Navigating through darkness to the Season of Light

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Navigating through darkness to the Season of Light

My peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.
—John 14:27

The Lord spoke these words to disciples before the crucifixion. By the end of the discourse, it would be understandable that their anxiety was rising. He concluded: “I have told you this so that you might have peace in me. In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world” (John 17:33). He knew what the earthly powers planned for them as his followers, and they needed to be reminded that no matter what the world dished out, his was not simply a better way, but the best way. He also sent this message before his birth. In reflecting upon the readings throughout Advent, we can quell the turbulent stirrings rousted during the holidays.

Living in the world is a hard contact sport, and only a fool would play a rough game without proper conditioning and back-up. Yet so many go through life without the support that faith gives. Our society has record numbers of people living with anxiety and depression, and plummeting numbers in church attendance and religious affiliation. The culture is identified by the disturbingly accepted phrase, “post-Christian society.”

Even believers can be shadowed by the unrest that balloons during the Advent and Christmas seasons. The constant pressure to spend, eat, socialize, and “be of good cheer” causes angst for many, even those who enjoy the hustle and bustle. The Devil, that slobbering, panting mongrel of darkness, dispatches four of his best henchmen to squeeze the vulnerable. These days, that applies to most of us. Anxiety, Panic, Fear, and Depression are among his supreme lieutenants because they are excellent collaborators of opportunism. He recruits limitless holiday help to brew botheration through the urgent and endless “best sale of the year” deals, the “get it or forget it” Christmas lists, and social engagements (or lack thereof).

For others, the season stirs up grief over deep loss. The reasons for the unease outnumber the people experiencing them. The pace of keeping up with the season triggers everything from dread to disappointment to despondency. It’s enough to make Santa’s elves want the holiday season to be done. How sad to want such a beloved and beautiful time—Advent and Christmas—to be over with a big sigh of relief. For the beast of the underworld, it’s pure delight, like fresh, bloody meat.

Scripture is always the balm for sufferings of the world, but the readings this Advent—including those from morning and evening prayer and daily Mass—penetrate the fog that can become ever so dense. We began Advent with the command to “watch.” Listen also to the messages of the season. Perhaps commit to memory a passage to push out the anxiety whenever it begins to bubble. “I will listen for what God, the Lord has to say; surely he will speak of peace to his people and the faithful” (Psalm 85:9).

During Advent, we encounter the faceless and the nameless that Jesus healed, proving that God sees us all—no matter how invisible we may feel—and wants to make us whole. “Great crowds came to him, having with them the lame, the blind, and many others. They placed them at his feet, and he cured them” (Matthew 15:30). Matthew recounts in 9:36: “At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.” He even healed those not physically present as we hear the centurion’s pleas for his suffering, paralyzed servant (cf. Matthew 8:5-13).

We meet people this month who, with great trials, embraced the rays of the Son. December 13 is the feast of the fourth century martyr, St. Lucy, whose name means light. She chose a hideous torture that blinded her because she would not betray her Savior. Isaiah 40:29 fortifies us: “He gives power to the faint, abundant strength to the weak.” The following day, December 14, we remember St. John of the Cross who, more than five centuries later, continues to enlighten with his Dark Night of the Soul.

The Advent readings are a treasury of fortitude to battle distress: “… you shall no longer weep; He will be most gracious to you when you cry out; as soon as he hears, he will answer you” (Isaiah 30:19). And others: Psalm 121:5, 7-8; Isaiah 25:8; Wisdom 18:14-16; Song of Songs 2:10-11 to name a few. Throughout Advent, God sends us messages of hope and encouragement. We are assured in Philippians 4:6-7: “Have no anxiety at all, but in everything by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

Peace be with you.

Copyright 2023 Mary McWilliams

Feature Image by Rúben Gál from Pixabay
Image by Ri Butov from Pixabay

A Wonka Way of Life

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A Wonka Way of Life

I love board games. I especially love them now that my kids have graduated from Candyland to (slightly) more advanced and strategic games. I find that playing board games with my kids is the easiest way for me to have them off screen time without them driving me insane or physically accosting each other. (Yes, my girls look adorable, but they’re feisty.)

Our current family favorite is Willy Wonka’s The Golden Ticket Game. Essentially, you play as one of the five children from the film, and collect Willy Wonka Bars through various actions. At the end of the game, when all the pretend candy bars have been collected, the players look inside their Wonka Bars to discover if they have won one of the coveted Golden Tickets. At least one player is left without a Golden Ticket, more if someone is lucky enough to have found more than one ticket in his or her own stock pile of candy bars.

Since they were itty bitty, I’ve never let my kids win at games. (Okay, maybe I skew the game a little bit, but I’ve never completely thrown one.) I believe that learning how to deal with losing is an absolutely fundamental skill that our kids need to learn as early as possible. We have a little song that the loser sings to the winner after a game, which goes, “You won, you won, but I had a lot of fun.” Then the winner has to clean up the game so there’s a tiny bit of retribution.

The original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory movie from 1971 still gets regular viewing around our house too. (The anticipation is already growing for the Willy Wonka origins story releasing later this fall.) In the original film, we meet the eccentric Willy Wonka, who lives in a realm that seems contrary to the rest of the world. His jovial spirit and quirky mannerisms can seem enticing and confusing at the same time. He delivers countless iconic lines; my favorite one is when, after he says that they have so little to do with so much time, he exclaims, “Wait. Strike that. Reverse it.”

I feel like Jesus says that to me too in my call to Christianity. He says, “The world is doing X, but you need to strike that and reverse it.”

The American cancel-culture is infectious these days. When a person makes a single mistake, we are not only permitted but encouraged to cut them out of our lives permanently. This goes for celebrities and family members alike. If someone doesn’t agree with our religious or political views, we simply unfollow and block all communication. If someone hurts us, we self-medicate with booze instead of searching for true peace through forgiveness. We justify and excuse our actions because the rest of the world behaves that way too.

As Christians, we are called to live an upside-down, Willy-Wonka-type life. Where others refuse to forgive, we are called to love all the more deeply. Where others seek worldly recognition, we are called to work lovingly from the shadows. Where others seek riches, we are called to generously share all that we have been given. When the world says, “Do X,” we have to wait, strike that, and reverse it.

© Maria Riley 2023

Photo License: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

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

Little Sundays

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Little Sundays

Every Sunday is a Holy day of obligation, a day set aside to gather with community and worship Our Father in heaven. This day can also be observed by attending a Sunday Vigil celebrated on Saturday evening. Catholic teaching instructs us to refrain from engaging in work or activities that deter the worship owed to God. Recently I took a day away and referred to it as my “Sabbath,” and I pondered whether or not, in today’s society, these teachings are being honored.

I can admit that I have worked on Sundays in the past. Whether it be writing, cooking, or cleaning, these all take on the energy of work and direct my attention away from worshiping God. I could argue that my writing is spiritual and for the Glory of God, so perhaps that is allowed. I’ve yet to answer that thought. However, I know that engaging in writing on the Lord’s Day is different than attending church, coming home, and reflecting on the readings, sermon, and worship music.
It would be lovely to come home from Mass and simply enjoy celebrating God with my family and friends over a meal. My husband and I like to watch old black-and-white television programs, where families are often depicted attending church service on Sundays and then relax on their front porch, carelessly and effortlessly enjoying the day of rest. I guess observing the Lord’s Day in past generations proved a little easier to do. I wonder what it would feel like if, in today’s culture, we made a considerable effort to set this day aside for the one who created us.

“Work shall be done for six days, but the seventh is the Sabbath of rest, holy to the Lord.”
Exodus 31:15 NKJV

My sabbath day away showed me how much my heart and mind craved one-on-one attention with God. I promised myself more of these days away from my routine to enjoy a full day of prayer and spiritual activities. I’m a little nervous about the holidays approaching if I will be able to honor the time I have set aside. I am organized and a good planner, but we all know how life intervenes and takes us off course. Because of that, I began thinking about other ways to honor God ahead of Sundays and days of spiritual enlightenment. I hope that by creating Little Sunday moments, my heart will be ignited and thirsting for more of God. All the while effortlessly easing me into honoring the seventh day of rest.

I have a few ideas based on my individual preferences. However, you can all devise your own Little Sunday moments. Each day, our local Christian Radio station, 95.5 The Fish, invites listeners to pray The Lord’s Prayer. Engaging in those few minutes is enough to draw the Lord into my day and close to my heart. Another opportunity is praying the Divine Office or Liturgy of the Hours. Many Catholic prayer apps and online tools can help you get started.

If you want to keep your focus on Jesus, honor the day of rest, and grow closer to God, then consider praying about how God is calling you toward Him. From this, devise your plan for Little Sundays throughout your week. Engage in conversations with your family and friends, inviting them to participate. For the time being, when I feel called to write on the Lord’s Day, I will first engage in prayer and allow God to guide my thoughts. If they end up on the page, I know it was because God designed it for His Greater Glory. God calls us to be set apart or different from ordinary things and turn our focus toward Him. I pray that your Little Sundays become stepping stones toward your complete surrender to the Sabbath day of rest, holy to the Lord.

Copyright 2023 Kimberly Novak
Images: Canva

Everyday Holiness

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Everyday Holiness

When I received the news that my first published short story had not only been accepted, but also chosen as the opening gambit for a travel writing anthology that included pieces by several well-known authors, my first thought was, “I have to call Mom and tell her I got the lead. She’ll be so excited.”  And then I remembered.

The woman who nurtured my first crayon scribbles, and typed my long-procrastinated school term papers on an old manual typewriter, had already been absent for fifteen years by then. Even now, thirty-four years after her death, I still get the same urge to call and tell her, whenever there’s happy family news.

Anyone who has ever lost a beloved family member, or cherished friend, understands.

This past week we’ve celebrated two special liturgies that traditionally open the month of November. They encourage us to honor all the saints in heaven, and to remember our beloved dead.

The Roman Catholic liturgical calendar gives a rhythm to our lives, alternating ordinary days with special feasts and dramatic seasons: Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter and Pentecost.

But we don’t just remember our lost loved ones on the Solemnity of All Saints or at a Commemoration of all the Faithful Departed.

The simplest things can suddenly trigger a memory: the smell of a favorite family meal simmering in the kitchen; a glimpse of the lamp burning late into the night while a parent stays up late to pay bills; a toddler’s smile greeting us in the morning over a crib rail; the precious small gift from a thoughtful friend who somehow always knew just what we needed, and when.

Amidst many speeches that marked my oldest son’s baccalaureate ceremonies, the university dean who spoke at his academic awards assembly made a particular point for the new graduates. His words held a wisdom that has remained with me.

“It’s not this ceremony that’s important,” he said. “Or that splendid certificate that you’re about to receive. We’re celebrating all the mornings over the past four years that you got out of bed and went to class, all the nights you studied in the library instead of partying, all the papers you wrote with extra care, everything you did that led up to this day. Yes, today you’ll be ascending the stage, you’ll hear lots of applause, and your families are gathered here to celebrate with you. But it’s those ordinary days, the good choices you made one after another, the habits you established, that are your most important awards. They’re what you’ll take with you wherever you go for the rest of your lives.” (1)

In our Mass readings this weekend both liturgies contrast humility and charity with arrogance and entitlement.

Today’s Memorial of St. Charles Borromeo incorporates an Alleluia verse that is also used to celebrate the Solemnity of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus:

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, For I am meek and humble of heart.” Matthew 11:29ab. (2)

In the Gospel reading, our Lord advises us “. . . do not recline at table in the place of honor . . . when you are invited, go and take the lowest place . . .” Luke 14:1, 7-11. (3)

Readings for the Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time contrast a mother’s affectionate care and a child’s implicit trust, in the Responsorial Psalm 131: 1,2,3, with Our Lord’s condemnation of arrogant scribes and Pharisees, in the Gospel from Matthew 23: 1-12. (4)

St. Charles Cares for the Plague Victims of Milan by Jacob Jordaens (1593-1678), St. James Church, Antwerp, Belgium, public domain via Wikimedia Commons

St. Charles Borromeo was born in a castle on the shores of Lake Maggiore. His father was a Count of Lombardy whose aristocratic family’s shield bore the motto, “humilitas.”

His mother was Margherita de Medici, whose younger brother became Pope Pius IV. (5).

The paintings featured here commemorate St. Charles Borromeo’s assistance to the poor during a famine in Milan; and his refusal to leave the city after an outbreak of the plague. He remained behind in his own episcopal see while many other bishops and clergy fled. He stayed to pray for his people as their archbishop, and administered the sacraments to plague victims.

Even while he was serving as a papal representative to the Council of Trent, and performing as a leading figure in the Counter-Reformation, St. Charles Borromeo never forgot his family motto, humility; or the Jesus who washed his own apostles’ filthy feet.

Both of these paintings, and many more found in museums and churches across Europe (6), document St. Charles Borromeo’s devotion to the humble Virgin Mary. Her vivid presence in so many of his portraits reveals the close relationship they shared in his charitable work, in his intercession for the people of Milan, and in his dedication to the universal Church.

This November — while we’re preparing for Thanksgiving and the Solemnity of Jesus Christ, King of the Universe — may we, too, remember to practice the extraordinary virtues of ordinary everyday holiness.

©Copyright 2023 by Margaret King Zacharias

Feature Photo: Intercession of Charles Borromeo Supported by the Virgin Mary by Johann Michael Rottmayr (1656-1730) in the collection of Karlskirche, Vienna Austria, public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Notes:

  1. Personal communication.
  2. (https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/110423.cfm).
  3. (https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/110423.cfm).
  4. (https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/110523.cfm).
  5. (https://www.newadvent.org/cathen/03619a.htm)
  6. (https://www.christianiconography.info/charlesBorromeo.html).

 

With God, You Can Handle Anything

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With God, You Can Handle Anything

 

I had the gift of an extra-fruitful spiritual direction session not too long ago. I usually keep the details of the conversations between me, the director, and God. However, there are moments where sharing my experience may benefit others, and this is one of those times.
I cannot recall the topic we were discussing when my director began to share a story about a three-handled coffee mug. She told me when she presented this thought exercise to others in the past, they became overwhelmed and anxious at the thought of how to hold it or use it. As I began to imagine it in my mind, I was intrigued and excited all at the same time. When my spiritual director asked how the three handled mug made me feel, I couldn’t help but share that I saw the persons of the Trinity—a handle for Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

While imagining this mug, the emotions of anxiety and stress never entered my mind. I felt peace knowing I was in good company. I had actually hoped there might be a fourth handle on which to place my own hand. I began to consider all of the times in my life when I needed the power of God to move mountains. That handy coffee mug would be a reminder that both all things are possible with God and that I am not alone.

I also related to why having a cup with that many handles would confuse some. I considered times when I felt pulled in multiple directions and how difficult it is to anchor myself in one place. I believe that worry is the thief of joy, and I consider anxiety the brother of worry. Don’t get me wrong, there are many times when my mind wants to let fear win, but my prayer experience reminds me that I am not supposed to tackle life alone. God is in it with me.

Thinking back on that session, I laugh at how surprised my director was by my response. I was the only person she had encountered who wanted a three-handled mug and the strength it would give me.

In their book called Personal Prayer: A Guide for Receiving the Father’s Love, Fr. Boniface Hicks, OSB and Fr. Thomas Acklin, OSB brought up the topic of anxiety as a gift from God. When we experience anxiety, it comes in the form of a felt emotion. Usually, it sends off an alarm that something needs to be corrected. We can take this signal and consider it a direct alert from God, letting us know that we want to take control. Then we can bring it to God and surrender the situation to Him. How wonderful it is that we can go to God for help, and what a powerful image it is to imagine our hand, with the Trinity, banding together as one to accomplish anything.

A month after this session, I still could not get the image of the three-handled cup from my mind. I had an unquenchable longing to hold one and imagine God’s hands along with mine, having a conversation over a cup of coffee. I finally allowed the urge to win out, consulted the internet, landed on eBay, and a week later I clutched my three-handled mug. The cup is hand-made pottery, with a bumpy texture. The sentimental type I am, I can imagine the hands of the person who created it. I slide my fingertip across the initials scratched into the bottom, too blurred to make out. A reminder of my imperfections and the faithfulness of God. The space where the handles joined the cup reveals finger swipes, merging the clay. A prayerful moment brings me peace in connecting with another person who loved that cup while combining myself with the persons of the Trinity.

I’ve prayed with the cup only a couple of times, and depending on what I fill it with, there may be a heaviness to it, or it remains light. I have also filled it with feelings, concerns, and prayers. Imaginative prayer is not for everyone, but if it connects you to God, go for it. In my days, when life gets so heavy I need to unload, I place my hands alongside the persons of the Trinity and lift my cup to the heavens. I may not be able to handle things independently, but I can do all things with God.

Copyright 2023 Kimberly Novak
Images Copyright Canva

Will You Pray for Me?

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Will You Pray for Me?

To be one of the best at what you do is very good. No . . . check that . . . it is GREAT! And it can be devastating when that’s taken from you.

Once, there was a performer who worked on the world stage. He sang and acted in some of the best theaters on the globe. Europe, the Americas, China . . . he would jet from city to city and country to country.

One day, at a dental visit, he found out he had life-threatening cancer. He and his family’s lives were about to change. First, his career was over; the treatment he would go through would be drastic. He would have a large part of an organ removed and reconstructive surgery over 12 hours. Then, he would undergo very large doses of chemo and over a month’s worth of daily pin-point radiation. As his oncologist put it, “We are going to take you to the brink of death—actually, just past—to kill the cancer, then help you to come back. But I’m not going to lie: you’re going to go through hell. It’ll be up to you and God to come out the other side.”

How would you react to a situation like this?

Well, he stopped everything and called friends, family, and organizations he was in—giving them the news. Then, he did something that had the greatest effect. He asked for prayers. He knew that he wouldn’t have the strength, endurance, or ability to make it through without.

The surgery happened, the chemo happened, and the radiation began. There were many, many hiccups along the way. A feeding tube became dislodged; a trach-tube reinsert was botched, causing him to mentally pray as he was fading away to unconsciousness, “Into Your hands, I commend my spirit.”

He was burnt beyond belief. He was sleeping 18 hours a day, and . . . he was ready to give up. With six excruciating days of radiation to go, he mentally said, “That’s it. I’m done. Lord, I can’t pray for myself anymore. I’ll pray for others, but I’m done. Do with me what you want.”

That’s when it happened. As soon as his heart and mind fully realized what he’d prayed, all the weight was lifted. He had an actual feeling of being “lifted.” To many people, the phrase “lifted in prayer” is just an old cliché. But to him, it was very real, physical, visceral. He could feel the prayers from friends, family, parishes, abbeys, monasteries, and convents from around the world—literally lifting him up! He still felt every open sore, every burn mark, every blister. But he was now able to bear it all—with a smile.

As his case progressed, doctors—not two or three but five—all declared they had never seen anything like his progress. They declared (in his file), “something supernatural . . . it’s a miracle.” It all came down to giving over to prayer. Not just any prayer but prayer from others, specifically intercessory prayer.

Fast forward: Today is day 1497 since I had over ½ of my tongue removed and a part of my wrist put in its place. In the four years and one month since my surgery, I have sung the Ave Maria in the Grotto at Lourdes, France, twice. I’ve had three award-winning books published by a great publishing house, and I’ve restarted my path in the Permanent Diaconate in the Kansas City–St. Joseph Diocese.

I now KNOW, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the effects of prayer … are real.

Copyright 2023 Ben Bongers

Giving Back to the Giver

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Giving Back to the Giver

We tend to think of our lives as entirely our own, to do with completely as we please, but they’re not. Our lives are a total gift from God, given to us out of God’s love for us, out of God’s desire to share his life with us. “Already to exist is a work of love!”[1] The fact that you’re here, that you’re alive, is, in itself, a sign of God’s love for you. You didn’t have to exist; innumerable others could have existed in your place. But God chose you. God chose to give you the gift of life, to offer you a share in the divine life. God chose you for a unique place within the Body of Christ. God chose you for a unique mission of love within the Body of Christ, a mission that no one else can fulfill.

Surrendering your life to God is then, in reality, merely offering back to God, in gratitude, the gift that you have already been given. Surrendering your life to God is an acknowledgment of that gift, and an offer to allow God to use your life in whatever way God wills for the good of the rest of the Body of Christ. To surrender your life to God is to offer yourself as a channel, a conduit, for the divine love.

Surrendering your life and your heart to God can begin right now, today, with a simple prayer. Maybe something like the following, or something similar, expressed in your own words:

Thank you, Lord, for the gift of my life. I give my life back to you in love and gratitude for that gift. Do with my life as you will. Use me as your instrument in the world. Help me to see and fulfill the mission of love you have planned for me.

Learning to completely surrender our lives and our hearts to God is actually a lifelong process. We may sometimes feel the gravitational pull of our egos, seeking to draw us back into our old self-centered ways, away from God and our mission of love. That’s why it’s good to pray some version of this prayer of surrender on a regular basis: as a repeated expression of our love for God, as an ongoing request for God’s guidance and grace, and as a reminder to ourselves of the commitment that we have made to God and to our God-given mission.

[1] Hans Urs von Balthasar, Heart of the World. Translated by Erasmo S. Leiva. San Francisco: Ignatius, 1979, 26-27.

* This article is an excerpt from Rick’s latest book, The Book of Love: Brief Meditations (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BVSXX6P9/)

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Copyright 2023 Rick Clements

A Move Yet Still Home

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A Move Yet Still Home

Last spring, I moved with my family to Kansas, which is my ninth lifetime state (I also studied abroad and lived in London for four months, so if you count that, I’m in the double digits). Only recently did I begin to appreciate the blessing that being Catholic truly is.

Like most cradle Catholics, I’ve always had God in my life. Growing up, weekly Mass and CCD were omnipresent. As we’ve grown our own family, those same traditions have persisted. Regardless which state or city we moved to, a Catholic parish and the True Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist was always available.

Prior to this move, we lived in Florida, and our parish there was something special. Not only were we close enough to walk or bike ride to Mass, but that parish felt alive in a special way. The list of ministries was lengthy, and there were always events or service projects we could be a part of. I volunteered with faith formation, participated in the moms’ ministry, Walking with Purpose, and Bible study. There were monthly socials after a daily Mass, quarterly family events after the Youth and Family Mass (where kids served as ushers and lectors), and no shortage of friendly conversations in the parking lot. To say we loved this family-friendly parish would be an understatement.

When the news came that we were moving to Kansas for my husband’s new job, my heart sank knowing we had to leave our parish. It really had become a second home for us. I knew we wouldn’t find a parish like that in Kansas. I had lived in seven other states in my life, and that parish is unique.

My husband and I traveled to Kansas for a weekend to get to know the area and do some house hunting, and we visited the local Catholic Church for Sunday Mass. My heart was hardened before I walked into the sanctuary. I simply knew it wouldn’t be as good as our old parish.

I looked around and proceeded to judge everything. The tabernacle wasn’t prominent enough. The crucifix was too small. The choir performed instead of inviting us to participate. The priest was old and unenthusiastic. Everything I saw I disliked, and I wanted to be back in Florida.

Then the homily began. I don’t remember the readings for that Sunday, nor do I remember the beginning of the homily. What I do know is that God spoke directly to me that day through his faithful servant’s words.

He reminded us that we don’t come to Mass every week because of the priest or the social time. We come because Jesus meets us here, body, blood, soul, and divinity in the Eucharist. No matter which church we are in, he comes to us there.

Bam. My hardened heart softened. I was struck, and instantly humbled at my own arrogance and pride. Tears flowed down my face as I really let Jesus into my heart. Jesus reminded me that I’m there for him. Not the priest, not the building, and not the socialization. It doesn’t matter which parish I belong to, because Jesus is there for me, and I come to meet him. That’s all that matters.

I looked back on all the states and all the parishes and finally fully appreciated the gift I have in the Catholic Church. While I do still miss my old friends and the community of the parish in Florida, my heart remains grateful for his presence that I’m able to receive, regardless of where I live.

Maria Riley 2023

“Hey St. Joseph, can you help us bring all the absentee fathers home?”

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“Hey St. Joseph, can you help us bring all the absentee fathers home?”

 

When God chose Joseph, He knew what He was doing.

When God chose Joseph of Nazareth to be the foster father of His only Son, He certainly knew what He was doing. That is because this humble carpenter became the most excellent husband and father who ever lived.

I call St. Joseph the “Shadow Saint.” That is because we know so little about him. He never spoke a word that was recorded. He never wrote anything that was saved on parchment. It does not matter. This young man, a “righteous Jew” faithful to the law, was confronted with being engaged to a woman pregnant with someone else’s child. The reality was a terrible thing for him to bear. What he left behind was a legacy of how a man should love a woman and their child and how to care for them.

He would not let Mary be harmed.

Young Joseph was a man of faith, and God was with him. The penalty for his betrothed could have been death by stoning. Joseph would have none of that. His Mary would not be harmed. He loved her. So he took her in and married her. The child she carried would be his.

St. Joseph’s example of selflessness is something that needs to be talked about with admiration, respect, and pride. It might be used as a guide for so many who have fathered children and abandoned them in this secular-driven world.

There is a crisis of fatherless children in America. Next to the disrespect and disregard for unborn life, this could be the most dangerous threat to our society. Fatherlessness is an ongoing tragedy that found its roots planted when Roe vs. Wade was passed in 1973. When the destruction of human life was “legalized” the downward spiral of respect for life followed.

 

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Many children live without their fathers.

A disconnected father factor is involved in many aspects of life today. Yes, many homes still have fathers but many children live in homes with absentee fathers and the societal effects are felt all across the spectrum of American life.

Statistics show that in fatherless homes poverty is 4 times higher than average, teen pregnancy increases by a multiple of seven, abuse and neglect are much more widespread, and drug use is more prevalent. The list goes on and on.

 

St. Joseph is the perfect example for men, young and old.

St. Joseph could be used as a shining example for all men to emulate. He was poor, he was chaste, and he respected women, especially his teenaged bride. He was a man of faith and stayed true to the laws of God and man. Foremost in his life was his faith in God. This was his strength. This is what fortified him. Faith is the common denominator missing in so many lives today.

Joseph of Nazareth is an example of how one should respect the law. We could explain to young people how he had to put his pregnant teenage wife on the back of a donkey and then walk over rocky, dusty roads for more than 80 miles, a journey that probably took three days. And why did he do this? He did this because he was required to go to Bethlehem for the census and it was the law.

The story of young Joseph, taking his teenage wife and baby boy, and escaping Bethlehem because King Herod wanted to kill his son, Jesus, would amp up any young person’s pulse. Herod’s soldiers were hunting the poor guy’s child. His wife was recovering from childbirth. He had to make it to Egypt. And he did for his family. This is what a REAL man would do.

Joseph did whatever he had to do to take care of his wife and son. He worked hard to keep a roof over their heads, to feed them, clothe them, and protect them. He did not care about himself. His family came first, no matter what. He would have gladly died for them if necessary. He was a real MAN. His sacrifice and efforts for his wife and son allowed them to survive so they could fulfill the salvific narrative. THANK YOU  St. Joseph

 

We need to follow his example and celebrate his life.

His faith, courage, integrity, and love of God resonate like the smashing of cymbals and the banging of drums for all of us to hear. We need to follow his example. We need to celebrate his life. We need to honor his commitment to his responsibilities. We should cherish his devotion to family.

I realize the possibility of teaching about this quiet hero in public schools might be a pipe dream. Still, I would hope Catholic schools would use him FREQUENTLY as an example for students to look up to and respect as a role model for what a husband and dad should try to follow.

St. Joseph, two thousand years after his death, is still the finest role model for not only husbands and fathers but for all men for all time.

St. Joseph, pray for us all.

Copyright©Larry Peterson 2023.
Image: Pexels

 

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