 As Holy Week approaches, and billions of Christians worldwide prepare to unite themselves with Christ in his suffering and resurrection, we are reminded that, despite cultural differences, Christians are more alike than different under the same roof of God’s great Church. Holy Week stands as a reminder of God’s divine mercy, His power over death, and His great sacrifice for all mankind. In this article, I hope to introduce you to five customs from around the world that celebrate our Lord in ways you may not have heard of before! #1 Red Eggs Our first custom brings us to the source of dying easter eggs, a town in modern-day Mesopotamia, Taybeh of Palestine. The easter egg has been largely secularized by western culture, with its religious origins rendered almost completely obsolete, but in Taybeh, the meaning of the dyed egg is still alive and well. While the true origin of the egg is disputed, legends vary. One story holds that when Mary Magdalene proclaimed that Christ had risen to the Roman Emperor Tiberius, he replied that no one could rise from the dead any more than the egg in her hand could turn red. Miraculously, the egg turned red before their eyes. Other tales suggest Mary Magdalene was simply bringing a basket of eggs to the tomb for the women mourning there, and when she witnessed the risen Christ, the eggs turned red. Palestinian Christians still color eggs in remembrance of the passion and resurrection, though their palette has expanded to include various colors as dye became widely available. This year, when you partake in the tradition of dying eggs with your family, think of your brothers and sisters in Taybeh, performing the same ritual thousands of miles away. #2 Pussy Willow Branches Our next tradition brings us to Ukraine, where, due to a lack of palm branches in early spring, Christians used pussy willow branches on Palm Sunday, or Willow Sunday, as they call it. On this day leading up to Holy Week, pussy willow trees are blooming in Ukraine, a perfect replacement for the palm branch. During Mass, these soft branches are blessed and distributed amongst the congregation. After mass, they are kept in the home, usually pinned up behind icons to offer spiritual protection in the home all year round. Other branches are burned as fuel to bake paska, a traditional Easter dessert in Ukraine. Salix discolor—pussy willow—can be found all across Canada and the midwest United States. If you’re celebrating in the area, you may be able to locate some branches to join Ukraine in its old tradition, or even try your hand at baking paska. #3 Lord of Tremors Every Holy Monday, an enormous procession passes through the city of Cusco, Peru. The image of the crucified Black Christ is hoisted above the crowd as onlookers toss red petals, symbolic of His blood. The procession, attended by thousands of Christians every year, memorializes a devastating earthquake that took place nearly four-hundred years ago, on March 31st in 1650. The legend claims that, as a dangerous earthquake shook Cusco, only exposing a forgotten effigy of Christ in the doorway of the Cusco Cathedral was said to stop the tremors. Similar signs occurred over the next few centuries, the most recent earthquake in 1985. These incredible miracles led the statue to be dubbed Lord of Tremors. Ñucchu, vibrant red flowers previously used to venerate the pagan deity Wiracocha, are now used to decorate the statue of the Lord of Tremors. Every year, tourists flock to Cusco to witness the procession. If you don’t know where you’re celebrating Easter yet, it’s not too late to plan a trip! #4 Funeral for a Fish Perhaps the most bizarre lenten tradition was celebrated in villages all across Ireland. As the season for fasting and abstinence comes to a close on Holy Saturday, butchers that suffered from a lack of customers initiated the ‘funeral for a fish,’ in which a dead herring was dangled from a long pole and marched out of town. In some marches, the dead herring was beaten on the ground with its remains then eagerly tossed into the river. Other instances observed a ceremonious approach, with the tradition taking place after Easter mass. A joyful procession would march the herring to be thrown in the river, all the way accompanied by music and laughter. Customs surrounding the ‘funeral’ varied from town to town, but the moral was always the same: Christians were more than happy to be finished with their lenten diet. If you share the same dislike for fish as the Irish used to, perhaps this is a tradition you’d like to reintroduce to your local parish! #5 Penitensya In a disturbing yet beautiful display of devotion, Filipino Christians take to the streets on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday practicing self-flagellation as they march through the neighborhoods. Cloth blindfolds cover the penitents’ faces, maintaining their anonymity as they make their public sacrifice before hundreds of spectators. By the end of the ritual, visible skin is vibrant with blood, clothes stained bright red. The ritual is undertaken as a penance for sins, as well as a sacrifice to unite oneself with Christ in His long walk to Golgotha, for others as a display of gratitude for answered prayers. While Catholic bishops in the Philippines have warned against extreme sacrifice, instead urging the faithful to place an emphasis on prayer, the practice continues, drawing tourists from all over the world to witness the incredible acts of sacrifice. Whether Christians are out in the town beating dead fish, or searching for the eggs a rabbit hid, Holy Week unites our people and their beautiful (and sometimes unusual) traditions under one roof. What a blessing it is to see our Lord celebrated across the world. About the AuthorKyrien Keeton is a student at The Catholic University of America and the Section Editor for news at the independent student newspaper “The Tower.”
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 The Annunciation is one of the most significant events in the history of salvation. It is the moment when God came to dwell in "the fullness of time, the time of the fulfillment of God's promises and preparations” (CCC484). In this simple yet profound event, Mary accepted God’s invitation to bear Christ into the world, and He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit. Throughout the centuries, artists have endeavored to depict this event. In many paintings of the Annunciation, Mary is shown quite similarly. She is dressed in beautiful, flowing robes. She may be in a high ceilinged, ornately decorated room or outdoors in a garden with ornamental columns. These paintings are beautiful and impressive works of art, rich in symbolism, and while they aren’t meant to be historically accurate, when I look at them, I don’t feel very connected to the event of the Annunciation. The paintings that have struck me more are those that capture Mary’s humility and evoke a kind of simplicity. The famous painting by Henry Ossawa Tanner, an African American from the turn of the 20th century, depicts Mary in a simple, dimly-lit room; there are cracks and stains on the wall, the carpet is ruffled, and Mary sits on a simple, blanket-covered bed. In another by American painter George Hitchcock from the same time period, Mary is depicted as a Dutch peasant girl in a simple blue dress walking amongst a field of lilies. Besides her halo and her beauty, there is nothing grand about the scene. However, whether Mary is depicted as a simple peasant or in a fanciful Italian villa, a commonality is that she seems to be in the midst of ordinary tasks: she is sitting in her room, she is walking outside, she is carrying a jug of water. While we have no way to know what activity she was in the midst of doing when the angel Gabriel appeared to her, it is striking to think of her doing these everyday things when one of the most significant aspects of our salvation occurred. This juxtaposition of simplicity and grandeur is one of the most distinctive characteristics of Mary. Lumen Gentium describes this as the “radiance of [her] entirely unique holiness” (53). In Mary so much grace was contained in a woman made of the same stuff as each of us. While Mary is set apart in creation, we also each receive and radiate grace and holiness in ways wonderfully particular to each of us. God also meets each of us in the midst of our ordinary. The angel Gabriel greeted Mary with the words, “Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you,” and as God’s beloved, he also greets us with these words. Mary pondered how these words could be spoken to her in the same way many of us may question the plans God has for us: could he really be using the material and tasks of my daily life for his glory? Like with Mary in the Annunciation, God asks each of us to welcome him into our lives. Mary physically bore Christ into the world, and we are also obliged to bring Christ into our little corner of the world. Whether we see ourselves more in the Mary of the Italian villa, the field of lilies, the small bedroom, or some yet un-painted scene, God wants to announce his presence in and through our lives too. Our lives and the activities that fill them may appear simple to us, but through God’s personal presence they achieve a radiance and grandeur too. AuthorErin Donn is a campus minister at an all-girls Catholic high school and lives in Washington, DC.
 It is rare to find a moment of silence in a household with a two-year-old. Last week, unusually, provided many quiet moments as my normally energetic daughter had a high fever and spent the day on the couch or sleeping only while being held. My wife and I took turns silently holding her to help her get much needed rest. Sitting in silence—without a phone or other distraction--was agitating at first. As the time went on, the simple time spent in silence holding a sleeping child became nourishing and awakened in me a hunger for silence that I often spend time avoiding. This past Lent, I co-led an online small group for newly married men in DC. As we reflected on how the life of St. Joseph relates to us as men, we returned almost weekly to the challenge of finding silence amid phones and families. St. Joseph was not a character that most of us had taken seriously before being married or becoming a father. Yet in marriage and fatherhood, Joseph is the silent role model we need. Someone who understands us and who inspires us. St. Joseph was not a loud or flashy saint. In the children’s books of saints we have for our daughter, the life of silent St. Joseph is hardly mentioned. How can he compete with traveling missionaries, miracle workers, religious founders, and the stories of martyrs losing their heads, eyes, and more? Though his life was not extroverted or bloody, it was no less meaningful. The life of Joseph was a life of daily martyrdoms and silent missions. Without having to leave his home or his workshop, he set out each day as a missionary to offer his life for Jesus and Mary. This is reassuring to me as a husband and father of a toddler, who has been stuck at home during the last 12 months during the COVID pandemic. It is tempting to think that the only way to be holy is to be on the move or to be noticed, like the many Catholic social media influencers or popular Catholic priests or bishops. St. Joseph reminds us of a quieter, ordinary path to holiness that will earn us no new likes or followers. He shows us a hidden, silent example that we need in the noise of daily life. Joseph’s silence teaches us to rediscover the silent mission work found in our own kitchens and living rooms. The artist and Oblate Brother Mickey McGrath has a beautiful image of “St. Thérèse Doing the Dishes.” In the painting, Thérèse is at the kitchen sink elevating a plate as the priest elevates the Eucharist at the altar. This image makes plain our mission as lay men and women to unite our daily work and sacrifices to the great sacrifice of Jesus on the cross which we commemorate at each Eucharistic celebration. Perhaps this image of St. Thérèse doing dishes stands out today because our dishwasher broke this week and my mission field has been researching dishwasher pumps and motor assemblies and spending extra time in soapy water. The image reminds me that God has called me to this mission, regardless of whether it is my preference or how qualified I feel for the task. Joseph must have felt the same way in the ordinary tasks of his workshop and home. St. Joseph is a role model for how we are called to integrate our lives, finding God in every moment of our day—whether doing dishes, praying the Rosary, updating spreadsheets, or building a table. In the life of Joseph, daily work “is a kind of prayer, a way of finding God, a means of salvation…Joseph gave to his carts and yokes the same care he would have given to a tabernacle, since he understood perfectly that a word done in love goes straight to God” (Michel Gasnier, Joseph the Silent, 29). Pope Francis reminds us that, “working persons, whatever their job may be, are cooperating with God himself, and in some way become creators of the world around us” (Patris Corde, 6). St. Joseph is well known for not having a single word recorded in Scripture, but we cannot confuse his silence with a lack of mission. Joseph was a silent missionary who invites us in this Year of St. Joseph to join him in the quiet work. The silent mission of holding a sick child who has fallen asleep, of holding our tongue from an uncharitable word with a family member or colleague, of doing the dishes, or of going about our work with love. Silently. Without recognition. Like St. Joseph. *This blog is reposted and was originally published May 18, 2021.* AuthorJonathan Lewis was the Assistant Secretary for Pastoral Ministry and Social Concerns for the Archdiocese of Washington.
 Walking the Way or Stations of the Cross is a long-standing Lenten tradition that many also do throughout the year. This journey joins us to the final earthly road of Jesus as he accomplishes the mission given to him by the Father, to give us the opportunity for salvation through his death on the Cross. Of course, we all know that the Cross is not the end, but the challenging and painful way of the Cross is something that is part of being on mission, not only during Lent, but throughout our lives as Christians. If we are united in the mission of Christ through Baptism, then we are united with his Cross as the way to the hope of the Resurrection. We live in this hope, but with the understanding that life in Christ will mean, at times, rejection by others. We do not walk this way alone, though. We go forth on mission with others. Christ is with us. Pope Leo offers us this consideration in his Lenten Message for this year. “The Lenten journey is a welcome opportunity to heed the voice of the Lord and renew our commitment to following Christ, accompanying him on the road to Jerusalem, where the mystery of his passion, death and resurrection will be fulfilled.” As we come closer to the time of fulfillment of our hope at Easter, may we deepen our life of discipleship, following Christ more fully and being always in solidarity with him. May the charity of Christ urge us on! In God, the Infinite Love, Fr. Frank
 Each year on March 17, the world seems to turn green, particularly in the United States. Parades, festive meals, and Irish music are everywhere. For Catholics, however, St. Patrick’s Day is first and foremost the feast day of a saint. It is a time to remember a missionary whose life still speaks to the Church today, even for this Italian American. St. Patrick is of course closely connected with Ireland, but his witness is meaningful for all Catholics regardless of background. His life reminds us of the call to forgiveness, evangelization, and trust in God’s divine providence. These are lessons that go far beyond culture or nationality. Patrick’s journey to becoming a missionary began with hardship. As a teenager living in Roman Britain, he was kidnapped and taken to Ireland as a slave. During those difficult years, he turned to God in prayer and his faith grew strong. After eventually escaping and returning home, Patrick later felt called by God to return to Ireland. This time he would go back as a missionary to preach the Gospel. This decision reflects the teaching of our Lord to “...love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). Patrick could have remained bitter about his captivity. Instead, he returned to the very place where he had suffered so that others could come to know Christ. The life of St. Patrick reminds us that the Church is missionary by its nature. Before ascending into heaven, Jesus told his disciples: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations.” (Matthew 28:19) Patrick took those words seriously. He traveled throughout Ireland preaching, baptizing, and helping to build Christian communities. The faith that grew in Ireland later spread to other parts of Europe, and eventually the world, through Irish missionaries. Patrick’s example reminds us that sharing the faith is not only the responsibility of priests, religious, or even missionaries. All the baptized are called to witness to Christ in their daily lives. Over the centuries, many stories have grown around St. Patrick. Some of the most well-known are the legend that he drove the snakes out of Ireland and the story of how he used a shamrock to explain the Trinity. While historians note that Ireland likely never had snakes after the Ice Age, the story of Patrick driving them away has often been understood symbolically. It represents his role in helping to drive out pagan practices and bring the light of the Gospel to Ireland. The shamrock legend has also endured because it expresses something central to Christian belief. According to tradition, Patrick used the three leaves of the shamrock to explain how God is one God in three Persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In a simple and memorable way, he helped people understand one of the great mysteries of the faith. Whether historical or symbolic, these stories point to the same truth: Patrick helped people come to know Christ. A Saint for the Whole Church Some people think of St. Patrick’s Day as a celebration only for those who are Irish. In reality, we know that saints belong to the entire Church. Catholics honor saints from every part of the world because their lives show us how to follow Christ. St. Paul reminds us of this unity when he writes, “There is neither Jew nor Greek… for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). The witness of St. Patrick belongs to all Catholics, no matter their background. The food, music, and gatherings associated with St. Patrick’s Day can be joyful traditions. At the same time, the day is also an opportunity to remember the faith that inspired Patrick’s life. Attending Mass, learning more about Patrick’s story, or praying for missionaries are simple ways to celebrate the feast. St. Patrick’s life shows us how God can work through even the most difficult moments. His courage and faith continue to encourage us today. One of the prayers most closely associated with St. Patrick expresses this trust in God’s presence in every moment of life. Often called St. Patrick’s Breastplate, the prayer reminds us that Christ surrounds us in all that we do. Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise. St. Patrick, Apostle of Ireland, pray for us.
 As we near the middle of Lent, our initial enthusiasm may start waning and some “spiritual dehydration” may be settling in for some of us. The intentions we had for a Lent of deep penance may feel dry and barren right now, like being in the desert in search of water at the hottest part of the day. Yet, just as Jesus met the Samaritan woman in her deepest need and shame, he also meets us in our Lenten desert to offer "Living Water” that alone can satisfy. Thirst is a human reality, not a moral failure. We find ourselves thirsty for refreshment for many things in life, whether that be in our jobs, in relationships that may need some nourishment, or in our desire to rid ourselves of distractions that keep us feeling thirsty. Like the woman coming to the well at midday to avoid judgement from her neighbors and acquaintances, how do we also hide our “thirst” or even shame during Lent? What if this week, we tried to figure out our own “jars” that we use to manage our daily thirst. Are these jars truly nourishing us, or are we just muddling through with enough water to get by each day? What are the jars in our lives that we bring to our well? Jesus began a conversation with the woman by saying, “Give me a drink” to share with her a human need that she could relate to. By doing this, he showed God’s mercy was limitless. When he speaks to her, he is crossing societal, ethnic, and religious lines to really reach her heart and meet her in that moment. In this encounter, Jesus asks for our longings and sins, and therefore offers a promise of love and eternal life in return. Jesus speaks to her about her past, gently leading her to truth because he knows her heart. Lent provides us a chance as Catholics to move past the pieces of ourselves we are not proud of or areas that make us feel shameful, and to look toward a personal relationship with the Father through Grace and Truth. Where can we find this Grace and Truth? Through the “Living Water” of Baptism and the healing we find in the Sacrament of Reconciliation of course! When she is finished speaking with Jesus at the well, does she take or leave her jar? The jar for water is left behind, she has found a new life and is ready to move forward. Afterwards, she couldn’t wait to share the news and invited the town, saying, “Come and see the man that told me everything I have done. Could he possibly be the Christ?” Like the Samaritan woman, are there joys of our own Lenten journey that we could share with at least one person this week? Our own personal growth can become outward action in discipleship if we allow it to be. Remember, Jesus is sitting by the well, waiting to meet us exactly where we are in life. In what ways will we allow ourselves to embrace Christ’s Living Water this week?
 Once I learned about the tradition of picking a Confirmation saint, I was instantly interested in the life of St. Felicity. She was the Confirmation saint of my older cousin, with whom I am very close. I always heard the story that when the bishop heard that she chose St. Felicity as her saint, he had a big smile on his face. When it became my turn to be confirmed, this same cousin was my sponsor, so I thought it would be fitting that I also choose Felicity to be my saint. But I didn’t know a ton about St. Felicity, besides the fact that she had a very pretty name, was a martyr, and had her name read out in the Litany of Saints at the Easter Vigil Mass. As I have begun to research more about her life and martyrdom, I have only become more and more interested in learning about her. The first thing that I noticed about St. Felicity is that she is most commonly associated with St. Perpetua; you usually see them styled as “Sts. Perpetua and Felicity”. This is because the two women were imprisoned and martyred together in the early days of the Church, but that is just about the only similarity between the two women. St. Perpetua was a young noblewoman who had just become a mother at the time of her death, while St. Felicity was an enslaved woman who was imprisoned and pregnant at the time of her death. I couldn’t help but wonder how the two women became to be martyred together while on very different paths in their life. Perpetua’s father, who was pagan, pleaded with her to denounce her Christian faith, which she refused to do. This led to her imprisonment in Carthage, North Africa, at the age of twenty-two. As for Felicity, the only information we know is that she too was imprisoned for the refusal to deny her faith. There is actually a first-hand account of Perpetua’s imprisonment from a diary that she wrote, and in it, she details the horrors of her confinement. She writes, “After a few days we were taken into prison, and I was much afraid because I had never known such darkness. O bitter day! There was a great heat because of the press, there was cruel handling of the soldiers.” I can only imagine the rollercoaster of emotions that Perpetua was feeling during her imprisonment. She was taken away from her child and suffered violence from the soldiers, all for refusing to go against her faith. Sts. Perpetua and Felicity and their companions were soon martyred. They had all accepted their fate for their belief in God and lived out their final days in prayer. Prior to her death, St. Felicity gave birth to a baby girl, who was raised by a Christian woman in Carthage. I find it to be very fitting that the feast of Sts. Perpetua and Felicity happens to fall during Lent, a time in which we are meant to reflect on the suffering that Jesus faced during his Death and Resurrection. We can look back on the martyrdom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicity as another example that bears witness to extreme fortitude, similar to that of Jesus. Over the years, I have really enjoyed learning more about the life of St. Felicity, and I feel proud to have chosen her as my Confirmation saint after seeing the strength she showed during the suffering she faced at the end of her life. AuthorSarah Harrigan Scalfaro is the Director of Administration for the Catholic Apostolate Center where she coordinates the promotions and logistics of various groups and visitors coming to our Green Hill facility. She also assists with the day-to-day operations of Green Hill and other administrative duties and is responsible for the creation and publication of our Center newsletter.
 In addition to some ushers wandering about, in my church’s back pews at a Sunday Mass I see – The unruly toddler or restless baby. Those individuals whose mobility is impaired. That one person who dresses differently from everyone else in the Church. Or the person with the crossed arms who looks like they don’t want to be here. Why are so many people in the back pew when there’s plenty of room up front? Or even in the middle pews? In my younger days, I was once an enthusiastic usher who joyfully invited some of these individuals to come forward and enjoy a seat closer to the altar, only to have my invitations turned down, time and time again. Now, as a mother of two toddlers and a baby, I frequently go past the last row of seats along the back wall of the main sanctuary. Taking care of my little ones has given me the opportunity to meet the folks in the back pew, and every once in a while observe their participation in the Mass. Humility Embarrassingly, it took me years to notice something about some of the people in the back pew. There's something admirable about their hesitancy to go further into the sanctuary – like the tax collector in Jesus’ parable in Luke 18:9-14 who “stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’” (Luke 18:13). What if these followers of Christ in the back pews are aware, more than the rest of us, of what is truly occurring in this holy space. What if – in all sincere humility, the individuals in the back pew recognize the greatness of God and by contrast, every human’s smallness, every person’s sinfulness, by comparison. Maybe, just maybe, without words or without even being conscious of it, they can sense the sacredness of what is about to happen here, and as a result, we find them sheepishly congregating in the farthest space from the altar, but still in the sanctuary. Presence And there’s another miracle taking place in the back pew - they came! Maybe the person who sits in the back doesn’t feel like they fit in with the parish’s majority demographic, or maybe they notice that they aren’t dressed in the same way as everyone else. Whatever the reason a person might choose to sit in the back of the Church - that person decided Mass was worth coming to anyway. It was worth driving to the Church. It was worth potentially feeling uncomfortable or out of place. Now, on any given Sunday, I cannot say that all those in the back pew are without their own vices or shortcomings, and certainly not everyone in the back pews of a Church has a meritorious reason for choosing that space. Let’s be honest - there’s probably someone in the back pew that simply wants to beat the post-Mass exodus to the parking lot. Nonetheless, let this be your invitation to see Jesus present in the folks in the back few pews at Mass next weekend - regardless of their reasons. Afterall, seeing the best in others is a Christ-like practice worth acquiring.
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