We ALL Teach, So Be Careful of What and How!

May 5, 2023/1 Comment/in Faith, Family Life, Inspirational/by Ben Bongers

We ALL Teach, So Be Careful of What and How!

Many years ago, I taught at a local Catholic elementary and high school. It was my first professional teaching job, and I was excited to pass along the knowledge I’d garnered over my years in college. As a Catholic school music teacher, I taught science, math, English, history… and sometimes music. I had one student in my history class who was NOT going to pass and, furthermore, didn’t care. When I approached him with this information, he kept saying, “I don’t care! I’m going into my family’s business. I don’t care if I pass or not.”

Exasperated, I asked, “What’s your ‘family’s’ business?’” Imagine my surprise when the young man told me his family’s business was something VERY illegal!

My teaching training kicked in, and I said, “Well, even in your dad’s business, history plays a large part! He needs to research, plan, and know the history of the situation he will be walking into.” The student gave me a wary look, smirked, and walked away.

At a parents’ evening at school, the student’s father asked to see me alone. Needless to say, I was nervous. I suddenly wished I’d become a banker instead of a teacher. Soon a mountain of a man ambled into my classroom scowling, “I’m [so-and-so’s] pappa.” I swallowed hard and stuck out my hand for him to shake. In an instant, he had his bear-paw-sized hands and arms around me—giving me a hug and beginning to sob.

All I could do was stand there and say, “It’s okay, it’s okay, whatever it is, it’ll be alright…”

After the man composed himself, he told me his son had told him about our exchange. He was shocked into reality. He said, “I had no idea he even knew what I did for a living, let alone planned on going into it.” The father had been preaching one thing to his son, “Be a good boy. Always do the right thing. Listen to your elders…” Meanwhile, his actions were teaching him to do something different.

For the sixth Sunday of Easter, we’ll hear of Phillip converting an entire community, then James and Peter coming to “confirm” what Phillip had done and laying hands on them to confer the Holy Spirit to them, making sure the people honestly knew who the Christ was. Then we hear Peter telling us we need to embrace holiness and be able to explain why we believe what we believe. And furthermore, we need to “show-and-tell” in a way that is not confrontational. Finally, we have Jesus telling us that IF we fully integrate what he taught into our lives, he will send the Holy Spirit to fill us and help us in every decision.

What we teach matters, but so does how.

If you were wondering what happened to the student, I am very happy to report he went on to business school and owns a local business that is considered a jewel of the community.

Spring and the Stubborn Cardinal

April 21, 2023/0 Comments/in Catholic Writing and Publishing, Faith, Inspirational/by Kimberly Novak

Spring and The Stubborn Cardinal

Spring has arrived in my neck of the woods, and with it comes the hustle and bustle of God’s fantastic flying creatures around the flowers in bloom. This time of the year, I try to take every opportunity to visit outdoor places of interest. Recently, my husband and I walked the grounds of Our Lady of Lourdes Shrine, taking in all that nature had to offer. Scattered across the walking paths were sticks and small branches which had fallen in storms earlier that week. However, the beauty of the outdoor chapel, statues, and illumined candles surrounding the altar remained. Off in the distance was the whistling call of a cardinal announcing its presence, bringing happiness to my heart.

As we approached a building that housed a gift shop, the little red cardinal made its existence known, flying from its edge to a nearby tree. It wasn’t until we were inside the shop that we became aware of the cardinal’s intent. We listened to the shopkeeper’s story explaining that the cardinal was either confused or stubborn.

A sister of the Most Holy Trinity told us the cardinal had been visiting for many months. Daily attempts were made at flying directly into the shop window. These occurred so often that decals were affixed to the window to deter the bird from attempting to enter. It is common for a bird to see its reflection in a window, provoking it to go after what it thinks it sees—ultimately resulting in either an injured bird or complete surrender to the situation.

In this case, it appears the Shrine has a stubborn cardinal on its hands, and it prompted some thoughts as my husband and I recalled the activity of the bird that afternoon. Could it be that the bird was refusing to leave? What was it looking for? Had it lost a mate? Did the bird know it wasn’t getting anywhere by continuing its current behavior?

I am not alone when I share that there have been countless times when God has called me toward something, and I have run the other way. Or instances when I continued to go “my way” only to hit the same roadblock repeatedly, never realizing that the road I was trying to travel was not God’s plan. Like the cardinal at the gift shop, we spend too much time looking for something that isn’t there instead of listening to God’s voice as our guide.

Our moment of surrendering to the situation comes when we realize that our plan may not necessarily be God’s will. Like the bird flying into a window repeatedly, we are injuring ourselves when we repeat a pattern that has us, in essence, stuck. The decals in our lives that help us to see come in many forms—spiritual guides, faithful friends, parents, siblings, a spouse, and our children. Let’s not discount the stranger or good Samaritan who will help us to visualize what is ahead through teachable moments.

We can only hope that the cardinal visiting the sisters at the Shrine stops long enough for God to provide enlightenment or perhaps send another bird to provoke a different activity. You and I both know that if it continues on the path it is now, the bird will eventually suffer hurt beyond repair. The same is true for you and me. If we continue on the wrong track and fight the direction of God, our circumstances may result in a chaotic life.

The cardinal has as many choices as you and I. We can continue flying into the window, never getting anywhere, or set our sights on a path for God to light and guide us. Discernment becomes clear through consistent prayer and prayerful conversations with a spiritual director or parish Priest. Take advantage of the freshness and new beginning spring offers, open the windows of your heart, and fly.

We Believe…We Have Faith…But Where’s the Peace?

April 7, 2023/2 Comments/in Faith, Spiritual Life/by Ben Bongers

We Believe…We Have Faith…But Where’s the Peace?

Throughout this Lent we’ve seen the Apostles, Samaritans, Martha, and Mary say, “I believe.” But what does it mean to “believe”? What and how should we believe?

We’ve all heard the adage, “If it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck and swims like a duck…” So why do people still question what’s quacking, waddling, and swimming? The Apostles saw Jesus heal, teach, and cast out demons; yet Peter denied he knew Jesus.

Sometimes we need to “unlearn” what we, as adults, “know” to be true and regain the way children believe—with pure faith that leads to peace.

If a young girl is scared, she listens to her grandma, who says, “No child, there are no monsters under the bed. Now come here.” The grandma stays with and comforts the little girl, helping her find peace as she hums a lullaby, and the little girl drifts off to sleep.

Or when a scared little boy approaches a busy street—cars whizzing by, honking, making noise. He takes his grandpa’s hand, and as soon as his little hand slips into grandpa’s old and weathered fingers the boy is at peace. He believes his grandpa will get him safely across that dangerous street.

Today (like the Samaritans, Apostles, Martha and Mary) we’ve forgotten how to believe—as a child. To have faith—as a child. And be at peace—as a child. To “unlearn” what we as adults “know” to be true.

—A little story—

I was born a farming ranch kid with more cattle than my little fingers could count. My whole adult family knew the neighbors to the south were sheep farmers—dirty, stinking, rotten sheep farmers—and believed they were evil because they dared to raise sheep in cattle country.

One night we saw a glow coming from our northern neighboring cattle farm. Their barn and hay were on fire. Soon every farmer and rancher for a twenty-mile radius came—putting out flames, moving livestock, saving what they could. The shepherd was the first to arrive and the last to leave, even though he knew how all the cattle ranchers felt.

The cattle ranchers helped rebuild the barn, but no one had extra hay for his stock of hundreds of mouths to feed. One night, several semi-trucks pulled into the farmyard. The lead driver said, “Someone anonymously sent us. Where do you want it?” It was eight semi-truck loads of hay! Later we found out the shepherd freely gave the hay, asking nothing in return.

We had believed what others said about the shepherd, instead of listening to the preaching of his actions. Our eyes were finally opened to childlike believing, with faith and goodness—finally finding peace with him. Like our eyes being opened, Peter and the “other apostle” in next week’s Gospel finally believed when they see the empty tomb. They finally understand and have faith in what Jesus has been showing, teaching, and modeling for three years. Finally finding peace.

So, this Easter, what could you:

“unlearn”? Something you “know” to be true but isn’t?
find faith in, like a child, and find peace?

Ben Bongers, 2023

Falling Upwards to the Present Moment

March 12, 2023/1 Comment/in Faith/by Paula Veloso Babadi

Falling Upwards to the Present Moment

“…but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31

Two weeks ago, one of my nephews was laid off after fifteen years. My heart ached for him, my niece, and their four young children. When I told him I was praying for them, he thanked me, smiling all would be well. His faith reminded me of a time in my career when I faced a similar situation.

I never thought it would happen to me, until the day our team learned three of the five project managers would be displaced. A tightly knit group of high performers, we were driven to excellence by the thought of making a difference.

God spared me in several ways; first by providing a fun respite, second by affording me a compassionate leader, and third but definitely not last, gracing me with insight about living in the present moment.

A serendipitous getaway shielded me from the initial jolt. Our team was to meet for the verdict and on my way to work that morning, my daughter-in-law offered me a last-minute vacant spot in her mother’s cruise cabin. Of course, the possibility was off my radar. I had meetings and presentations to complete Thursday and Friday. When she suggested I call in sick, I politely told her it was not possible.

At work, after my first conference call, second thoughts overtook me and somewhere in the 5 minutes before my next meeting, I dashed into my boss’s office and told her about the random offer. She exclaimed, “If it were me, I’d rearrange my schedule and go!”

I dashed to my next meeting but by 10 am, I had a plan. I instructed my son, “Add me to the guest list and don’t leave without me.” By 10:30, my manager approved two vacation days and I cleared my calendar as willing friends covered critical meetings. By noon, I was home throwing together bare bones essentials, and by 2pm, my son, daughter-in-law, grandchildren and “Mimi”, their other grandmother, hustled through check-in on our way to a four-day island cruise.

“…Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” Psalm 30:5

On that short vacation, God reminded me of the joy of living in the present moment. Playing “Connect Four” with my grandsons, I thought of nothing else but them; reveling in their boyish chatter and laughter. Enjoying “Mimi” playing bingo for the first time in her life, and winning, kept any thoughts of work-life in the distant past. In his mercy and love, God knew what I needed to get me past the fear of falling down by embracing life in the present and rising upward through Him.

O Lord, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away. Psalm 139:1-2

Falling Upwards

Does the dandelion tuft

Mourn its wrenching from the globe

Home no longer with the rest

Curse cruel gales

Ride the crest?

Do falling leaves to mulch or mold

Cry fallen hopes in season’s cold

Give up their role in nature’s quest

Change to bedding for a nest?

Does a severed branch downed by wind

Give up its soul, its life rescind

When circumstance would name it “broke”

Does it rise anew as smoke?

In the wrenching and the falling

In the severing and the breaking

In the dying

Is awakening.

Mass on the Rock

March 8, 2023/4 Comments/in Eucharist, Faith, Inspirational, Pilgrimage, Spiritual Life/by Margaret Zacharias

Mass on the Rock

It was what the Irish call a ‘soft day.’ Drenching afternoon rain fell after a cold and misty morning. Some among us worried that it might not be worth the effort. It was difficult enough to walk when the ground was dry, never mind through a spooky meadow that rolled under your feet like a ship on the churning sea.

It looked to be quite a distance, too, at the end of what had already been an exhausting day. You’d understand if you yourself had a knee or a hip needing surgery. This group had eight or ten of them. Our hosts, who’d spent the whole wet day in the field preparing for our arrival, did understand. They kindly offered us the church in town to celebrate Mass for any of our pilgrims who felt they couldn’t make their way to the Rock.

Then somebody said, “The rain’s letting up!” Somebody said, “Let’s those of us who feel we can go, let’s give it a try?”

With Father’s encouragement, everyone managed to clamber off the bus and onto a gravel road. At the open fence gate, a young woman smiled and said, “You’re very welcome!” Just beyond her, the farmer took each hand into his own. He inspected our eyes, pilgrim by pilgrim, nodding his personal welcome as if it were a matter of life and death.

For over three hundred years, it was.

We set out across the fields, breathing in the thick green air. We shivered in our raincoats. Most of us had no idea where we were headed. If you knew what to look for, you might be able to recognize the place by an ancient grove of sacred Druid trees perched on the horizon. Eventually our guide pointed out an entrance, hidden among shrubs that grew beneath the trees. We pushed through a narrow opening to discover steep stone steps cut into a muddy hillside.

More than six feet below, the freshly-excavated chapel stretched out in an ell. Heavy cinder blocks were stacked along the sides; new boards were laid on top of the blocks for benches, and boards were laid below for walking across the mud. A pearly grey boulder held the corner. The air surged with aromas: freshly-sawn lumber, damp peat and fertile earth. We felt humbled to see so much labor expended to provide for us.

“Why, they wouldn’t believe we’re Father Flanagan’s people,” someone said, “If we hadn’t had the courage to come!’

The Rock turned out to be a smooth, asymmetrical chunk of granite, nearly three feet tall, and almost five feet in diameter. It sparkled as if it had been scrubbed with rainbows. Atop the boulder stood pictures of our Lord and our Lady on either side of a simple Crucifix.

Father laid his communion kit directly onto this stone altar. He passed the scripture book to the lector and shook off his coat. He vested for Mass right there on the soil among us. He tried to light candles, but they kept blowing out. Worn over only a short-sleeved shirt, his surplice flew in the chilly gale. But the flame of the Holy Spirit glowed in all hearts as he made the sign of the cross to open our liturgy.

While Father distributed Eucharist, three of us together began to sing at the same moment, the same inspired song: “This is holy ground. We’re standing on holy ground, for the Lord is present and where He is, is holy.” Another woman mimed the words for each verse while everybody sang: “He’s given us holy hands. He’s given us holy lips.” Father maneuvered from plank to plank as if he’d never celebrated Mass in any other way.

Stalks of ripened grain in the fields above our heads swayed in the breeze, blessing us like banners. Though we knew we would be invisible from the road, we could almost hear the tramp of soldiers’ feet on the wind. We reflected on Father’s homily, thinking about how many generations of Irish people had gathered for Mass just like this, under penalty of death. They hid below crops they were forbidden to eat, celebrating Eucharist without the luxuries of raincoats, candles or songs.

All that nourished them was the Lord. They did not consider His Feast a meager meal.

When we returned to ordinary time and contemporary place, that luscious green labyrinth still shimmied under our feet. But this time the walk did not seem long.

Three-year-old Michael led the charge to the bus. He scampered across the landscape with a wild flower in his hand. He went spinning around the meadow, cavorting in tall grass under the wide sky.

Every single one of us danced along behind him, all the way back to Ballymoe.

Royalty-Free Stock Image Shutterstock_1719546454 Licensed to Pearlpledge82 User ID 289304735 Standard License February 19, 2023

*A previous version of this true story was published in Sunday Bulletin, St. Theresa of the Child Jesus Catholic Church, Diocese of Des Moines, Iowa, 2007; and appears in another form on the author’s website, www.animaviva.com.

Candy as Compassion

March 3, 2023/1 Comment/in Faith, Hope, Inspirational, Love, Mercy/by Ben Bongers

Candy as Compassion

Next Sunday, the Third Sunday of Lent, we see how God showed compassion on His people in the desert, giving them water from the rock, and the Samaritan woman giving Jesus a drink. So how do we know compassion? What does it look like? Sound like? Do we know when we see or show it?

I visited a person, while making my Diaconate rounds, on hospice in their early 40’s. They would ask for the same item of every doctor, nurse, and certified nursing assistant (CNA)—a bag of the Chewable Sweet Tarts from the candy machine down the hall.

As the person faded in and out, they told me they had two beautiful children who were unable to make the trip to say “goodbye.” Their condition was taking hold. Soon they wouldn’t wake again. The person had led a rough life. They’d stolen, been hooked on drugs, cheated, lied, and had prominent tattoos of “taking lives.”

I didn’t judge and asked, “What would make you happy before you leave this world?”

They smiled and said, “Just one thing, a bag of those Chewable Sweet Tarts.”

I had to chuckle. “What’s so special about a bag of candy?”

The person smiled, a tear leaking from their eye. They said, “I used to take my kids around the neighborhood for Halloween. We had the best time! We’d talk as we walked around. I found out I had really smart, funny, and good kids.” The person sat with the memory, then said, “After we got home, we’d dump all the candy onto the kitchen table and take a piece, share it, and judge it with a rating. ‘This one’s an 8.6, or 9.2, or 4.1!’ We’d have the best time.”

The person looked over at me and said, “The Chewable Sweet Tarts… we never had those. Somehow having them will bring me back to the one good time—the one good thing I had in my life—my kids.”

After going to the restroom, I saw the candy machine and came back to the room, gently laying the bag of Chewable Sweet Tarts on the bed table. The person looked up at me. Big tears and no ability to speak. I came to the bedside, and they clung to me for a solid five minutes—bawling and asking over and over, “Why? Why? Why would you show me any compassion? Why would you do this for me?”

We shared the candy. As the person across from me chewed slowly, smiling the entire time, I finally answered their question. “Because you’re worthy of compassion. We all are.”

We never know what another person needs. The nurses, doctors, and hospital staff all had been in that room. They saw the patient—but missed the person.

Look around you. Who are the persons around you? Not customers, not clients, not patients—persons. Remember, compassion is a sure sign that the Holy Spirit is alive in us—and is helping us see that person crossing our paths every day.

For I know the Plans I Have for You

February 28, 2023/4 Comments/in Faith, Family Life, Inspirational, Love, Marriage/by Sarah Torbeck

For I know the Plans I Have for You (Jer. 29:11)

Greetings, fellow travelers. I am (probably) the newest contributor to the CWG blog. In an attempt to introduce myself, I decided to offer the following recollections that I wrote for a smaller audience. This is a deeply personal account, but it’s how I roll.

I was widowed two years ago, and it significantly altered my perception of marriage, God and our eternal trajectory. Retrospect is the critical viewpoint in this narrative, since my husband and I did not convert to Catholicism until we were in our mid-thirties. Hence, God’s plan for our lives was not immediately intuited, although we eventually recognized the critical nature of the Catholic faith in our marriage. It was this faith that would provide continuity and structure to the sacrament we shared. We were married for 42 years, and this is our story:

My husband, Steve, was a risk-taker.

I was not.

Our third date I found him cheerfully explaining the constellations of scars on his head and chin—which he identified as wounds from embedded gravel—the result of a tire blowout during a high-speed motorcycle ride on a gravel road. Apparently, he went airborne before the force of gravity did what gravity tends to do—and it sucked him into the hard, graveled surface below him.

I watched, horrified, as he retold the story, complete with sound effects, and enthusiastic arm-flapping.

“You’re lucky to be alive!” I gasped. He smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. His grin grew even wider.

“Weren’t you scared?” I exclaimed.

“Nah,” he said casually, “I was too busy trying to keep the bike from falling on top of me and killing me.”

I remember being incredulous, as I tried to comprehend his explanation. I did not understand this attitude toward life. I risked nothing. I gambled on nothing, and I kept everything in my world ordered and safe. We could not have been more different. Who is this guy? I thought.

Eventually, and against my better judgment, Steve managed to talk me onto the back of his dirt bike—after assuring me that he wouldn’t go too fast. I believed him (mostly) even when we were sailing over huge hills with considerable hang time, before landing on the other side of the hill. I remember clutching my arms around his waist and screaming into his back, while he yelled reassurances that everything was fine. (I think he really enjoyed that part.)

Steve frequently challenged the forces of nature with every ounce of his seemingly immortal body. If he wasn’t defying gravity, he was water skiing without skis, or driving snowmobiles across frozen ponds. It always seemed to me that he was like one of those giant grasshoppers that flies erratically into oncoming cars—barely missing the windshield with an artful dodge.

Alternatively, the laws of physics and the general nature of risk, did nothing to inspire intestinal fortitude within. My formative years had been painful, and I trusted no one. Night after night, I remember begging a distant God for deliverance—a deliverance that always seemed elusive—rendering my nominal faith into shadows.

Despite my spiritual quagmire, I gradually began to appreciate Steve’s attitude toward life. Scientific laws can be harnessed if you have the right tools, and the world is approachable if you are comfortable with who you are. Steve was all those things—and slowly, patiently (sometimes) he taught me to take risks: with others, with myself, and of course … his motorcycle.

Initially, I did not realize that God had finally offered me deliverance in the form of a young man with an irrepressible temperament—but it seems rather obvious now. It would have required someone with that kind of fortitude to wage battle with the seen and unseen forces around me.

It turns out that God had been listening all along.

It should come as no surprise that Steve went on to have a successful career in law enforcement before retiring due to injuries he sustained in the line of duty. Those injuries are what ultimately caused his death, but he would have settled for nothing less. That’s just how HE rolled.

January marked the second anniversary of Steve’s death, and if I could tell him anything right now, I think it would be this: Thank you for taking a chance on this wisp of a soul. You are proof that God answers prayer on the most elemental level. I am forever grateful to you—and most importantly—to God, who is ever-merciful, and actively involved in the most intimate details of our lives.

This knowledge fills me with child-like trust–secure in the knowledge that God always has a plan.

Faithful Expectations

January 20, 2023/0 Comments/in Faith, Hope, Inspirational/by Kimberly Novak

Faithful Expectations

As a new author, it is sometimes difficult to know what I should expect or what is expected of me. I recently faced this in a casual conversation when I was told I sounded calm, confident, and optimistic. My faith is the backbone of how I respond to situations in my life. Even so, I face times when I am overwhelmed with an experience or result.

I firmly believe that God places us exactly where He wants us to be. These moments might be fleeting, life-changing, or teachable. Like everyone else, life has thrown a myriad of events at me, some of which I knew exactly what to expect and others a mystery. I smile knowing that the recent conversation was not only teachable but also a way to complete my task. In struggling with a writing topic and hearing what I was saying in the throes of that conversation, God turned the light on!

Expectation packs a big punch as it often creates a significant emotional response. Some types of expectations are joyful, while others can generate an emotion of fear. Looking back on events in my life, I can see a circumstance that I believe God used to groom me for the role of an author who faces expectations with a heart of faith. It was during a time when I was a “stage mom,” which, to most, sounds exciting, and at times it was. However, there were honest moments when all I wanted to do was wait in fear rather than hope.

The journey through auditions, learning lines, and prep sessions were quite the experience. I knew my son and I would need a positive mindset to thrive. We treated each day and audition as one moment, releasing it from our headspace at completion. Some were harder than others, but we did an excellent job of living in a way that allowed us to expect happiness.

Another instance I recall is physical. I was “voluntold” through a persistent friend to participate in a healthy weight program. The journey consisted of several months of intense training and proper eating habits. I was reluctant about what the outcome would look like and had no clear expectations. In a nutshell, the journey strengthened me, not only physically but emotionally as well. The expectations I felt along the way were nowhere near the positive outcome, and for that, I can see the blessings.

Both of these examples impacted where I am today, serving as a preparatory phase in which I can draw strength and wisdom. Learning to be patient with God’s timing and enjoy where He is taking me is the fruit of where He placed me in the past. I consider both of these events equally life-changing and educational.

Fleeting moments of the audition process and the pains of exercise are reminders that moments in our life go by quickly. As painful as they may seem in the moment, there is light to look forward. The skills I use today as an author, secretary, and spiritual director are directly inherent in the teachable moments through God’s Grace. My life changes by faithfully understanding God knows my heart and will work all things for my good.

Preparation plays a vital role in a mindset of faithful expectation and should be focused and balanced. Consider preparing for a job interview or the possibility of authoring successfully. There are many ways to go about it, some will over-prepare to expect the worst, and others will do the bare minimum. Looking at an outcome with faithful expectations will generate positive and heartfelt responses. These emotional considerations will bring about mindful preparatory phases, culminating in joyful experiences. The overarching goal is an outcome that is God-centered, realistic, and built on the foundation of faith.

I can’t think of a better time than right now to fully embrace the practice of faithful expectation. At the beginning of a new year, a gift in itself is another opportunity placed into our hands to go big or go home! Jump in wherever God has placed you armed with a heart of faithfully expecting God is doing beautiful things for you and through you. I know the next time I am up against a deadline or struggle, God is right there with His finger on the switch, and the light will shine at just the right moment!

Do Whatever He Tells You by Maria Riley

January 15, 2023/2 Comments/in Catholic Theme, Catholic Writing and Publishing, Faith, Inspirational, The Writing Life/by Maria Riley

I love meditating on the Wedding at Cana. Attending a wedding seems like such an ordinary event for Jesus and his friends to attend. I imagine them laughing and enjoying themselves, much the way I do when I attend weddings, which helps me remember that Jesus was fully human too.

Another reason that I love the Wedding at Cana is that Jesus, as an adult, remained obedient to His mother. As a mom myself, I love this. His obedience also is a significant part of our understanding of Mary as the great mediator. She brings each of us closer to Christ by bridging the gap between us and Him. She tells Jesus that the wine has run out, and despite Him telling her it’s not yet His hour, Jesus obeys His mother (cf. John 2:3-4). Jesus’s first public miracle happened through the intercession of Mary.

Recently, while I meditated on this mystery, my mind didn’t focus on Jesus, His friends, nor His mother. Instead, my thoughts lingered on the servants, those who assisted Jesus in His first miracle. These servants aren’t even named in the scripture, yet by following the advice of Mary and obeying Jesus’s command, they partook in a beautiful miracle that all Christians know about.

They did whatever He told them (cf. John 2:5). And here’s the amazing thing—all He asked them to do was fill some pitchers with water. That was it! Jesus basically said, “Just go grab some water, and then leave the rest to me.” Because of the servants’ obedience, a miracle ensued.

Sometimes I think I’m not doing enough to live out my faith. I think I need to live in more drastic poverty or pray for hours every day. But maybe, just like the servants, Jesus is actually asking me to do something simple and well within my abilities, training, and current life situation.

When I stop to listen, this is what I hear Jesus say to me: “Fill this cup of milk, then graciously clean the spilled milk for the eighth time today. Write this story. Feed this family I have given you. Read aloud with this child.”

These commands, doing whatever He tells me, may not be as complicated as I think. Easy? Not always. Almost every day He reminds me, “Love your husband, and forgive him for not being perfect. In all things, selflessly love the way that I love you.”

If I humble myself and accept these charges from Him, then I open the door for the miracle to happen. If I do my small part, no matter how insignificant it may seem, I am honoring the will of God.

I’m not in the business of turning water into wine. But filling pitchers with water? I can do that.

Who Do You Say That I Am?

January 7, 2023/2 Comments/in Current events, Faith, Inspirational/by Margaret Zacharias

I felt it rising in successive waves, even before the crowd leapt to its feet and the cries of “Il Papa!” began. Love. I had sensed it before, of course, with family, during Mass, in Adoration. But it had never washed through me carrying such purity, such humility, such simple joy.

The passenger, in a white automobile that weaved its way through St. Peter’s Plaza on that cold but clear late-April day in 2005, beamed his smile and waved like a provincial child enjoying his first ride at an amusement park he never expected to visit.

Those of us in attendance rode his surges of love like experienced surfers. But I asked myself, “Who is this man?” He presented quite a contrast to the impression I had gleaned from some of the Benedictine monks at the Iowa basilica where I served as an informal oblate.

I had heard about a stern taskmaster, a strict enforcer of magisterial teaching, an incisive theologian, a very different portrait from the palpable sweetness I felt emanating from the person who descended from his car and ascended to the dais.

In recent weeks, my son had described him as “a good choice to bat cleanup for the pope whose act no one wants to follow.”

We were there that day solely by the workings of Divine Providence. Our travel plans had solidified almost two years before, when my son and his fiancée expressed a desire to see Europe, once he passed Part I of his medical-school boards. When I offered to take them if they would make it a pilgrimage, my husband decided to come along. None of us knew then that our beloved, majestic world missionary pope, now Saint John Paul II, would return to his heavenly home before we undertook our journey.

As we packed our bags for the trip, we had been following daily proceedings in the Sistine Chapel for more than two weeks, and were still uncertain whether there would be a new pope in the Chair of Saint Peter when we reached Rome.

Only the day before this audience, when we arrived at Da Vinci airport, we had learned from our Roman guide that her brother who worked at the Vatican would be able to get us tickets for Pope Benedict XVI’s first outdoor public audience in Saint Peter’s Square.

I have a vivid recollection of every word that Pope John Paul II spoke at my first papal audience in 1995. He was dynamic then, in full vigor. He stood at the microphone for hours. He presented his homily himself, four times, speaking fluently in four different languages.

I recall not a word of the brilliant theologian Pope Benedict XVI’s first papal address to a crowd of pilgrims in St. Peter’s Square in 2005. I just remember the overwhelming force of his love.

In September 2022, I had the opportunity to develop a few more insights about who Pope Benedict XVI—a reticent man, a highly influential intellectual, the humble confidant of his charismatic predecessor—really was.

Birthplace of Joseph Ratzinger, Pope Benedict XVI, in Marktl am Inn, Germany

Just after dawn on a frigid German morning with a blustery wind, my group of Oberammergau pilgrims walked through the few narrow streets of Marktl am Inn into its central platz, to view Joseph Ratzinger’s birthplace. We toured the small, charming Saint Oswald’s church where he was baptized on the same day he was born: Holy Saturday, April 16, 1927.

Sign outside St. Oswald Church, Marktl am Inn, Germany: Baptismal Church of Pope Benedict XVI

This is where it all began, the overflowing well, the place where his cup of love was first filled.

I hoped I might find some answers to how a sensitive child and brilliant adult lived through so many decades of ministering to the same human frailties; and through so much social change. How did he preserve his deep faith in God’s love, and his radiant transmission of that love, throughout his entire lifetime?

How did he accept the murder of his cousin with Down’s syndrome, by the Third Reich? How did a sensitive teenager who was already deeply aware of his vocation live through repeated encounters with Nazi evil—beginning with his first, but not last, conscription into their military forces at the tender age of 14?

On the left wall of Saint Oswald’s church, as one enters the tiny entryway, is hung a glass case clad in steel. It displays new parish “arrivals” for the current month, baby pictures of the infants most recently baptized into the parish. On the right wall hangs a sturdy matching case that features funeral program photos of recent “departures.”

Joseph Ratzinger’s own last words complete the circle: “Jesus, I love you.”

May perpetual light shine upon His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI, and may his lifelong lessons about the healing power of love continue to enlighten our troubled world.

Scale model of St. Oswald Church, inside the church, Marktl am Inn, Germany: Baptismal Church of Pope Benedict XVI