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How Old Do We Sound?

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Sometimes you just can’t win.

My friend recently lost both her cats to illness and old age, and I’ve been trying to be supportive of her… but some days that’s more difficult than others. If I say, “maybe you need to grieve your loss before you adopt a new cat,” she snaps back about how lonely she is. If I say, “you’re a person who needs to have a pet,” she’ll accuse me of not allowing her space to grieve.

Like I said, sometimes you just can’t win.

You can feel that notion simmering just under the surface of today’s Gospel reading. Jesus, too, seems to feel there are people who just won’t get it. “You didn’t like John the Baptist because he didn’t eat or drink; you don’t like me because I do eat and drink.” I can picture Jesus smiling a little ruefully as he watches people perform the mental gymnastics necessary to try and impose order on a world rife with cognitive dissonance.

Our brains aren’t crazy about cognitive dissonance: we want predictability. My friend, I reason, can’t have it both ways; yet somehow she does. We want patterns. When we can’t find them, we invent them. Even if it means performing the aforementioned mental gymnastics.

It had been decided at some level that John the Baptist was to be dismissed out of hand. A crazy man living in the desert, pointing to Scriptural antecedents to his mission? He eats—locusts? No, no: if we’re to have a new prophet, let’s make him someone presentable. (Never mind that figures like Jeremiah and Amos and Isaiah in their day weren’t exactly the people you wanted to bring home to meet Mummy.)

Along came Jesus, and for a while he was presentable. He gathered something of a following but then he started doing uncomfortable things, too. Hanging out with the wrong people. Talking about forgiveness and love and prayer and peace. Challenging the way we’ve always done things. So he couldn’t be judged acceptable, either.

And because both couldn’t be true, people struggled. There was no one criticism that could apply to both John and Jesus. And when people struggle to make sense of their world, they sometimes behave—badly.

I’ve been there. Recently, even. I live in a country that feels very out of control indeed, ravaged by a mysterious virus and climate change and still dealing on its streets with its sins from the past. Feeling less and less control in the major facets of my life, I’ve begun asserting it in the smaller ways, becoming petulant about the grocery store not stocking my favorite brand of bread and annoyed when a client questions my work.

Jesus is looking at the unsuccessful ways in which we try to make sense of things we don’t understand, and what he’s seeing is childishness in the way some adults subsequently behave.

Listen to the news. Spend time on Twitter and Facebook. Check out what your neighbors are talking about. So much of the social commentary of our age is like the children shouting in the marketplace—transitory, inescapable, momentarily engaging but ultimately shallow. It draws us in because it gives us a sense that there may be one event, one theory, one candidate, one vaccine that will make all the bad things go away. I go on Facebook and listen to people who believe the same things I believe, saying the same things I’m saying, and we’re all ultimately just children in the marketplace, calling to one another with our petty grievances and limited worldview.

Is that who we want to be? How old do we sound? Six, seven, eight years old? Bickering instead of finding solutions, because it’s too difficult to balance all the contradictory information we’re given every day. Easier to have a tiff on Twitter, a meltdown on Facebook. Easier to demonize those who have different beliefs, different priorities, different backgrounds. “I’m right and you’re wrong…”

Jesus would say not, I’m afraid. In fact, what Jesus is doing in this brief passage is holding out a hand to us, making us an offer. Come with me, he says, and experience fullness of life. Let go of the pettiness and the petulance. Look ahead to the Kingdom. Grow up.

Grow up. I’m telling myself that, even as yet another grievance rises in my head. If I don’t like what’s going on in the world, the most powerful way to change it is to change myself. Stop the pettiness, the arguing. “Wisdom is vindicated by all her children.”

If I can take the time, today, to let the surface chatter go and to listen for God, who speaks in the depth of my heart, then the cognitive dissonance recedes. I realize it’s not on me to make sense of the world, just to respond to it—to have a part in making it a better place for everyone. As a Christian, I can connect with a lasting, truer message than anything I’ll find on social media.

And when that happens, everyone wins.

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Jeannette de Beauvoir is a writer and editor with the digital department of Pauline Books & Media, working on projects as disparate as newsletters, book clubs, ebooks, and retreats that support the apostolate of the Daughters of St. Paul at http://www.pauline.org.

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She Cries With Us

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The Catholic Church has always fostered a devotion to the Mater Dolorosa, or Sorrowful Mother. It is actually one of my favorite days of the year. The Tradition of honoring Our Lady of Sorrows is rooted in Scripture. In Genesis 3:15, God foretold Mary’s role in salvation history as He addressed Satan, “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; He will strike at your head, while you strike at his heel” (Genesis 3:15). After the fall of Adam and Eve, God promised to send a savior to redeem mankind from their sins. With this, He immediately included the Blessed Mother in this promise by saying that she would oppose the devil along with her Son. This is the first instance of Mary’s intimate participation in her Son’s Passion. Isaiah 53:5 prophesized Christ’s future suffering as a physical one, but we know that Mary’s participation is spiritual and emotional. However, any parent knows that the sword of anguish can be just as piercing as a physical sword. In the book of 1 Maccabees, a woman witnesses her seven sons being martyred. This imagery gives us a glimpse of the pain Mary will feel as her Son is killed. God uses this immense love between a mother and a son to measure the grief that one will have upon beholding Him who has been sacrificed, as we see in today’s Gospel.

Mary’s sorrowful journey began with the ridicule she felt as an unmarried pregnant woman, continued through the poverty of Jesus’ birth, reappeared when Herod sought his life, extended when Mary thought she lost her son for a day in Jerusalem when He was 12 years old, and culminated as she stood underneath the cross as He gasped for air and breathed His last.

In many depictions of Our Lady of Sorrows, we see arrows piercing the Blessed Mother’s Heart. This imagery comes from Simeon’s warning during the Presentation in Luke 2:35, “And you yourself a sword will pierce so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

In this passage, we find that the tradition of Our Lady of Sorrows intersects with another Marian belief: that of her participation in her Son’s Passion and cooperation in the redemption of humankind. Simeon tells Mary that she will experience a sword piercing her heart along with her son. The wording of this passage emphatically states that she will be intimately involved with her Son’s passion. He wasn’t saying it as a metaphor; he meant it quite literally. The pain Mary felt, beginning with her pregnancy and culminating as she watched Christ be crucified, was a very real, poignant sword, forged with the hatred and rejection of men towards Jesus. She pondered these words of Simeon for the 33 years leading up to her Son’s death. From her very conception she was chosen for this special role, and God set her aside for His Son. She would, in turn, suffer a spiritual martyrdom as her Son suffered a physical one.

​Mary’s participation in the Passion of her Son has its source in her divine motherhood. In a 1997 general audience, Pope John Paul II references Lumen Gentium when he says, “By giving birth to the One who was destined to achieve man’s redemption, by nourishing him, presenting him in the temple and suffering with him as he died on the Cross, ‘in a wholly singular way she cooperated…in the work of the Saviour.’” Although we are all called to participate in the work of salvation through our suffering, Mary’s role in her Son’s Passion is unique and unrepeatable because of the maternal bond between her and her Son. The climax of Mary’s role as in her Son’s Passion takes place at the foot of the Cross, where the total suffering of her motherly heart was united to the suffering of her Son’s heart in fulfillment of the Father’s plan of redemption. As she looked upon her dying Son, the anguish she felt because of the sins of mankind was so strong that it literally pierced her heart as His was pierced with the lance. “These wounds which were scattered all over the body of Jesus, were all united in one heart of Mary” (St. Bonaventure). That is the proof of the strength of maternal love. Thus Simeon’s prophecy was fulfilled as Mary stood beside her dying Son at the foot of the cross, the true Mater Dolorosa.

“Mary meets her Son along the way of the Cross. His Cross becomes her Cross, his humiliation is her humiliation, the public scorn is on her shoulders. So it must seem to the people around her, and this is how her own heart reacts. The words spoken when Jesus was forty days old are now fulfilled. They are now completely fulfilled. And so, pierced by that invisible sword, Mary sets out towards her Son’s Calvary, her own Calvary. Although this pain is hers, striking deep in her maternal heart, the full truth of this suffering can be expressed only in terms of a shared suffering – ‘com-passion’. That word is part of the mystery; it expresses in some way her unity with the suffering of her Son” (St. Pope John Paul II).

Without Mary’s “fiat” to God, our redemption would not have occurred the way it did. Therefore, we can call her “Co-Redemptrix,” because her act of silent martyrdom and submission to the Will of God contributed to humanity’s ransom. Her sacrifice occurred through her compassion, (com-passio, to suffer with), which was the sword destined to pierce her heart. As Christ suffered in the flesh, Mary suffered in her heart. “The heart of Mary became as it were a mirror of the agonies of her Son, in which were seen the spitting, the scourging, the wounds, and all that Jesus suffered” (St. Lawrence Justinian).

Devotion to Mary as Mother of Sorrows is so incredibly important to the life of the Church, and why the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows is celebrated in our liturgical calendar on the day after the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross. Oftentimes, Mary is overlooked or reduced to simply “blessed.” She was indeed Blessed, but, as we know in the Christian life, along with blessedness comes much pain. Mary revealed to St. Bridget, who coined the devotion to the Mater Dolorosa, that this grief which St. Simeon announced to her, never left her heart till she was assumed into heaven. She witnessed every word spoken against Christ, every time people chose and still choose today not to hear the word of Him who came to save them. As He was suffering, every blow and nail were driven into her heart; yet still she echoed her original “fiat,” in order that the salvation of man might be complete. ​

Our Mater Dolorosa had experienced the greatest of all sorrows, her heart had been pierced, and she felt utter abandonment and desolation. But like our Lady had always done, she kept the faith and accepted the will of God so completely and so perfectly. Our Mother chose trust. When nothing made sense, in the height of her agony, she kept her “yes.” She knew that God was good and worthy of thanks. If she could believe that during her bleakest hour, there is grace for us to believe it in ours. Pain has a way of making us feel isolated. But we are not alone. You are not alone. She suffers with us today. Who else would be a better companion, a better comforter, a better Mother than our own mother?

“Behold, your mother.” (John 19:27)

For some reason, I find the image of Our Lady crying extremely comforting to me. In times of my own sorrow, I cling to our Mother and allow her to cry with me. And I pray she lets me, unworthy though I be, bear her grief as well.

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Sarah Rose hails from Long Island and graduated from Franciscan University in 2016 with a Bachelor’s in Theology & Catechetics. She is happily married to her college sweetheart John Paul. They welcomed their first child, Judah Zion, in 2019. She is passionate about her big V-vocation: motherhood, and her little v-vocation: bringing people to encounter Christ through the true, the good, and the beautiful. She loves fictional novels, true crime podcasts/documentaries, the saints (especially Blessed Chiara Luce Badano), & sharing conversation over a good cup of coffee. She is currently the Coordinator of Young Adult Ministry at St. Cecilia Church in Oakley, Cincinnati. You can find out more about her ministry here: https://eastsidefaith.org/young-adult OR at https://www.facebook.com/stceciliayam.

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The Exaltation of the Holy Cross

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“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”- John 3:16

This is one of the most famous Gospel passages due to its proliferation on signs during sporting events, billboards, and even t-shirts. But recognizing this verse is far different than living it and spreading the message to others.

Today’s Gospel is read on the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross to emphasize that the path of salvation is through the cross. The Holy Cross is the universal sign of God’s love for us through Jesus’ passion and death. Even though the world was created through Jesus, and He came to establish His Kingdom of Love, the cross is the only throne mankind offered Him. May we seek to unite ourselves with all Christians, throughout time, in seeking to love the Cross of Christ. Through this cross, Jesus has made available the path to eternal life, for all who are willing, and the way to gain true peace.

Each day Jesus invites us to offer up our deeds, works, and prayers to our Lord. We can give everything to the Lord as a “Living Sacrifice”. Everything can be redeemed by giving it back to Christ. Let us seek to be more like our Lord on this day, and welcome Jesus into our lives, our homes, and our work. We should ask the Holy Spirit for the grace to develop an interior unity and a focus on our ultimate goal of eternal life. By His healing grace we can learn to discard our fragmented lifestyles and distorted views of God and other people.

Allow Jesus to show you the way, the truth, and life by following His example. We should take up our own small crosses and offer our trials and tribulations back to Jesus.

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Emily Jaminet is a Catholic author, speaker, radio personality, wife, and mother of seven children. She earned a bachelor’s degree in mental health and human services from the Franciscan University of Steubenville.  She is the co-founder of www.inspirethefaith.com and the Executive Director of The Sacred Heart Enthronement Network www.WelcomeHisHeart.com. She has co-authored several Catholic books and her next one, Secrets of the Sacred Heart: Claiming Jesus’ Twelve Promises in Your Life, comes out in Oct. 2020. Emily serves on the board of the Columbus Catholic Women’s Conference, contributes to Relevant Radio and Catholic Mom.com.

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The Strength to Show Mercy

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There is a common psychological phenomenon in which a person attributes others’ behavior to character or personality, but his or her own behavior to the situation and outside circumstances. It is so common, in fact, that social psychologists call it “the fundamental attribution error.”

It is so easy to excuse our own bad behavior but judge others harshly, sometimes even for the exact same behavior. I snapped at the grocery cashier because the baby kept me up all night, and I was tired. That person snapped at her because he’s a rude person.

Knowing this about human nature, God reveals to us how important it is for us to forgive for the sake of our own souls.

Growing in holiness means striving to be more like God. How can we be more like God while refusing to adopt mercy, one of His primary attributes? How can we truly appreciate God’s forgiveness and, at the same time, not give it to others?

Plus, by holding on to grudges and unforgiveness, we enter the near occasion of sin. How much easier it is to commit evil against another when we convince ourselves that they deserve it for what they did to us!

It is important to note that forgiveness means letting go of the ill will and the desire for revenge. It does not mean we must recklessly forget harm done to us. In Jesus’s parable, the merciful king does not require the man to pay the debt when asked for mercy. He also does not offer him another loan.

So as we reflect on the readings today, let us pray that God will give us the strength to let go of anger and wrath, that we might more fully live for the Lord. Then we may bask in the light of His mercy, reflecting it to others.

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J.M. Pallas has had a lifelong love of Scriptures. When she is not busy with her vocation as a wife and mother to her “1 Samuel 1” son, or her vocation as a public health educator, you may find her at her parish women’s bible study, affectionately known as “The Bible Chicks.”

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A Cracked Foundation

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Back in the day when lords and ladies were more of a thing, their titles held authority. The peasants listened to and obeyed the lord. (It may not have been a willing consent, but that is irrelevant for this article.) The lord ruled the house in the 1300’s. While we don’t embrace the feudal system any longer, the question Jesus asks in this Gospel is still pertinent – why do we call him Lord but not follow his commands? Better yet, why do I call him Lord and not follow his commands? I can’t control others, but I can control me.

We can know a tree by its fruit and a good fruit-bearing tree has a strong root system below the surface. I want good fruit to come from me, but like the person in the Gospel today, it seems my roots are shallow and my house isn’t built on bedrock. Too often the wind and waves threaten its stability. Too often I fall prey to despair and frustration. Too often I think I know best. Thus, the answer to the question “why do I call him Lord but not follow his commands?” Pride.

There is good reason why it’s considered the root of evil and is the base of Dante’s purgatory. Pride leads to stubbornness and laziness. It fosters arrogance. It steals trust and trust is important. I thought I had my house built deep enough but when Covid got going, the house started shaking. For many of us the current state of our society is the clichéd perfect storm – pandemic, riots, contentious presidential election and quarantine. Loads of uncertainty about what is real and what is ahead plus good old-fashioned fear have, I suspect, shuddered many of our foundations. Why didn’t we follow his commands? We’d be better off now instead of wallowing in this tide of torpor and sea of unsettledness.

Here’s what I realized: it doesn’t matter why. The why isn’t as important as the fact that the choices I made led me here. I have a choice- free will given generously to me as a beloved daughter of God. You have the same choice. I can choose to berate myself for not building a strong enough house. After all I know what I need to do to keep my interior life in order so I can weather the storms. I can make up excuses. I can blame the world. It won’t change the feeling of being unmoored or the sense of disquiet.

Or, I can acknowledge that I messed up (again), come humbly before Jesus and ask for forgiveness. God is astoundingly merciful. I can turn to him in my struggle and he will help me get grounded again. He will help me with that foundation so that I am prepared for the next storm because friends, the storms will keep coming, but we don’t have to have our peace rocked every time.

God is God and his love is big and merciful and if I ask for forgiveness he will send his grace. If I commit to following his commands and ask for his help, things will get better.

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Merridith Frediani’s perfect day includes prayer, writing, unrushed morning coffee, reading, tending to dahlias, and playing Sheepshead with her husband and three kids.  She loves finding God in the silly and ordinary.  She writes for Ascension Press, Catholic Mom, and her local Catholic Herald in Milwaukee. Her first book Draw Close to Jesus: A Woman’s Guide to Eucharistic Adoration is expected to be released summer 2021. You can reach her at merridith.frediani@gmail.com

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Yearning for Our Heavenly Home

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Today is September 11th. It has been 19 years since that tragic day that claimed so many lives, that day that will live on in our memories forever. I can’t believe so much time has passed, especially since I remember so vividly exactly where I was and what I was doing. I recall how surreal it all was.

I am pretty sure 2020 will go down in much the same fashion. 20 years from now we will look back on this year and remember all the people that got sick, all the things we had to do without, all the businesses that were closed and how we had to wear masks wherever we went. Perhaps we will even remember the fear we felt and the desire for it all to go away, as if it were some sort of horribly bad dream.

But the one thing about both September 11th and 2020 is that time marches on, and either they are long  past or soon will be. Time marches on, leaving tragedy and illness in its wake. When I think too long and hard about time it often scares me. The moment I typed this line is already gone, never to return. My childhood is gone, my young adulthood gone… It really makes me yearn for heaven, where past, present and future are one in the same reality.

I love St. Paul’s comparison of our earthly lives being a race. “Run so as to win. Every athlete exercises discipline in every way. They do it to win a perishable crown, be we an imperishable one.” Run so as to win… train, push yourself, never give up, keep your eye on the goal…

Then the Psalm goes on to lead our thoughts farther upward: “My soul yearns and pines for the courts of the Lord. My heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.”

Sometimes we are so busy and so preoccupied that we fail to remember that Earth is not our home. Sometimes we are content and living a relatively happy life and wish that Earth were our home. It is often during the trying times that our hearts turn heavenward.

My family just moved over the weekend. As we came across numerous obstacles: running out of space in the moving truck, furniture that wouldn’t fit in the door, wrong dryer fixtures, kids running all over the place and getting lost, exhausted bodies and brains… you better believe that heaven was sounding pretty awesome.

Perhaps today we could reflect a bit on our heavenly home and whether or not we are “training” properly to reach that goal. May our hearts cry out with all sincerity: “How lovely is your dwelling place, Lord, mighty God!”

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Tami Urcia grew up in Western Michigan, a middle child in a large Catholic family. She spent early young adulthood as a missionary in Mexico, studying theology and philosophy, then worked and traveled extensively before finishing her Bachelor’s Degree in Western Kentucky. She loves tackling home improvement projects, finding fun ways to keep her four boys occupied, quiet conversation with the hubby and finding unique ways to love. She works at Diocesan, is a guest blogger on CatholicMom.com and BlessedIsShe.net, runs her own blog at https://togetherandalways.wordpress.com and has been doing Spanish translations on the side for almost 20 years.

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Authentic Love

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Me: “Hi, Sweetie, can I help you find a spot?”

Second Grade Sweetie: “I know why you call me Sweetie.”

Me: (feeling slightly panicked) “Why?”

Second Grade Sweetie: “You can’t remember my name.”

As a teacher, I hang with kids. A lot. I am very familiar with the awkward moments when children, from the purity and authenticity of their hearts, call us adults out. We think we are being polite or socially smart, and they call us right out. They can take one look at us and know if that smile on our face is genuine. And they don’t mind telling us.

Jesus calls us to love our enemies. My husband and I have an oft repeated conversation about the relationship between love and like. Jesus calls us to love our enemies. He doesn’t say one word about liking them. Liking someone relies on our emotions. It is how we feel about them. St. Thomas Aquinas defines love as willing the best for the other. Love is an act of our will. It isn’t simply happy-smilely hearts and flowers, it is a choice, a decision to act in the best interest of another.

Jesus takes us outside our fickle emotions. It is easy to love those who love us first. It is easy to want the good for those who want the good for us. What is much, much harder is to will the good for those with whom we disagree, those who act in ways we don’t choose to act.

We can’t simply be nice either. It is impossible to keep the Lord’s commandment to love by only imitating the divine model. (CCC 2842) Although initiating the actions of Jesus is a good first step, love isn’t simply what we do on the outside. There has to be a vital participation from the depth of the heart. We aren’t just called to do the right thing. We are called to allow ourselves to be molded into the image of the one who is goodness, truth, and beauty. That means our hearts of stone have to become living hearts formed “in the holiness and the mercy and the love of our God”. We have to be authentic in our love.

The first reading guides us in what this looks and sounds like. The Corinthians had become caught up in worrying about the right and wrong way of doing things. Among the debates was whether or not it was acceptable to eat the meat offered to the pagan idols. Paul’s response doesn’t worry too much about the idols, false gods are no god at all, so what does it matter? What matters is the result of their actions. If eating the meat leads another into sin, therein lies the problem. Paul is incredibly blunt, if eating the meat causes another to sin, then he won’t just give up the meat offered to the idols, he will give up all meat. Loving those who believe differently from us, acting for the good of another is that important.

Sacrificing meat to idols isn’t an issue we see today, but we see many other idols in our society. It is easy to find examples of the idols of fame, wealth, and worldly success. We see around us those who sacrifice their families, their sense of self, their time, their bodies. There are plenty of divisions in our world. There is plenty of pressure to be part of “us” and not “them”. First Jesus and then St. Paul, guide us to act outside of all that. If our actions lead another to sin, then it is time we change how we act. We are called to allow the Holy Spirit to work on us from the inside out so that when we love, it is authentic. It is a love which wills the good of the other, and is willing to work for that good.

My prayer for us today is that we may love like little children so our smiles reflect our hearts, and our insides and outsides may both be formed by the Holy Spirit in the holiness, mercy, and love of God. May God bless you.

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Sheryl O’Connor delights in being the number 1 cheerleader and supporter for her husband, Tom who is a candidate for the Permanent Diaconate in the Diocese of Kalamazoo. They are so grateful for the opportunity to grow together in this process whether it is studying for classes, deepening their prayer life or discovering new ways to serve together. Sheryl’s day job is serving her community as the principal for St. Therese Catholic School in Wayland, Michigan. Since every time she thinks she gets life all figured out, she realizes just how far she has to go, St. Rita of Cascia is her go-to Saint for intercession and help. Home includes Brea, a Bernese Mountain dog and Carlyn, a very, very goofy Golden Retriever.

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Rejoice!

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In today’s Gospel reading we hear the Beatitudes. Christ tells us, “Blessed are you who are poor…who are now hungry…who are now weeping…when people hate you, and when they exclude and insult you, and denounce your name as evil on account of the Son of Man”. Then he tells us to “Rejoice and leap for joy on that day!” That feels hard to do: leap for joy in the face of persecution or poverty or hunger or despair. I know most of the time when I’m experiencing any of that, the last thing on my mind is joy. But then, looking back on those times of sadness or persecution or any other type of hardship, I realize how much easier and how much more fruitful my thoughts and prayers would have been had I allowed myself to empty my heart of everything but God. For it is only in Him that true happiness and joy are found.

Today is also the feast day of St. Peter Claver who spent his life ministering to slaves in Cartagena. Thousands upon thousands of slaves were traded through Cartagena and St. Peter Claver, to the best of his ability, provided food, medicine, and drink to those who needed it. He chose a life of poverty, hunger, and persecution in order to serve those who had no choice but to live that way. St. Peter Claver is an example of why we should rejoice when we experience hardship: our reward will be great in Heaven!

May we always unite our own sufferings with those of Christ on the Cross and allow ourselves to open ourselves fully to His love and His mercy. Following the example of St. Peter Claver, may we rejoice in the face of poverty, hunger, despair, and persecution.

St. Peter Claver, pray for us!

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Dakota currently lives in Denver, CO and teaches English Language Development and Spanish to high schoolers. She is married to the love of her life, Ralph. In her spare time, she reads, goes to breweries, and watches baseball. Dakota’s favorite saints are St. John Paul II (how could it not be?) and St. José Luis Sánchez del Río. She is passionate about her faith and considers herself blessed at any opportunity to share that faith with others. Check out more of her writing at https://dakotaleonard16.blogspot.com.

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Do Not Be Afraid

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“Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid…”

Right now I am afraid. Where I once had meaningful work, now I am in a liminal space where I can’t hide in what I do. The world is uncertain. The safety of loved ones is in jeopardy. And my emotions are on a roller coaster that I cannot understand no matter how much I try to stuff what is happening to me into some pre-made psychological explanation.

I’d love someone to talk to. Someone outside the situations in which I live where I could pour out my heart. I struggle with Temporal Lobe Epilepsy and the radical emotional ups and downs that are part of the illness. I want to hide. Hide the shame of not having it all together. Hide the humiliation that comes with loss and replacement and transition. At story lines changed…. At personal images cracked…. At the uncertainty of how it will all turn out… At the weakness exposed in my surrender to the Lord…

These words, the images they evoke, the feelings they express are way larger than the situation I am living calls for. But everyone knows what it’s like when we can’t seem to fit what’s happening in our lives into the previous plan we’ve had for ourselves and others.

The Gospel today offers a lifeline for times such as these when they happen to us. Joseph was in such a dilemma. The plans he had made with Mary, the expectations, the idea he had of her and the image he had painted in his heart for the rest of his life suddenly no longer made sense in the face of the inexplicable and undeniable fact that Mary was with child.

It is part of our responsibility as adults to plan, to project the future, to prepare for it. We think we know who we are and what God is asking us to do and we do our best to make that happen. And at the very moment when we feel sure, secure, pleased with ourselves, the plans break down, mercifully so.

As beautiful as Joseph and Mary’s plans may have been, and they remain in the secret conversations they must have had, they were based on what they knew and wanted at the moment they made them, and on what they believed God wanted of them.

At our birth, however, God’s pristine plans for our good and his delight are imprinted in our destiny. Again and again I have to remind myself to let my plans go in order to let the eternally-desired destiny willed by God for me to unfold.

Today is the feast of the Nativity of Mary. There is a long venerable tradition since the sixth century of celebrating the birth of Mary, the mother of Jesus, the woman who, in the words of Augustine, “is the flower of the field from whom bloomed the precious lily of the valley.”

Joseph, at the words of the angel and the desire of God, dropped his plans and expected future in order to perfectly conform their life together to the mystery that had been inscribed in Mary since her conception.

“Joseph, son of David,
do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.
For it is through the Holy Spirit
that this child has been conceived in her.
She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus,
because he will save his people from their sins.”
All this took place to fulfill
what the Lord had said through the prophet:

Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son,
and they shall name him Emmanuel,

which means “God is with us.”

This saint chosen to play such a key role in the story of salvation solicitously looks after each of us as he looked after the Son of God. Joseph teaches us to sing the “Let it be as you will” in a patience that waits for the storm of emotions to subside, suffering to deepen into union, and love to raise us up in spirit. The solitude and slowly transformative work of grace in these difficult situations carve out our greatness of spirit.

So today, if you are wondering what your life is meant to be—or that of someone else you care about—if carefully laid plans or self-images are falling apart, look back to the moment of creation and birth. The Trinity sang a song over you, has a plan for you, desired you, delights in you even now and will forever. The breaking apart of all we think should be is often the divine path back to the source of our own beauty, call, and happiness.

Ask Mary and Joseph for the courage to say your own Fiat—Let it be….

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Sr. Kathryn J. HermesKathryn James Hermes, FSP, is the author of the newly released title: Reclaim Regret: How God Heals Life’s Disappointments, by Pauline Books and Media. An author and spiritual mentor, she offers spiritual accompaniment for the contemporary Christian’s journey towards spiritual growth and inner healing. She is the director of My Sisters, where people can find spiritual accompaniment from the Daughters of St. Paul on their journey. Website: www.touchingthesunrise.com Public Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/srkathrynhermes/ For monthly spiritual journaling guides, weekly podcasts and over 50 conferences and retreat programs join my Patreon community: https://www.patreon.com/srkathryn.

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Becoming a Fresh Batch of Dough

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Sometimes we are capable of things we never thought humanly possible. Sometimes we have to push ourselves beyond our limits, beyond our comfort zone and power through. Sometimes feeling tired is just the beginning and utter exhaustion seems to have no end.

My husband and I are two months into a top-to-bottom renovation project on our current home. An old 1930’s 2-bedroom, 1- bath ranch was transformed by my father over the years into a two story home with an auxiliary unit above the garage. My husband and I bought it five years ago and have torn down walls, stripped off every last bit of wall paper, painted almost every square inch, redone 75% of the flooring, created a main-floor laundry, divided one large bathroom into two, engineered two bedroom closets, replaced walls and ceilings, put up built-in shelving, scoured the basement, put in central air, and the list goes on…

How fitting that today is Labor Day. And while I would love to say that it has been a labor of love, in all honesty it has been more like a labor of blood, sweat and tears…literally. With 4 small boys to take care of as well as the everyday chores, most of our work is done after they are in bed. We set small goals for ourselves and work for three or four hours each night. It has been a daunting task, but I can finally say that I am beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Our to-do list is getting smaller and the house is looking amazing. Oh, and did I mention we just moved over the weekend? I’d better get to un-packing!

This whole venture has been an attempt to try something completely new for our family. We are going out on a limb, taking a risk, hoping for the best. Today’s reading states: “Clear out the old yeast, so that you may become a fresh batch of dough…” I love this! We are literally clearing out everything, purging, tossing and giving away. We hope to get more involved in ministry, live a more simplified life, listen to God’s voice in a quieter atmosphere. We hope the dough of our hearts will rise and the work of our hands, will “feed” those we encounter, beginning with our own family.

What is God calling you to clear out? The reading speaks of immorality, wickedness and pride, but what is it that you struggle with personally?  Perhaps it is forgiveness, confronting someone you really need to have an honest conversation with, or going to confession. Only you know what kind of spring cleaning your heart needs.

Once you take that step, that leap of faith you will truly be able to “celebrate the feast … of sincerity and truth”.

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Tami Urcia grew up in Western Michigan, a middle child in a large Catholic family. She spent early young adulthood as a missionary in Mexico, studying theology and philosophy, then worked and traveled extensively before finishing her Bachelor’s Degree in Western Kentucky. She loves tackling home improvement projects, finding fun ways to keep her four boys occupied, quiet conversation with the hubby and finding unique ways to love. She works at Diocesan, is a guest blogger on CatholicMom.com and BlessedIsShe.net, runs her own blog at https://togetherandalways.wordpress.com and has been doing Spanish translations on the side for almost 20 years.

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God, Grant Me The Courage To Be A Watchman

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Today’s first reading is a struggle – warning others, speaking out against faults and wrongdoings, being brave rather than cowardly. I have always been one who prefers shying away from confrontation. There is so much to be overwhelmed by in today’s world: from politics and racial tensions to the sick and the poor, it is much easier to look the other way and ignore all the injustices and wrongdoings surrounding us.

When I was younger, I would toss and turn at night over worries such as being rejected by a crush. I would never put myself out there. Not in a million years. To this day, even with my closest loved ones, I frequently struggle with the same fears of rejection. This is not the least evident in my religious faith. Wearing a t-shirt with a faith-based message, or reminding my family about our Sunday obligation, I struggle with accepting it if I’m laughed at or ridiculed.

While having the courage to speak up can be scary, it’s often meant to come from a place of love, not of shame or of proving one is right. Today’s second reading tells us to love each other; that love is “the fulfillment of the law.” So to follow the law, we need to speak out from a place of love when we see something wrong.

Also, when we love someone, we want what’s best for them. Sometimes this means shining a light on a hard truth that one needs to accept, or the reality that they need to do something difficult to find peace and grow. When our confrontation comes from wanting the best for someone, we might be able to reframe it as an act of charity and grace rather than as a scary thing, making it easier for us to follow through and “put ourselves out there.”

Finally, confrontation can even involve self-reflection, recognizing our own faults and sins. “Hardening not our hearts” against His voice helps refine our love for Christ. The Litany of Humility (https://www.ewtn.com/catholicism/devotions/litany-of-humility-245) has always helped keep me grounded. Christ reminds us that it is the lowest of the low who will be first in His kingdom. We are taught over and over the importance of loving others rather than seeking that love that we desire instead for ourselves.

Ultimately, we must never be afraid to break open our hearts in front of others for Christ. The life of a Christian is often going to be messy. If we’re not suffering alongside Christ, we are not giving our all to Him. We must take up our cross, and not hold back nor be ashamed. The Lord is worth so much more than the sum of our fears and doubts. And in the end, He does not demand much at all.

Solely, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

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(co-written by Samantha Costanzo Carleton)

Dr. Alexis Dallara-Marsh is a board-certified neurologist who practiced in Bergen County, NJ. She is a wife to her best friend, Akeem, and a mother of two little ones on Earth and two others in heaven above.

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Sabbath Rest

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The Pharisees are at it again – trying so hard to catch Jesus “in the act,” committing some sort of crime for which they could bring Him down. This time (much like every time), they think they’ve got Jesus since He and his disciples are picking grain on the sabbath.

The sabbath is supposed to be a holy day, a day of rest where no work is done. Clearly, picking grain “goes against the rules” and so the Pharisees question Jesus yet again. And, yet again, Jesus has a response, rooted in the Old Testament and pointing back to David.

Today’s whole Gospel reading revolves around the Pharisees’ misunderstanding and misinterpretation of the sabbath, its rules and how to observe it. For me, today’s Gospel also raises the question about our personal understanding of the sabbath.

Most of us can probably name and recite the Fourth Commandment: “Remember to keep holy the sabbath day.” When translated to the modern day, most of us would probably explain that commandment as being, “Go to Mass every Sunday.” Whether or not we do, indeed, go to Mass every Sunday (outside of a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic, of course), is a topic for another blog post on another day.

Let’s dive a little deeper into this idea of sabbath, though, and head all the way back to the beginning of the Bible to do so. In the Book of Genesis, chapter 1, God created the world in six days and then rested on the seventh. Why? Not because God was tired from all the hard work of creation. No, the seventh day of rest was intentional. God could have created the entire world in six hours or six seconds but He didn’t. The Hebrew word for seven is “sheva” which is also the Hebrew word for covenant. God was creating a covenant with his creation and the sign of His covenant was the sabbath day, a day of rest.

Also in the story of creation, God created man on the sixth day. Man’s first full day on the newly created earth is a day of rest. Before work, before anything else, man rested. The end of the creation cycle, that seventh day of rest, is the same end for which God created man – to rest with Him and in Him, to live in that original state of holiness in the garden. We still have that same end today, to rest with God and in God and to live in a state of holiness in the eternal garden of heaven.

So the question is – how seriously are you taking the sabbath? Are you spending intentional time with the Lord? Are you slowing down and keeping Him at the center of your day, as the priority? If not, it’s not too late to begin.

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Erin Madden is a Cleveland native and graduate of the Franciscan University of Steubenville. Following graduation, she began volunteering in youth ministry at her home parish of Holy Family Church. Her first “big girl” job was in collegiate sports information where, after a busy two years in the profession on top of serving the youth, she took a leap of faith and followed the Lord’s call to full-time youth ministry at St. Peter Church. She still hopes to use her communication arts degree as a freelance writer and statistician, though. You can catch her on the Clarence & Peter Podcast on YouTube as well as follow her on Twitter @erinmadden2016.