealing the mercy of God to those who have justly or unjustly wronged me?
If we are truly honest, we will admit that more often than not, we behave like the unjust steward. Lest we remain forever blind to our sins, let us imitate the blind man on the side of the road who cried out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.”
Today in the face of terrorist activities, rhetoric to close our borders to refugees cries out to God, and so we must decide if our security should come at the expense of those whose plight is far more desperate than ours.
When fear clouds our vision, we do well to look at Mary, the Mother of Mercy. Consider that after Jesus was tried by the state and executed as a common criminal, Mary remained at the foot of the cross. And when it seemed her heart could bear no more, she embraced as mother the very people who were responsible for the death of her son.
As the Year of Mercy stretches before us, we have twelve months to pray over and ponder how we are called to reveal the face of God’s mercy to the world.
And then, we have a lifetime to put it into practice, knowing that at life’s end, each of us will stand before the God of mercy.
Therefore, let us remain ever mindful of the debt we owe lest we appear before the all-merciful Judge looking more like the unjust steward than the God in whose image we have been created.
November 23, 2015
A Debacle Turned Blessing
Being a gourmet chef has never been a title to which I can lay claim.
Like most non-foody moms I know, putting a meal on the table that is both satisfying and nutritionally sound takes precedence over creativity and exotic presentations. As a result, my culinary skills definitely fall into the category of simple and ordinary. Don’t get me wrong. That’s not a bad thing – after all, few foods say “I love you” like homemade mac and cheese. However, every now and then, the temptation to dazzle people around the dinner table gets the better of me. Perhaps that explains why I find myself scouring cookbooks and online recipes for something beyond the ordinary when planning family celebrations or entertaining dinner guests.
Last week in preparation for a birthday dinner for our son Andrew and his wife Amy, (their birthdays are only 3 days apart) my search led me to a recipe for a pumpkin cheesecake. Recalling that one of the layers on their wedding cake was a cheese cake, I decided it was a perfect choice. Pumpkin cheesecake it would be! After all, how hard could it be? I even had the right kind of cake pan, one I had inherited from my mother-in-law. Decision made, I headed to the grocery store.
Never having made a cheesecake from scratch, I carefully followed directions, keeping a close watch on the oven while the aroma of pumpkin spice filled the kitchen. Once cooled, I carefully released the lock on the side of the pan, placed the cake on a decorative plate, and stood back to admire my work. Yes, I concluded: it would definitely be the star of the show. Little did I realize how that would play out!
Following my satisfyingly simple dinner, and amid lively conversation, I went to the refrigerator to retrieve the cake. And then it happened. In the blink of an eye, my masterpiece went flying off the glass plate and landed face down on the kitchen floor amid a sea of candles and whipped cream. I stood there in disbelief. The cake was definitely a show stopper, but not in the way I had anticipated. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.
Days later, I look back on my cheesecake debacle, and I can laugh about it, but at the time all I could do was apologize. While Andrew and Amy were most gracious, pointing out that they could do without the extra calories, I did learn a few lessons from the experience. First of all, never grab hold of a cake plate by the pedestal, which can tilt all too easily. Secondly, I realized that the celebration was never about the cake, but about spending time together and celebrating the gift of life. Perhaps at an earlier stage, I might have decided the time, effort and cost of the ingredients had been a huge waste, but now I can appreciate that it is not what we do or how well executed our efforts may be that matters, but the love that goes into the effort. Despite the fact that the cake never made it to the table, you can be sure it is one birthday cake Andrew and Amy will long remember. All this got me thinking.
If the intention behind our failures can be appreciated on the human level, imagine how much more God appreciates even our most insignificant efforts when motivated by love. When faith, hope and love become the main ingredients, no effort is without merit and seeming failures become blessings in disguise.
In a few days our family, like so many others, will gather around the Thanksgiving dinner table. My hope is that my recent experience with the cheesecake will serve as a reminder that while food plays an important role in Thanksgiving festivities, what we eat should never overshadow the reason we come together.
I admit that there was a time when hosting Thanksgiving dinner meant I had to do everything. However in recent years, I have learned that when I invite guests to contribute to the meal, not only does it lessen my workload, but everyone feels included. No one person owns the meal, least of all the host and hostess. The gathering truly becomes a communal celebration that reflects and honors the special gifts and talents of the people who gather, not unlike the celebration of the Eucharist.
During Mass faith communities gather to give thanks and to receive the God of heaven and earth under the guise of something as commonplace as bread and wine. All because on the night before he died, Jesus took ordinary bread and wine and made it forever holy. At the time, Jesus’ mission seemed to be failing, but as we know, that was not the end of the story, nor should our seeming failures define who we are.
That being said, as we gather around the Thanksgiving table, let us remember to give thanks, not only for the abundant blessings we have received, but also for life’s disappointments and challenges because they too serve a purpose. They remind us not to sweat the small stuff, to keep our priorities in right order, and to look for the grace hidden in every event. This is not about being a Pollyanna, but about seeing all of life as a gift from God, a gift that continues to surprise and enlighten, and for that we give thanks. Every moment is a precious gift from God, the gift that is at the heart of every Thanksgiving meal, those celebrated in Church and those we share when we go forth.
November 9, 2015
The word test drive took on a whole new meaning when a few months ago my husband and I were deciding whether to fly or drive to my niece’s wedding in Seattle.
As we considered the pros and cons of each option, the phone rang. It was my brother, a retired priest with the Diocese of Green Bay, who was to preside at Matt and Erin’s wedding. During the course of the conversation, he suggested that we travel together, and so began what became our sojourn by car through the great Northwest.
For weeks my husband, who is the consummate planner, busied himself with road maps and surfing the web for places of interest along the way. But first we had to fly to Green Bay to meet up with my brother, David.
What made it all the more interesting was that only weeks before, David had been toying with the idea of escaping Wisconsin’s harsh winters and had just decided to move to Virginia Beach.
With our parents deceased and siblings scattered around the country, moving closer to family seemed a sensible option. Consequently, he would soon be Virginia bound.
And so it was, that as we loaded suitcases into the back of his car, we joked that the upcoming road trip would be a good test drive for our relationship. For the first time since we were kids, we would be living in close proximity, and two weeks in the same car would definitely be a trial run in terms of compatibility.
My husband, who is an only child, has always enjoyed being around the extended family he inherited through marriage. However, in the past, interaction with family had been limited to brief visits. This would definitely be different.
As for me, well, let’s just say I know what it’s like to be one of seven. Nevertheless, I was looking forward to having David close by. His move also serves as a reminder that life is forever changing, a reality that seemed to be mirrored in the landscape as we drove through Minnesota, the Dakotas, Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Oregon and Washington.
From the Badlands to majestic mountains and the great Northern Pines, the wonder and diversity of God’s creation were on display. As sandy mounds, from which prairie dogs peered, gave way to grassy plains where buffalo grazed, contrasting sights provided a new appreciation for the role that every creature, regardless of size or shape, plays in the ecology of creation.
All are part of our extended family and contribute to our well-being regardless of whether or not we are aware of the many ways they enrich our world. Perhaps not so differently than the way extended family enriches our lives.
With the road trip behind us, we found ourselves back in Green Bay, helping David decide what would or would not fit into the apartment we had found for him. Moving into a smaller space definitely required some downsizing.
Confronted with the reality that we tend to accumulate more ‘stuff’ than we actually need, we quickly realized that change can trigger a whole series of events. No doubt about it, change was in the air and it followed us home.
During our absence, the trees had begun to change color. Leaves were falling and the nights were getting longer. Life’s changes seem to be mirrored all around us, challenging us to view life through an ever changing set of lenses.
Even the liturgical readings at Mass remind us that all things are passing. With the season of Advent beckoning and the retail industry cajoling us into thinking that Christmas is just around the corner, life’s repetitive cycle reassures us that new life springs forth as old ways pass away.
Year after year nature echoes the Paschal Mystery, and we take comfort in knowing that each ending signals a new beginning, a new way of valuing life, and a new way of re-ordering priorities.
Advancing years bring more than grey hair and age lines. Somewhere along the way, we discover that accumulating things is less important than relationships and that where we live means little when compared to the people with whom we share our life.
In contrast with Matt and Erin, who are beginning their life together and look forward to buying a new home and accumulating all things deemed necessary to a couple starting out, David is getting rid of things he once thought were needed. It seems to suggest that while our physical eyesight diminishes with age, our interior vision takes on a new clarity, and we are able to see that beauty is present in every stage in life.
During our travels, we visited my uncle in a memory care facility and this evening we will be babysitting our 18-month-old granddaughter.
From nursery to nursing homes, the imprint of God’s handiwork is visible when we have eyes to see.
Our generation has been referred to as the sandwich generation because there are people who preceded and who follow us that still need us. And for that we can give thanks.
There’s no denying that it can be stressful at times, but it is through relationships that the landscape of our soul is reflected. And so, as we travel the highway of life, amid its many changes, may we make time to be astounded by every peak and valley, by the desert as much as by the rain forest.
For God’s presence is everywhere and in everyone, inviting us to embrace change because God alone never changes.