Road through valley. Mountain in background.

Lessons in Compassion

March 13, 2025/0 Comments/in Faith, Spiritual Life/by Allison Gingras

Lessons in Compassion

What brings you to Jesus?

In New Testament times, people flocked to Jesus seeking something they lacked—health, freedom, power, peace, or hope.

The Gospels share numerous stories of people with various ailments hoping to be healed. What depth of faith must they have possessed to leave home and endure the discomfort of travel for only a chance of being made well? Suffering, afraid, broken, and probably having exhausted every avenue of healing they knew—when all they had tried failed—they sought this man. Stories of His healings, the miracles, the unexplained, but most importantly the hope drew them to come and see. No one like Jesus existed before; two thousand years later, we can say no one like Jesus has existed since.

Word spread about Jesus from town to town and over great distances, even without social media. But when people came out to see Him, what expectations did they have?

Whatever prompted them, they came in droves, sometimes by the thousands. In Matthew’s Gospel (14:12-21), we read how they crowded the banks where Jesus disembarked from a boat then they scattered across the land, each hoping to find a place to see and more importantly hear this mysterious miracle man. Were they simply discontent by their circumstances—spiritually, economically, politically? Was it just curiosity? Was the arduous trek worth it?

How often do you contemplate the value of the Sunday excursion to Mass versus staying cozy in bed after an exhausting week? Maybe it is not as dramatic as a desert journey, but the stirring to be close to Jesus which moves us into action remains the same.

Jesus provides.

Moved to pity by the multitudes, Jesus seized this opportunity to do what He did best: teach and heal. He cured the sick and spent the day among these people. He tirelessly ministered, touching many hearts, converting many souls, and stirring the desire of many to become disciples.

On this wonderful day, the crowds found abundant things in this location: grace, hope, mercy, tenderness, love . . . however, food was lacking and evening approached. Jesus had provided sustenance of mind and spirit, but could He also provide for the body? How many thought to themselves, Could He be the answer to everything we need?

As the day came to a close, the Apostles approached the Master and entreated Him to dismiss the crowds. In the presence of such greatness, witnessing things they’d never seen before, they would not likely leave of their own accord.

A mountain-top experience.

How often have you had a mountain-top experience, one of those splendid, special days you never want to end? How many gathered around Jesus that day, like Peter at the Transfiguration, wished the day to go on forever?

Instead of dispersing the crowd as the Apostles requested, Jesus ordered the crowd to be seated, and He blessed the five fish and two loaves of bread. Seated, the people were at rest, the burden of the day and their hunger lifted by a simple command. In this short time with Jesus, they learned to trust Him. They yoked themselves to the teachings of this Rabbi, this teacher.

Come to me, all who labor, hunger, and thirst. Jesus promises to take the burden upon himself, and give you rest. We see that promise in the command to be seated. Do you see Jesus’ promises as trustworthy? If you had been there, would you have sat and waited on Him to act, or would you have doubted and gone to care for your own needs?

Taking the sparse offerings of the five fish and two loaves, Jesus Himself presents them to the Father, blesses them, and breaks them — dividing them among those who put their trust in Him to provide. There is not only enough to feed those present, but twelve bushels of fragments are left, collected, and distributed to others in need.

When we seek what Jesus offers, we are given rest.

We are filled with more than we need and left with some to distribute to others who also need, but who have perhaps not yet realized what Jesus is offering. Seeking Jesus is always worth the effort.

Edited by Theresa Linden

Freedom to Love

March 11, 2025/0 Comments/in Devotionals, Lent, Spiritual Life/by Isabelle Wood

Freedom to Love

“For you were called for freedom, brothers. But do not use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh; rather, serve one another through love.”– Galatians 5:13 (NABRE)

Our culture says many things about freedom. It says freedom is the ability to do anything we want. It says freedom is acting on our own selfish desires no matter how it affects others. It says that if we are not allowed to act on every impulse, then we are not truly free.

But as Catholics, we have a different definition. Freedom is the ability to do what we ought. It is knowing the right thing and choosing to do it, no matter the cost to us. It is controlling our sin-corrupted desires and surrendering to what God wants, not what we want.

At the heart, we can’t have love if we don’t have freedom—and vice versa. Freedom is a condition of love, but if we don’t choose to love, we’re not really free. If we want to be truly free—and say no to being enslaved to all the passing power, wealth, and pleasure the world offers us—we must have a deeper yes: the yes to love God and love others as He loves.

And God’s love isn’t the fleeting, pleasure-driven feeling the culture defines it as. God’s love is the nitty-gritty, self-giving, all-the-way-to-the-Cross kind of love. God’s love means sacrifice. . . so that’s how we are called to love: by serving others and sacrificing our own desires and selves to do so.

Because freedom means love, and love means sacrifice.

So, this Lent, how will you choose freedom over slavery? How will you choose to love God and love how He loves? What sacrifices will you make?

Edited by Gabriella Batel

Balancing in Thin Air

March 9, 2025/0 Comments/in Devotionals, Poetry, Spiritual Life/by Paula Veloso Babadi

Balancing in Thin Air

If you’ve never experienced vertigo, be thankful. It is unpleasant to say the least. Over the last few years, I’ve been grappling with recurring bouts of vestibular neuritis, a fancy word for damage to the inner ear system, causing severe spinning, dizziness, nausea, motion sensitivity, and loss of balance. New life phase, new challenge.

Before vertigo, I floundered to manage work and family responsibilities; before that, it was life as a newlywed, life in college, and high school days. Well, you get the picture. When my resources were spread thin and it seemed there was no air to breathe, finding spiritual equilibrium became even more critical than regaining physical balance.

Two lessons from my father gave me a better perspective during times of imbalance.

One prayer I learned from him—Lord, let me never stray far from You, but if I start to wander, pull me back—helped me visualize a lifesaving rope tied around my waist. I felt safe knowing that as long as I didn’t cut the rope, God was at the other end and would not let go of me. I didn’t need to walk a tightrope alone. Secondly, one of Daddy’s favorite scriptures helped me imagine that I was one of the birds Matthew spoke of and that God would always take care of me:

“Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?”—Matthew 6:26

I’ve shared this verse many times and eventually wrote the poem below as I considered what it means to be the bird.

Life will always present situations that upset my current balance and sometimes whoosh the air from my lungs. When I remember these simple lessons from my father, attend Mass, and receive the sacraments, I find that I’m not suffocating anymore. I stand steady and straight. I can breathe again.

Become the Bird

by Paula Veloso Babadi

“Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. . . ”—Matthew 6:26

When air is thin

breathe out

breathe in.

Breathe in

beauty

and truth.

Breathe out

despair

and fear.

Into thin air

disperse

your sighs,

and

out of thin air

become the bird.

Edited by Gabriella Batel

Memento Mori

February 15, 2025/0 Comments/in Death, Faith, Inspirational, Marriage, Marriage, Spiritual Life/by Margaret Zacharias

Teach us to count our days aright,
that we may gain wisdom of heart.
(Psalm 90:12). (1)

Memento Mori

When I was growing up, “Remember your death” was an almost universal expression of Christian practice during Lent.

Parents taught their children that we are “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” My own mother, and a variety of other mature women I knew then, quipped their excuses for not mopping under beds with the old joke, “My friends might be down there, visiting me today.”

It’s human nature to fantasize that we are the exceptions, that we will never wrinkle and decline, that we ourselves will never die. The elders then were offering us as children an essential grounding in reality.

Last September, I lost my beloved husband of almost 50 years

Although I recognized our advancing age, decreasing energy, and the burgeoning of necessary medical checkups, I shied away from his earnest attempts to provide me with important survival information.

My response was bright-eyed and cheery. “But we’re not going to die,” I kept telling him. “At least, not yet.”

I know he showed me where he was hiding the outdoor emergency house key … Five months later, the kids and I still haven’t been able to find it. Fortunately, we had other keys.

A massive heart attack, caused by blockage in the LAD, left artery descending, took Charles away from us far too soon. This silent and deadly killer is nicknamed “the widow maker” by medical professionals, for good reason.

I’m deeply thankful for the memory that last April, he raced me across the parking lot at St. Thomas the Apostle Church in Tucson, right after we had received Eucharist together on Easter Sunday. I’ll never forget his grin when he beat me to the car.

Despite my evasion, a spiritual call to prayer for the dying does run in my maternal family line. I experienced it even in my Methodist childhood, with elderly family members “checking in” as their time of passing neared.

Once I was confirmed in the Roman Catholic Church in 1989, insistent calls to pray for fellow parishioners, and even total strangers, drew me to the Adoration Chapel more and more often.

After a while, I began to notice that every time I felt a particular call to prayer, the same people were already there, or coming through the door right behind me; each of us always with a rosary in our hands.

At a Catholic Life in the Spirit conference held at Notre Dame University in 1998, I heard a speaker on the topic of charismatic gifts say, “Here’s a terrible one – knowing when people are going to die.”

I disagree. It’s a beautiful gift in the Body of Christ, a blessing that Our Lord pours through us, in the power of the Holy Spirit.

These calls to prayer mean that someone who loves us knows when we’re coming home; someone is lighting a candle in the window to guide us and welcome us; someone is calling companions together to support us. The transportation provided for that journey is prayer.

Every time any member of the Church prays a rosary, aren’t we asking the Blessed Mother for this very assistance at the time of our own deaths?

Catholics who respond to a felt call, to pray a rosary for others, are serving Mother Mary as her hands here on earth.

Has this understanding spared me any of the dreadful earthly experiences that follow the sudden death of a spouse — the incapacitating waves of grief, the hollow feeling of emptiness, the seemingly endless sleepless nights – the lawyers, bankers, and brokers, with their complicated rules and reams of paperwork – the daunting responsibilities to console grieving children and grandchildren, and to navigate the family through a disorienting new universe?

No. I have not been spared any of these.

But I’m grateful that, by mystical grace, I was granted the privilege to be with my husband, in prayer, at the time of his death; with God’s love swirling around us and through us both. That, for me, is everything.

T.S. Eliott wrote, in the concluding lines of his profoundly religious poem Ash Wednesday:

“When the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away,
Let the other yew be shaken and reply.
… Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
… Spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.” (2)

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us now, and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

Notes:
1. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/psalms/90
2. https://englishverse.com/poems/ash_wednesday © 2003-2025 English Verse

Copyright by Margaret King Zacharias, February 15, 2025.

Feature photo used by permission of the author.

Some Contemplative Poets

February 14, 2025/0 Comments/in Poetry, Prayer, Spiritual Life/by Tom Medlar

Some Contemplative Poets:

Gerard Manley Hopkins, St. John of the Cross, Thomas Merton, and Emily Dickinson

Contemplative poetry: is it something to define, or something to enter?
Is it something one knows when one feels it, or when one is told about it?
Is a contemplative poet known by reputation, or discovered by surprise?

The contemplative poet might be the one knocked silly by the discovery of having written such a surprising poem.

The soul is called into a contemplative quiet. The inward aching yearns for words to convey what cannot be said. Only prayer would do, no other art, apart from poetry.

Perhaps Gerard Manley Hopkins steps from a grove of birch trees to dazzle your soul with poetic rapture. Maybe Emily Dickinson will pat the place beside her on the wooden bench in the garden and recite poems while staring into your eyes. Thomas Merton would surely grin and wink and say nothing, while St. John might move his lips softly and tap his foot.

Pied Beauty
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal, chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pierced – fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change;

Praise him.

Dark Night of the Soul (excerpt):
by St. John of the Cross

In darkness, and secure,
by the secret ladder, disguised,
– ah, the sheer grace! –
in darkness and concealment,
my house being now all stilled.
On that glad night
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything
with no other light or guide
than the One that burned in my heart.

The Song of the Traveler (excerpt)
by Thomas Merton

How light the heavy world becomes, when with transparent waters
All the shy elms and wakeful apple trees are dressed!
How the sun shouts, and spins his wheel of flame
And shoots the whole land full of diamonds
Enriching every Flower’s watery vesture with his praise,
O green spring mornings when we hear creation singing!

I think that some poems of Emily Dickenson belong with this esteemed company. She wrote poems of exemplary contemplative power and illumination. Yet those poems, like Emily herself, may have been overlooked or misunderstood by some.

564
by Emily Dickenson

My period had come for Prayer –
No other Art – would do –
My Tactics missed a rudiment –
Creator – Was it you?
God grows above – so those who pray
Horizons – must ascend –
And so I stepped upon the North
To see this Curious Friend –
His House was not – no sign had He –
By Chimney – nor by Door
Could I infer his Residence –
Vast Prairies of Air
Unbroken by a settler –
Were all that I could see –
Infinitude – Had’st Thou no Face
That I might look on Thee?
The Silence condescended –
Creation stopped – for Me –
But awed beyond my errand –
I worshipped – did not “pray”-

674
by Emily Dickenson

The Soul that hath a Guest
Doth seldom go abroad –
Diviner Crowd at Home –
Obliterate the need –
And Courtesy forbid

A Host’s departure when
Upon Himself be visiting
The Emperor of Men –

1495
by Emily Dickenson

The Thrill came slowly like a Boon
for Centuries delayed
Its fitness growing like the Flood
In sumptuous solitude-
The desolation only missed
While Rapture changed its Dress
And stood amazed before the Change
In ravished Holiness —

I think the spirituality of Emily Dickenson is often misinterpreted, particularly the roots of her poems in contemplative silence. Some consider her reserved lifestyle as an emotional or social deficit, rather than a monastic style choice, like those of St. John or Thomas Merton. A personal indwelling must precede the composition of a poem that shimmers with the presence of Another. In poetry, as in prayer, we seek to savor the illuminating presence of that Vital Word who is our friend.

1039
by Emily Dickenson

I heard, as if I had no Ear
Until a Vital Word
Came all the way from Life to me
And then I knew I heard.
I saw, as if my Eye were on
Another, till a Thing

And now I know ‘twas Light. Because
It fitted them, and came in.
I dwelt, as if Myself were out,
My Body but within
Until a Might detected me
And set my kernel in.
And Spirit turned unto the Dust
“Old Friend, thou knowest me,”
And Time went out to tell the News
And met Eternity.

820
by Emily Dickenson

All Circumstances are the frame
In which His face is set –
All Latitudes exist for His
Sufficient Continent –
The Light His action, and the Dark
The Leisure of His Will –
In Him Existence serve or set
A Force illegible.

And how about you? How does the indwelling spirit of God inspire contemplation and the emergence of prayerful writing in your life?

Parent tossing child in the air on a beach at sunset.

God’s Got Our Back

February 9, 2025/0 Comments/in Faith, Inspirational, Spiritual Life, Uncategorized/by Paula Veloso Babadi

God’s Got Our Back

I went to Confession hungry—hungry for something I couldn’t articulate at the time, but God knew and satisfied that unnamed gnawing through one of His kind priests. Monsignor Ignacio gave me the penance of learning Psalm 139. He told me how much God loved me and that, if I prayed this psalm, I would know absolutely just how deeply God knows, accepts, and loves me. I think I cried all the way home, realizing that, despite my faults, imperfections, and self-doubts, someone—God—could love me so completely.

I went on to memorize excerpts from that psalm and prayed it every morning for a while. I shared copies with friends and family. I even wrote it down on scratch paper during a plane ride to visit my daughter and gave it to a misty-eyed young man sitting next to me. He cried.

Eventually, I stopped the daily morning recitation and drifted into a rhythm of aimless newly retired life. But I was hungry again. I was preparing to offer a workshop at our local Catholic Writers Guild meeting. “Writing with Intent” aimed at sharing tips and tools to kick-start or rejuvenate the writing life. At that time, chapter members ranged from new writers to seasoned authors. What could I possibly offer that would appeal to and encompass such a range of needs? I began to worry and stress over the presentation.

That’s when Psalm 139 surfaced again. When we are hungry, God’s words speak to our hearts. Whether new to the pen and unsure of intent or seasoned with countless pages and seeking fresh perspectives, as Catholic writers, we need to know, without a doubt, that God loves us and has got our back. It is He Who guides our writing and satiates our hunger when we ask.

“Probe me, God, know my heart;

try me, know my concern.

See if my way is crooked,

then lead me in the ancient paths.”—Psalm 139: 23–24

The reading and meditation on excerpts from Psalm 139 set the introductory tone for the workshop, which was well received by all. God was right there for me and them. Then and now.

Excerpts from Psalm 139

Lord, You have probed me, You know me:

You know when I sit and stand;

You understand my thoughts from afar.

My travels and my rest You mark;

with all my ways You are familiar.

Even before a word is on my tongue,

Lord, You know it all.

Behind and before, You encircle me

and rest Your hand upon me.

. . .

If I fly with the wings of dawn

and alight beyond the sea,

even there Your hand will guide me,

Your right hand hold me fast.

. . .

You formed my inmost being;

You knit me in my mother’s womb.

I praise You, so wonderfully You made me;

wonderful are Your works!

. . .

How precious to me are Your designs, O God;

how vast the sum of them!

Were I to count, they would outnumber the sands;

to finish, I would need eternity.

. . .

Probe me, God, know my heart;

try me, know my concern.

See if my way is crooked,

then lead me in the ancient paths.

—Psalm 139: 1–5, 9–10, 13–14, 17–18, 23–24

St. Joseph Edition of The New American Bible

Edited by Gabriella Batel

When not playing pickleball or “Nana,” Paula Veloso Babadi cooks, gardens, and writes poetry and short personal essays. You can find her first book-length collection, Everywhere Hope, at amazon.com.

Two by Two

February 6, 2025/0 Comments/in Faith, Fellowship, Spiritual Life/by Amy Schisler

Jesus summoned the Twelve and began to send them out two by two. (Mark 6:7)

Two by two. Not alone. Not in a group. Jesus sent out the twelve two by two.

Jesus could have sent the disciples out on their own. After all, there would come a time when they would each go their own way — James to Spain, Thomas to present-day Iran, Andrew to Greece, John to Asia, Matthew to Africa, and so on. He could have told them that this first sending out was meant to prepare them for what was to come. He could have told them that there are times in life when they would feel and be alone, and they would have nobody to turn to or consult or just talk to.

Likewise, He could have sent them in two groups of six or three groups of four. There’s safety in numbers. Plus, groups of young men traveling around the globe attracting audiences have always been popular, right?

Two Are Better than One

Instead, Jesus sent them two by two. He knew that two is better than one, and often two work better than a group. In Ecclesiastes, we read,

Two are better than one … If the one falls, the other will help the fallen one. But woe to the solitary person! If that one should fall, there is no other to help. (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

C.S. Lewis takes it even farther. He tells us in the introduction to Athanasius’ On The Incarnation, “Two heads are better than one, not because either is infallible, but because they are unlikely to go wrong in the same direction.” Two people are more accountable and hold each other accountable. They recognize when one is going off course and can steer each other to the right place, be it a safe harbor or a challenging cliff that can only be climbed together.

Finding A Second

For several years, I have thought about whether I need a spiritual advisor. Of course, being human and being the independent, forge ahead at all costs person I am, I’ve always laughed it off as something I don’t need and certainly don’t have time for! I never stopped to think that maybe I don’t have time for one because I’m not making the time or because I’m not where I’m meant to be and am too busy running around to see it.

More and more, this concept of having someone else in my spiritual corner — someone to help me when I’m falling, when I’m off course, when I need help — has been weighing more and more on my heart. I finally reached out to a friend who is a spiritual advisor and asked her opinion. As expected, she told me that “the Holy Spirit is a nudger worth listening to.”

In sending the Apostles out two by two, Jesus affirmed the view of two people working together to help each other out, to receive help when one falls, and direction when off-course, to further the Kingdom. If Jesus felt that this was the best way to go about our missions and bring His Word to the world, who am I to try to make the journey solo?

Christ Sends Apostles Out in Pairs Anonymous Dutch Painting, Public Domain

We Can’t Do It Alone

So they went off and preached repentance. The Twelve drove out many demons, and they anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them. (Mark 6:12-13)

As two together, the Apostles experienced the fruits of the Holy Spirit. They were successful, doing as Jesus told them, and healing may of their afflictions, both spiritual and physical. Perhaps they would not have been able to accomplish this on their own. Even after Jesus died, and they were to carry on the mission, they needed the Holy Spirit to descend upon them and grace them with confidence and ability. They couldn’t do it alone.

My brothers and sisters, if you are pondering where to turn for guidance and companionship on your spiritual journey, know that you are not alone and that you aren’t meant to be. If not a spiritual advisor, seek someone who will share the mission with you, be there when you fall, and steer you in the right direction. Two are better than one.

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” (Matthew 18:20)

Let us pray: Lord, I ask you to open my heart and my mind to the nudging of the Holy Spirit. I pray that you lead me to the person you have chosen as my spiritual partner. Help us to further Your Kingdom as we walk two by two. Amen.

Earthly Acts of Spiritual Love

January 10, 2025/0 Comments/in Faith, Inspirational, Spiritual Life/by Tom Medlar

Earthly Acts of Spiritual Love

‘Love bears all things,
believes all things,
hopes all things,
endures all things.’ (1 Cor. 13:7)

If everything we have known from personal experience and from knowledge of history tells us that all human lives are entwined with suffering, then why are we so surprised by the persistent presence of that pain, and why do we expect, even demand that it go away?

We have within our deepest hearts a hidden and vague knowledge that the way the world is now is not how it once was, nor how it ought to be. That secret knowledge stirs conflict within us.

As a psychotherapist working in medical settings, many of my clients experience suffering due to debilitating diseases, disabling conditions, chronic mental illnesses, substance use disorders, and, too often, the gradual erosion of close personal and family relationships. Psychotherapy can help foster fortitude and resilience in contending with all the things that can afflict a client. But the need for fortitude and resilience is not limited to persons in
psychotherapy. All persons experience loss, adversity, injustice, and painful events in life. How could it be anything else, considering we journey through a fallen world of sin, where sickness and death beset everyone?

Our modern inclination is to think of the presence of pain as a mistake, as something to blame someone else for, as something that can and should always be removed or remedied. Many of the difficulties of daily life can and ought to be corrected, and of course, we should strive to resolve our problems and give aid and comfort others who suffer. But the existence of pain represents more than simple error or misunderstanding. Some pain can be alleviated, and yet, sometimes pain must be borne – because it is an unavoidable element of life in a fallen world, not because we are morbid or weak or masochistic.

In the beginning, God and the human person walked together in harmony. Yet, since the cataclysmic events in Eden, we are heavily hampered by hardship. The entire story of the Bible is the tale of how God has responded to the consequences of what occurred in Eden. The Bible would not exist if Adam and Eve had not fallen. All of sacred Scripture relates the story of God’s actions to guide and rescue his children who are dwelling in darkness
and shadowed by death.

Jesus took upon himself the abominable scope of pain in this sin-filled world, to show us how to bear it, while still keeping faith beyond sight, while simultaneously bearing with every other person compassionately, because they, like ourselves, are caught in this web of painful sin-tainted darkness,
and we are each on the way in search of His kingdom. Some might say, “Why doesn’t God bring this messed up world to an end, and just sweep
away all the pain and bring lasting joy in its place? If He really was good, that’s what he would do now!”

But, when were you hoping for him to replace His plan with yours? His timing with yours? Sometime long ago, before you were born, perhaps? Or before your children, or grandchildren, or great, great grandchildren have had the chance to come into this world? Do you know what part the people yet to be born might play in His greater plan? Maybe we can shoulder the situation as it is and strive to do our part to bring goodness into the world.

God pointed out to St. Paul that humble and courageous acts of faith and love will light the path of our feet through the rubble and the trouble of life.
In his first letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul shines a light on deeper dimensions of love. He surprises his readers with the suggestion that it is love that bears, believes, hopes, and endures all of the challenging things of life on earth. Quite often, love is considered to be movements of emotions, yet St. Paul shows how love engages the activities of will. Through all the hard and the cold and the unfair and unknown things of this life, it is these willful acts
of love that will guide our way.

Bearing, believing, hoping, and enduring are not simply aspects of love. They are the key actions of love. Yet these particular acts of love are limited to our time on earth and are not elements of how love will be known in heaven. One will no longer need to bear or to endure pain, anguish, or injustice in heaven, because those things don’t exist there. One will not need to believe in what is invisible, or to hope for what is beyond the known, because all the things hoped for and believed in will be fully known and revealed in heaven.

But here, now, while we still live in a body and are under the sway of concupiscence, we have available to us the essential tools of spiritual love: bearing, believing, hoping, and enduring. Jesus, and our blessed Mother, and the saints, have shown us by their example how to practice earthly acts of love.

Mother Seton, Elizabeth Ann Seton at Emmittsburg, Maryland

What are you looking for?

January 4, 2025/0 Comments/in Faith, Inspirational, Saints, Spiritual Life/by Amy Schisler

“The two disciples heard what he said and followed Jesus. Jesus turned and saw them following him and said to them, ‘What are you looking for?’” John 1:38

My favorite hymn when I was a child was, Here I Am, Lord. I loved the rhythm and the simple prose, and I thought the sentiment behind the words was lovely even if I didn’t quite understand their importance. As an adult, the song continues to be my favorite hymn, and it brings tears to my eyes every single time I hear it. Though I still love the music and the words, it’s the deeper meaning that gets to me now. Jesus asks us to serve, and we need to respond like Samuel and the Apostles, ready to answer and do His will.

Awaiting God’s Call

This month, we celebrate the feast day of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, our first American-born saint. Two of my three daughters graduated from Mount St. Mary’s in Emmitsburg, Maryland. Emmitsburg was the home and final resting place of Mother Seton. Mother Seton to Emmitsburg moved in 1809, where she founded the Sisters of Charity of St. Joseph’s, the first community for religious women established in the United States. It was in Emmitsburg where she also began St. Joseph’s Academy and Free School, the beginning of Catholic education in the United States.

Before becoming a nun, Elizabeth was a wife and mother. She was not Catholic but was very religious. While nursing her sick husband in Italy, she learned about Catholicism from friends who lived there and was intrigued by the Church and its sacred traditions. The more she learned and attended Mass, the more she felt called to become Catholic.

Hearing God’s Call

Years, later, she heard the call to become a nun, and later, she heard the call to found the order and the school in Emmitsburg.

Mother Seton wrote, “We know certainly that our God calls us to a holy life. We know that he gives us every grace, every abundant grace; and though we are so weak of ourselves, this grace is able to carry us through every obstacle and difficulty.”

Many generations before Mother Seton, Jesus asked Andrew and John, “What are you looking for?” (John 1:38) They immediately followed Him, asking where He was staying. Then they sought others and encouraged them to join as well (Andrew’s brother, Simon, John’s brother, James, and Andrew’s friend, Phillip). Without hesitating, they answered Jesus’ question with their actions.

Jesus still asks this question, but so many fail to hear it or understand from whom it comes. So many of us spend our lives searching for meaning, for happiness, for belonging when Jesus openly and willingly offers us all that and more. When faced with Jesus’ question, we look for the answer in other people, in media and entertainment, or in addictions, and often overlook the most basic, most obvious places—Holy Scripture, the Mass, the Church. It was in the Church, at Mass, and through the sacraments that Mother Seton heard the call to convert, to become a nun, to serve, and to teach.

Answering God’s Call

We, too, are being called. We can hear God’s voice each time we attend Mass, go to Confession, or seek the Lord in Adoration. He is calling out to us to help Him build His Kingdom, to serve, to teach, and to bring others to Him.

Listen for the voice of Jesus in your daily life. Shut out the noise and the distractions. Be alert and awake. He is asking, “What are you looking for?” All you need to do is answer in the same way Mother Seton did, “Here am I, Lord; I come to do your will,” (1 Samuel 3:8, Psalm 40:9). “Speak, for your servant is listening” (1 Samuel 3:10).

Let us pray, “Oh my God, forgive what I have been, correct what I am, and direct what I shall be” (St. Elizabeth Seton). Amen.

Edited by Heather Gaffney

Ut in Deo Sit

May 24, 2024/0 Comments/in Love, Spiritual Life/by Rick Clements

Ut in Deo Sit

If one of the key elements of loving another person is to will that person’s good, what exactly does that mean? Well, of course, willing their good can include willing that they be happy; that they be healthy and well; that good things will happen to them; that good things will come their way; etc. But the deepest love you can have for someone is to will their ultimate good. And what is their ultimate good? What is every single human being’s ultimate good? Ut in Deo sit: that they may be in God. To will someone’s ultimate good is to will that they might reach their intended destiny, the destiny for which they were made: to be in God, to share forever in the eternal circulation of love that is the divine life. Thus, to will someone’s ultimate good is to will that they might choose Love. To will someone’s ultimate good is to will that they might say Yes to their God-given mission of love and fulfill that mission in their lives. To will someone’s ultimate good is to will that they might excel in the school of love, continuing to grow in their ability to love selflessly as their life progresses. To will someone’s ultimate good is to will that they might grow into God’s “bright image” of them.

Keeping the beloved’s ultimate good in mind and heart will guide you as you strive to will the good for them at specific times and in specific circumstances of their lives. To will their good at any point in time is to will whatever will help them learn to love God and neighbor more deeply. To will their good is to will whatever will help them to say Yes to their mission of love. To will their good is to will whatever will help them fulfill that mission. To will their good is to will whatever will help them to excel in the school of love, to will whatever will help them to grow in their ability to selflessly give and receive the gift of self in love. To will their good is to will whatever will help them take another step toward becoming the loving person God created them to be. To will their good is to will whatever will help them be in God.

In a happy coincidence (actually, it’s not a coincidence at all), to will all of that for the beloved is simultaneously to will their ultimate happiness, and to will that they find a profound sense of meaning and purpose in life, and to will that they be free, and to will that they be at peace. For the fulfillment of all of those deepest desires of their heart is ultimately to be found in Love.

* This article is based on an excerpt from Rick’s latest book, The Book of Love: Brief Meditations. Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash