Magnificat of a Prodigal

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Magnificat of a Prodigal

“I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” the priest said, making the sign of the Cross on the baby, a newborn not expected to live, and marking her forever as Christ’s own.

My urgent baptism the day I was born was probably the greatest gift my parents ever gave me. It lit a flame within me that oftentimes seemed to flicker dimly yet refused to be extinguished. As I wandered aimlessly and recklessly through the next decades, the grace I received at my baptistm acted as a homing device to bring me back to the true home and true faith that stirred inside of me.

I am a prodigal daughter, one who strayed long and far. One who thought she could grab her inheritance early and do better with it out in the world than within her Father’s house. Like the older son of the parable, I ended up metaphorically broken, dirty, and perishing from hunger.

We were a family that was Catholic, but not a Catholic family; an obligation passed down through my mother’s side. We knew about Catholic things―prayers, holy days, the pope―but as a family, we did not practice the Catholic faith. Culturally, the 1970s was an age of rebellion―not obedience―to tradition, ritual, and authority. Catholicism was an easy scapegoat. I was drawn to the mysticism, the precision of the rituals, and the stories told in the stained glass, but I didn’t understand any of it. I was curious about the people honored with statues but didn’t know them either, save Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The old churches with their intricate architecture beckoned and the modern ones reflected messages around me that this faith was nothing to love. So many seemed to hate it, and I followed along.

While still going through the required CCD and Sunday motions, I became ABC: Anything But Catholic. How about Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism? Then other eastern philosophies and exploration into yoga. I read enough to pick and choose what worked for me. Occult, New Age, and pursuit of worldly goals led to darker passageways and heavier sins, but there was always some flash, some small ray kindling in me that kept me from journeying as deep into the darkness that had captured many of my friends.

He has come to the help of his servant … he has remembered his promise of mercy.

 

By my 30s, wrong paths and hard lessons had beaten me down. I had pushed God away, doubtful I had a way back, but I started attending an Episcopal church. It was Catholic enough to be familiar but without … well, whatever it was I claimed offended me in my youth. I pondered the creed in the Book of Common Prayer and tried to recall the Creed I had memorized as a child. Was it exactly the same? The Creed was something I always believed. I didn’t know why. I could say it without feeling like a hypocrite. I knew that if I were serious about reuniting with God, I had to go back to my beginning. With a “try me” attitude, I began listening to Catholic radio and watching Catholic television constantly. What I thought were tough questions about the faith were satisfied quickly and easily.

Tentatively, I considered going to Mass, but refused to set my alarm, daring God. If he wanted me back to the Catholic Church, he’d wake me up. He did. I played that game the next week. Once again, he won. This continued for weeks until I wanted to go to church, and just to make sure I wouldn’t miss Mass, I set my alarm.

He has lifted up the lowly … He has mercy on those who fear him …

 

At Mass, I felt like I had crashed a gala event. Still, each week I went. I sat in the back feeling invisible, until Communion when I felt conspicuous. Alone in the pew, I knew it was not my time. It took three years of going to Confession, remembering a lifetime of sins, and speaking them out loud before I felt like I could honestly receive the Eucharist.

He has scattered the proud in their conceit …

 

On Easter, the day we celebrate his Resurrection, came a resurrection for me. After many years, torturous examens, and woeful pleas for forgiveness, I stepped up to receive the Body of Christ. “Amen,” I whispered, closing my eyes to dam up the tears. Immediately, I was surrounded by a beautiful aroma that was like home-baked bread with an undefinable sweetness. Not sweet like candy, fruit, or flowers, just a sweetness all its own. The experience simulated walking into a cozy home on a windy, frigid day, with a fire in the fireplace, and a scrumptious dinner in the oven. It had the joy of being welcomed by happy dogs and held by arms that had been waiting just for me. It had the intimacy of snuggling under a blanket with the person you love the most, who knows you better than anyone, your faces millimeters apart, trading secrets and dreams, giggling over private jokes. This sensation would remain with me through the end of Mass, and it continued through the summer.

He has filled the hungry with good things …

More than a decade later, I might experience a brief wafting of this aroma when I receive the Eucharist. I miss the intensity of the first months, but I think he knows I’m convinced he is with me. He promised, “Behold, I make all things new.” He took me, a soul that didn’t expect to survive, and bore me anew.

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord.
My spirit rejoices in God my Savior.

Copyright 2024 Mary McWilliams
Cover photo: Canva
Image: Pixabay.com

I Wasn’t Prepared

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I Wasn’t Prepared

Image by lisa runnels from Pixabay

A few weeks ago in church, I listened to the sermon about the parable of the ten virgins, five of which were wise and the other five of which were foolish.  All went out carrying lamps to wait for and greet the coming Bridegroom. The five wise virgins brought oil with their lamps, whereas the five foolish ones did not. The five foolish ones took it upon themselves to wait until the Bridegroom came, at which point they would ask their wise counterparts for some of their oil. However, the wise ones told them that they could not share their oil with them, lest there would not be enough. The foolish virgins’ only other alternative was to go out and buy their own, but by the time they arrived at the scene of the Bridegroom’s arrival, they could not attend the wedding banquet with Him. The five wise virgins, on the other hand, were prepared, and hence, they were admitted.

My ears perked up when I heard this. When you think about it, it can be scary. It can feel pressurizing to be prepared for the coming of Jesus, lest we miss out on eternal bliss and peace. Nothing is worse than that, although when I heard this sermon, it reminded me of a similar experience of my own in which I was not prepared. No, I didn’t miss out on getting to heaven (at least not yet), but I missed out on something that could have been very good for me. It has been a hard lesson, and I’m still in the process of forgiving myself for this foolish mistake, which I will describe.

I was preparing to make a “leap of faith” and abandon my current temp job to start a freelance case study copywriting career. Saying goodbye to bosses, commutes, deadlines, pointless meetings, and office politics seemed almost within my grasp. I wanted to create a dream job scenario for myself which would allow me the flexibility to work from home doing something I loved, all while making my own hours, deciding what days I wanted to take off, being able to attend to my children’s upcoming issues at school or at home, et al. Being in job transition had allowed me that flexibility, and it had also allowed me to nurture my faith journey and my prayer life, and I got very attached to that routine.  The last thing I wanted was to stay in my current temp job or even to take on another job – temporary or permanent. 

The time had come for me, I had decided, to be in charge of myself, but when I received the phone call about a job interview in civil service, I should have been ecstatic. Here was a chance for me to work in an environment which is known for being accommodating to people who have children with special needs, for being generous with paid holidays, sick time, and time off in general, job security, solid benefits, and interesting work with good pay. My stupidity got in the way, and my emotions got the better of me because I thought that “my way” with the freelance copywriting career was the ticket to my financial success and my ability to be available for myself and my kids. As a result, I did not take preparing for the interview seriously. I went in with the attitude that I did not care whether I got the job, but that was before I got there and realized that this could be a great thing. 

As soon as I got to the office building in Ridgewood, Queens, I gaped. The surroundings were breathtaking. I looked around and realized that I could be happy making this trip into work every day. Then I went in for the interview. There was a panel of three people, all wonderful, warm, and friendly. They made me feel at home, and the questions they asked were pretty straightforward. Still, I did not feel as though I had done my job of preparing, and I’m almost sure that I blew it. I walked out of there wondering how I could have been so careless as to not prepare myself for this good thing. Had I taken it seriously, I could have gotten into the “banquet,” but I was like those five foolish virgins, and now for the rest of my life, I have to live with the consequences of my attitude. My only consolation in all of this is twofold – I learned a lesson, and I have not yet blown my chances of making it into the “banquet” of heaven.  At least with that, there’s still time to prepare.

© Copyright 2023 by Michael Vassallo

Featured image Image by Aksel Lian from Pixabay

Meet Servant of God Joseph Dutton

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Meet Servant of God Joseph Dutton

He stepped off the boat at Molokai and said to Father Damien. “I am here to help.” He stayed for the rest of his life.

Ira Barnes Dutton was born in Stowe, Vermont, on April 27, 1843. Ira grew up in an entirely Protestant environment, taught Sunday school, and worked in a bookstore in Wisconsin when the Civil war began. He remembered how “the streets were lined with cheering crowds, bands were playing, and flags flying.” Ira enlisted in September 1861 and served four years with the 13th Wisconsin Regiment.

The 13th Wisconsin saw little fighting during the war, but it did enable Ira to demonstrate his inborn leadership skills. He eventually was promoted to captain. He considered the military a career, but as the numbers of personnel decreased after the war, he realized that his chances for advancement were very slim. He left the army in 1866 and spent the next 20 years working at different jobs. He also married an unfaithful woman, and the marriage lasted a short time. He never even mentioned her name. He filed divorce papers in 1881.

“I never injured anyone but myself.”

Ira worked in cemeteries, ran a distillery in Alabama, and moved to Memphis to work on the railroads. In 1875 he took a job with the War Department, processing claims against the government. Ira was successful in all his undertakings and was an upstanding citizen. But at night, he would stay home and drink, and he became an alcoholic. He would say, “I never injured anyone but myself.” He quit drinking in 1876, and he never drank again.

Baptized on his fortieth birthday

Ira fell away from religion during the war. But he did become interested in Catholicism. He had become friends with some Catholics, and their influence spurred him to want to learn more. He acquired a catechism and began to study. He was received into the Catholic Church on April 27, 1883. The occasion also marked his fortieth birthday. He changed his name to Joseph, who he greatly admired. Joseph quit his job with the government, and set out to begin a new life.

Joseph desired to do penance for his wild years and sinfulness. He headed to Our Lady of Gethsemani Monastery in Kentucky. This was the home of the Trappists Monks, and he was determined to do repentance for the rest of his life. After 20 months, he realized he needed to do penitential action and not penitential contemplation. He knew about Father Damien and his apostolate for lepers at Molokai in Hawaii. He left the Trappist Monastery and, with the blessings of the Abbott, began preparing to leave for Molokai. He remained lifelong friends with the Trappists.

Meeting Father Damien of Molokai

Joseph Dutton arrived in Molokai sometime in 1886. When he arrived at Molokai, he remembered how Father Damien greeted the new patients with Hansen’s Disease (Leprosy). When Father Damien approached him, Joseph said, “My name is Joseph Dutton; I have come to help, and I have come to stay.”

Father Damien told him he could not pay him, and Joseph replied, “I do not care about that.” He would stay for the rest of his life.

 

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President Theodore Roosevelt admired him

Joseph was a member of the Secular Franciscan Order. He was often called Brother Joseph. He began writing letters to officials and people of influence, seeking help for those afflicted with leprosy. He would explain how life was for them on the island. President Theodore Roosevelt expressed his admiration and respect for Brother Joseph, one of his frequent contacts. Joseph worked side by side with Father Damien for two years until the holy priest passed away. Before his death in 1889, Father Damien said, “I can die now. Brother Joseph will take care of my orphans.”

Brother Joseph served as administrator, carpenter, repairman, and even medic bandaging wounds and taking care of the sick and dying. He had saved the money he received from two pensions and used it for the lepers. He spent 44 years caring for the young boys and men who had Hansen’s Disease.

“A happy place—a happy life.”

Brother Joseph Dutton died in Honolulu on March 26, 1931. He was buried in the grave next to St. Damien at St. Philomena Church in Kalawao. Before his death, he was quoted as saying, “It has been a happy place—a happy life.” President Theodore Roosevelt, aware of Brother Joseph’s military service and his selfless years on Molokai, ordered the U.S. Pacific Fleet to pass Molokai and dip their colors in salute to the heroic patriot.

The Joseph Dutton Guild is spearheading the effort to continue the cause for canonization.

Copyright 2022 Larry Peterson
Image: Image from the History of Medicine, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Taking A Trip Down Memory Lane

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Taking A Trip Down Memory Lane

Memories can be happy, sad, or very painful. They can also be nostalgic. Old books, toys, and movies trigger certain memories.

A happy memory

The Fellowship of The Ring 2001 film came out when I was thirteen years old. Fans of J.R.R. Tolkien’s original book trilogy swarmed the theaters. Stores sold collectable items with pictures of the characters on top of the packages.

I remember another time when my sister read the first book out loud to my family while we were riding in the car. I was eleven years old at the time. Back then I did not understand who Bilbo was or why the ring was evil.

The first movie certainly made me curious about Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam. It also made me a Lord of The Rings fanatic! Like the rest of the fans, I watched the other two films and gobbled up the plot.

I cheered for Sam when he carried Frodo on his back in The Return of The King. His famous line “I know I cannot carry it for you, but I can carry you,” was very emotional.

Carrying each other’s burdens

Sam’s response in The Return of The King reminded me that we often need to carry each other’s burdens. We need to set a good example for our friends and family members in both the good times and the hard times.

Praying for friends, neighbors, and family members, along with little acts of kindness, can go a long way. We won’t always see in this life how our actions affected them. Sometimes only God knows.

Last thought for the road

The Lord of The Rings movie and book trilogy had a huge impact on my life. They helped me to admire the author. J.R.R. Tolkien. At the time, I didn’t know that he was Catholic. I found that out later. I was not a Catholic when I was a teenager, but little by little, God used things like these books and films to inspire me to think more about Catholicism and the Catholic Faith.

“The Road goes ever on and on

down from the door where it began”

(Tolkien, 1955).

This well-known little song from The Fellowship of The Ring reminds us that if we are open, God will lead us into situations that surprise us. Sometimes our actions might be a little bit like Bilbo’s. We want to remain at home, quiet and hidden from the world. Sometimes we end up in completely different circumstances.

Are you willing to take a long step out of your hobbit hole?

 

article by Angela Lano, copyright 10-13-2022
image by Pexels from Pixabay, free for commercial use

Plaster and Soul

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Plaster and Soul

It’s October 1st, and the feast day of our dear St. Therese of Lisieux is upon us. As I sat down to compose my small contribution to the illustrious works that have already been written about her, I felt confident that I could write the obligatory words, but could I find a perspective that had not been written? I searched my heart for a glimmer of inspiration.

There was, of course her famous “Little Way.” But many writers more talented than I had plumbed those depths. I thought about her childhood and her short time here on earth—where she served our Lord as a Carmelite nun. But of course, those biographies had been written as well, not to mention her own autobiography, The Story of a Soul.

I needed something else; something that belonged to me; something that was as yet … unwritten. And suddenly, I recalled a story about St. Therese that was actually covered by our local Catholic newspaper; but the entire story has never been fully explored … until now.

I was the RCIA Director for our Parish for several years. In that capacity, I liked to prepare for my incoming classes with different or unique Catholic artifacts; hence, I found myself in the basement of our church one hazy August morning, hunting for antique rosaries or old paintings.

I was in luck; there were several usable copies of St. Augustine’s City of God, hidden between some dusty candlesticks, and old chunks of marble. In fact, I discovered several pieces of fragmented marble in the recesses of the basement. Intrigued, I began to wander through the crypt-like room searching for … what? I wasn’t sure, but I had the peculiar feeling that I was searching for something important.

I finally found my way to the back of the basement. It was quite dark there, so I decided to retrace my steps, when my forward movement was suddenly arrested. Startled, I stopped and stared at the offending object. At first, I thought it was a person, but it was perfectly motionless. I smiled to myself. I had discovered a life-sized statue.

Intrigued, I reached up and tried to make out the features of the statue. It was badly damaged. Huge portions of plaster were missing, and the face and clothing had long since faded. Still, I had an intense desire to know who this was. I maneuvered the front of the statue toward a faint beam of light, to see if I could identify the owner. Recognition dawned, and I smiled to myself. I had unearthed an image of St. Therese. I don’t think I could have identified her if I hadn’t noticed the plaster roses she was holding.

I felt a touch of melancholy as I wondered about the events that had brought her to this uninspired resting place. I instinctively knelt before the statue and impulsively whispered: “St. Therese, I need to get you out of here!” Then I offered a small prayer for my future RCIA class.

I left the basement in deep thought, and nearly collided with Judy (an RCIA team member) who had come to look for me. We both laughed at the minor infraction, before I quickly divulged my discovery.  “If only I knew someone who restores statues!” I cried. But Judy seemed suddenly energized.

“I know someone who could probably do it,” she grinned. “It’s my son, Michael; he’s a gifted artist. Only … I should probably tell you that he’s not Catholic, although we have been praying for his conversion.”

Undaunted by this fact, I quickly made arrangements with Judy to contact her son. Michael agreed to the restoration project without reservation, and everyone sensed a touch of the miraculous in the atmosphere.

One year later, we re-dedicated—the now—pristine statue of St. Therese on her feast day, October 1st.

Michael entered the Catholic Church that same year.

He told me that he had gradually developed a devotion to St. Therese as he worked with her day after day in his studio, repairing the sacred image.

The broken and faded image of St. Therese had been perfectly restored; but the true restoration had taken place in the soul of a young artist—who had willingly taken on an unknown, only to be overcome with the truth and beauty of the Catholic Church.

Of course, all of us realized that it was St. Therese herself, who quietly interceded for Michael as he worked with her, day after day. There were no voices from heaven, or angelic visitations; it was simply the gracious supplications of a little nun—as she prayed for her own personal artist—before the Throne of Grace and Mercy.

St. Therese, pray for us, too!

Copyright 2022 by Sarah Torbeck

Step Out Like a Caterpillar and Fly

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Step Out Like a Caterpillar and Fly

Does the caterpillar know transformation is imminent? I imagine it has no idea that change is about to take place, and soon it will be something more beautiful than it was. 

I have spent many years focused on the beauty of the butterfly, though some would call it an obsession rather than mere interest. I first fell in love with the butterfly during a life trial when I learned the spiritual significance of re-birth, new life, and transformation. I strived every day to be the butterfly.

Over several years, my faith and time with God blossomed, and He blessed me with new friends and relationships. I committed to living as a butterfly by reinventing aspects of my life and living in the ways I felt God calling me. Little did I know that God was preparing me for something bigger, something unexpected, and something I’ll never forget.

Many times on my journey of becoming the butterfly I thought I had reached transformation, only to be struck down by life again. I never anticipated life as a butterfly as perfect. I had visited butterfly houses on many occasions and witnessed broken wings, or simply those that had reached life expectancy.

What needed to transform was how I handled life’s struggles. I’m not an expert, but I imagine the caterpillar does not need to prepare for transformation. Likewise, many times we do not see or anticipate the upcoming circumstances that will be life-changing. When a storm comes, we are thrown in without knowing when we will come out of it. This is similar to how the caterpillar observes its situation inside the chrysalis.

One day in a moment of prayer, God revealed that my focus needed to shift from wanting to be the butterfly to living as the caterpillar. Soon I knew the change would entail embracing every struggle knowing that in the end, God would bless me with something better and more beautiful. I began imagining how a caterpillar might react to God’s instruction and focused my efforts on becoming a new and improved version of my old self.

Becoming Bella was my new way of life; in Italian, Bella means beautiful. I did all I could to bring God with me into every struggle; thus, it would become beautiful. I learned to treat each battle or bump in the road of life as a gift. One where God would reveal the lesson or blessing, allowing the caterpillar within to emerge and fly as the butterfly God prepared it to be.

I learned so much through this way of thinking, and every new day God blesses me with more insight into life as a caterpillar. This way of living and thinking takes courage, and I can’t think of anything more wonderful than a courageous caterpillar! 

Sitting in a room full of butterflies, I can see where the caterpillar lives. I wonder whether the caterpillar knew it was going to become a butterfly. I meditate on that and consider the first thought once emerging from the chrysalis, “is this the end or the beginning of something new?”

Images Copyright 2022 Canva

Considering a Come and See Discipleship

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“What are you looking for?” Jesus asked, followed by an invitation to “come and see” in response to the disciples’ question as to where he is staying on the road to Emmaus. Jesus knew of course what they were seeking, it is what we all seek—peace, hope, salvation. In this encounter, Jesus calls them, and indeed us as well, to accept his invitation to find those things, and so much more. The invitation to see where he was staying calls to mind a moment later in John’s Gospel, where Jesus teaches in length the blessing of abiding with Him, how we can bear much fruit in our faith, receive what we ask in prayer, and most importantly, know the Father.

Jesus’ invitation begins first with an opportunity for the person to contemplate what they are looking for. Do you know what it is you seek in this world? Are you open to truly being a disciple of Jesus Christ? To leave behind all of your expectations, to trust the goodness of Jesus’ invitation, and to follow where God’s will for you leads?

Without waiting for the early disciples to respond, knowing their hearts and that the Kingdom of Heaven holds everything they seek, he likewise invites us to come and see. Some of Jesus’ disciples came and stayed with him because they had heard Jesus preach. They were moved by the promise, hope, mercy, and life he offered. Others, like Peter, came to see after his brother, Andrew, heard Jesus and extended an invitation for him to see for himself. It was Andrew’s evangelization that brought Peter to seek the Lord. Andrew’s love for Peter moved him to share what he had found. How blessed to have someone care enough to step out in faith, no matter how uncomfortable the situation may be, and share the life found only in Jesus!

Although we come to discover Jesus in a variety of ways, many experience similar encounters on our own road to discipleship. Myriad paths, but only one true destination. When we follow Jesus’ example and invite others to come and see, when we, like Andrew, tell our loved ones about finding the Messiah, we become part of the hope of discipleship present in John’s Gospel.

Jesus’ invitation was no different to the disciples than it is to us today. He still seeks to have us come and see. There will be obstacles, much like those the disciples themselves faced. Commitments to work and family, feeling too busy with pressing tasks to come and see. Jesus did not make arguments, trying to force what he knew was best for them. Instead, he merely extends his invitation again for them to come and see.

Those who believe inspire others to believe. Later in John’s Gospel, we are introduced to the Samaritan woman Jesus meet at the well. Her encounter with Christ spurs a conversion so dramatic that she cannot keep it to herself. Transformed by His love, mercy, and hope of a life where so no longer has to thirst for redemption, she leaves her past behind and becomes the most unlikely evangelist.

Moved by Jesus’ invitation to come and see, she goes immediately out to share the Good News, causing a ripple effect of discipleship. The lives of the people she encounters and invites are never the same once they too accept the invitation to follow and abide in the truth and love offered by Jesus. One of the most powerful lines in John’s Gospel comes from John 4:41-42, at the conclusion of the recounting of the Woman at the Well. “Many more believed because of His word; and they were saying to the woman, ‘It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves and know that this One truly is the Savior of the world.’”

Truth be told, this is the legacy I, too, desire to leave.

 

Copyright 2022 Allison Gingras

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