 Each year on May 1, the Church celebrates St. Joseph the Worker. He’s easy to overlook at first glance: no recorded words in Scripture, no dramatic speeches. But, if you look a little closer, you see something powerful: a life built on quiet, steady faithfulness. St. Joseph didn’t chase recognition, he simply did what God asked of him. When faced with uncertainty, he responded with trust: “When Joseph awoke, he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him.” (Matthew 1:24) That kind of response isn’t flashy, but it’s rare, and it is exactly what makes him such a strong model, especially for those of us serving in volunteer ministry. In my own experience working in ministry and volunteer leadership, I’ve seen how much of the Church’s mission depends on people who show up without expecting anything in return. The reality is, most of the work happens behind the scenes. It’s planning, listening, organizing, and encouraging. It’s doing the small things well, over and over again. That’s where St. Joseph meets us. His leadership wasn’t about control or visibility. It was about responsibility, care, and trust in God. As the head of the Holy Family, he led by providing, protecting, and creating space for others to grow. Scripture tells us that Jesus “grew and became strong” (Luke 2:40). Joseph undoubtedly helped make that possible in his role as foster father. That’s what real volunteerism and volunteer leadership looks like. Jesus makes it even clearer: “Whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant.” (Mark 10:43) Volunteer leadership flips the usual script. It’s not about being in charge, instead it’s about being available. It’s about putting the mission first, even when no one notices. In practical terms, that means:
Here’s the thing - St. Joseph didn’t intend to leave behind a legacy the world would celebrate. However, his quiet yes to God placed him at the center of salvation history. That should tell us something. Volunteer service, especially in leadership, isn’t always easy. It asks for time, patience, and sacrifice. But it also draws us closer to Christ, who “came not to be served but to serve” (Matthew 20:28). The real question is simple: are we willing to serve like that? Not for recognition, not for credit, but just because God is asking. St. Joseph shows us that not only is it possible, it’s worth it. May St. Joseph intercede for all who serve the Church and our communities - particularly those who take up the mantle of leadership. May his example inspire us to embrace humble service with generous hearts, trusting that God will bring forth fruit in His time. AuthorWith the Center since 2011, Chris Pierno is the Catholic Apostolate Center's Manager of Marketing & Consulting. In this role, he oversees the Center's marketing program and coordination of consulting services. He also supports the staff in areas of graphic design, advancement, public relations, administration, and strategic planning for the Center. Chris also is a co-host for the Center's premier podcast, OnMission.
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 Today we celebrate the feast of St. Louis Marie de Monfort, a French priest from the late 17th, early 18th century. He was a third order Dominican with great devotion to Mary and the rosary. Known for his great missionary zeal, de Montfort is a model of reviving faith, rekindling charity, and forming apostles. He did this through cultivating an intimate relationship with Jesus through Mary. As we near the month of May, we can be inspired by St. Louis as we celebrate Mary’s month. But what are some practical ways to make the most of this time? I would like to share three ideas that will help us stay close to Mary this month. First, we can turn to Mary in prayer and ask for her intercession. We can entrust our needs to her, confident that she will care for us. This can be done through the rosary as we meditate on the life of Christ, with Mary at our side. Other prayers include the Memorare, Litany of Loreto, and Regina Caeli. These remind us of who Mary is and of her role in our own sanctification. A popular version of the Morning Offering begins, “O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I offer you my prayers, works, joys, and sufferings of this day” (EWTN). In this prayer, we fly to Mary’s heart since, as the Mother of God and Jesus’ first disciple, she is close to the heart of her Son. By cultivating a prayerful relationship with Mary, we too can draw close to Jesus’ heart. Second, we can research a Marian apparition. The stories surrounding these visions are astounding. A quick internet search can bring up many articles and books about and information of shrines of Our Lady. Some of the more famous apparitions include Our Lady of Lourdes, Our Lady of Fatima, and Our Lady of Guadalupe. These apparitions give great witness to the power of prayer and trust in God. If you are already familiar with these, I would encourage you to find a new one. A couple of apparitions that I have recently discovered are Our Lady of the Golden Heart and the Virgin of the Poor. All these encounters remind us that Mary brings healing and conversion because she truly cares for us as her children. Finally, we can celebrate a May crowning. When I was in grade school, each May, the whole student body would sit in front of the school by the Mary grotto to do just this. A few eighth graders put a flower crown on the Mary statue and led the rosary. Students from every grade were selected to pray one prayer from the rosary - it was as if we became the beads. This is just one example of how to do a May crowning. If you don’t have a flower crown lying around, you could buy a flower or a bouquet to place by a statue of Mary in your home or at your parish. You could also set aside one evening with your family or friends to pray a decade of the rosary by an image of Mary. Whatever method you choose, take the time to reflect on Mary’s queenship. All these ways help us to get to know our Mother better. St. Louis urges us to invite her into all aspects of our lives. God, in his abundant grace, has given us Mary as a model and intercessor to accompany us on our path to holiness. Let us be more intentional this coming month to turn to her so that she may draw us more closely to her Son. AuthorKelly Mosier is an intern at the Catholic Apostolate Center. She is currently an undergrad at the Catholic University of America where she studies Theology with a minor in Writing. She is involved in Pep Band as a co-captain and in wind ensemble. Kelly also participates in service opportunities around campus and lectors weekly. When not at school, she resides in Hershey, Pennsylvania.
 I think there is something special about a cover—about taking a song, a painting, or a movie and recreating it within the modern frame of mind. Aretha Franklin’s bold and unapologetic “Respect” is a perfect example, as she interprets the song as a Black woman in the 1960’s. As is Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower,” in which he narrates the song with hauntingly beautiful guitar riffs. In visual art, Andy Warhol recreates the portrait of Mao Zedong with a messy array of bright colors—an unusual depiction of the dictator. Finally, modern movies, headlined by the Cohen Brothers’ True Grit, give life to old characters and stories, recreating them for new audiences. However, even the Beatles, the most covered band of all time, cannot compete with the millions of interpretations of Jesus Christ. Thousands of artists have painted Christ crucified or the Madonna and Child. Everyone from Van Gogh, Basquiat, or da Vinci have painted Jesus Christ, each in their own manner. It can be mind-numbing to try to flip through them all, viewing each painting, alien to the others, and, oftentimes, to us. There are always two questions to ask when discussing art: “What is this artist trying to say?” and “What do we think he or she is trying to say?” These questions matter much more when investigating faith. In a special way, how artists of all disciplines—including sculptors, writers, or directors—interpret Jesus will affect us. Every Catholic, no doubt, thinks of Jesus through some piece of art or another, but Jesus is more than just a collection of paints, words, or images. Jesus is alive. It is tempting to trap Him in a Caravaggio, an El Greco, or even in the Passion of the Christ—to prevent Him from challenging us. Jesus as represented in art cannot call us out in our sins; He cannot tell us the hard truths we need to wrestle with. Even further, we should not trap Jesus in the Church or solely in the Mass. Yes, we are oftentimes challenged in specific ways during the Mass, especially when a priest gives a difficult homily. It can be easy, however, to selectively hear the priest, interpreting him and hearing only what we want to hear. We often want a sanitized Jesus, one that affirms us and makes us feel good. But while Jesus resides in the tabernacle and comes to meet us in every celebration of the Eucharist, He cannot be left there. Jesus wants to encounter us personally in order for us to help others encounter Him. Jesus always challenged His disciples to worship, act, and believe in accordance with truth. Jesus was not “sanitized” or acting in the “proper way” when He overturned the tables of the money changers; He was not “sanitized” when He described the narrow way; and He surely was not clean and tidy when He died on the Cross. Jesus defied our expectations. He was filled with passion for God’s truth. While He is Beauty itself, Jesus often made His listeners look away as they were unable to embrace the unsavory truth that can be hard to swallow. I enjoy going to Washington’s National Gallery of Art or New York’s MET, but next time I see Christ there, I will be reminded that He is not trapped in the golden walls of the frame. Jesus is alive, living in the Eucharist and in others. While it is beautiful to witness Jesus in the arts, we must remember that Christ lives in the audience, the museum goers. While the beauty of the art itself is mesmerizing, Christ is alive in flesh, both on the altar and in people who remind us that, while beautiful, Christ’s message is a challenge. *This blog is reposted and was originally published April 13, 2021.* AuthorBrady Baylis is a history and secondary education student at The Catholic University of America.
 Today, we commemorate the first anniversary of the death of Pope Francis and celebrate the 231st anniversary of the birth of St. Vincent Pallotti. Both had a vision of a Church of missionary disciples or apostles, followers of Christ who are sent by him to live his mission in the Church and in the world. In the life of Pope Francis, we find a person committed to the poor and those who he saw as on the “peripheries”. He called us all through his words and example to be close to them and to learn from them. He wanted us to be brothers and sisters with all human beings. He wrote in his Encyclical Letter, Fratelli Tutti: “Love also impels us towards universal communion. No one can mature or find fulfillment by withdrawing from others. By its very nature, love calls for growth in openness and the ability to accept others as part of a continuing adventure that makes every periphery converge in a greater sense of mutual belonging. As Jesus told us: ‘You are all brothers’ (Mt 23:8) (95). St. Vincent Pallotti was also a man of solidarity with the poor, both materially and spiritually. He spent himself from a young age caring for the poor and the suffering. Pallotti mediated on the words of St. Paul in the Second Letter to the Corinthians, “the charity of Christ urges us on” or “the love of Christ impels us” (2 Cor. 5:14). He gave this as the motto of the Union of Catholic Apostolate, his association of lay people, religious, and clergy that assisted the missionary efforts of the Church, revived the faith of Catholics, and did works of universal charity. Today, those who follow his spiritual tradition that began in the city of Rome in 1835 are now around the world in over 55 countries. May we be in communion with one another and co-responsible for the mission of Christ and his Church as both Pope Francis and St. Vincent taught. May the charity of Christ urge us on! In God, the Infinite Love, Fr. Frank
 “Teach me to seek You, and reveal Yourself to me as I seek; for unless You teach me I cannot seek You, and unless You reveal Yourself I cannot find You. Let me seek You in desiring You; let me desire You in seeking You. Let me find You in loving You; let me love You in finding You” (Proslogion, I). In the Fall of 2023, I was taking a class on Christian Theology at The Catholic University of America. The quote above is taken from one of the readings I was assigned: the Proslogion of St. Anselm of Canterbury. This text has lingered with me for years, and, through reading it again and again, I have been drawn closer to St. Anselm, and I have grown to appreciate his life and his constant desire to understand who God is. St. Anselm lived during the eleventh century, after the golden age of the Church Fathers and Augustine, and before the High Medieval theology of figures like St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Bonaventure. Saints like St. Dominic and St. Francis, who reshaped the way the Church thought about religious life had not yet come onto the scene. Powerful rulers were trying to assert their authority over that of the Church. In the midst of these circumstances, St. Anselm found solace as a monk in the Abbey of Bec in present day France, and he drew himself into the inner chamber of his heart to understand the object of every heart’s desire: God Himself. From St. Anselm comes the often repeated definition of theology: faith seeking understanding. In all of his works, Anselm begins with the starting point of complete faith and trust in God and His Church, moving from there to try to understand the faith and God that he professes. His Proslogion is not a grand theological work like the Summa of St. Thomas Aquinas; rather, it is simply a prayer of someone who wants to know and love God. I was struck the first time I read Anselm’s Proslogion. The text breathes with the love of and the desire to know God, and it is a prime example of medieval monastic spirituality. Yet, I had more to learn from St. Anselm in his prayer that has come down to us. Anselm retreats into the inner chamber of his heart to come to know and love God. In his prayer, he makes himself completely dependent upon God for inspiration and insight. Oftentimes in prayer, we can enter into it with a particular request or agenda in mind. Perhaps we return again to ask God for a favor for ourselves or someone in our lives. At other times, maybe we are striving to spend an extra five or ten minutes in a chapel. These are all good things: God wants us to ask for what we need, and he wants us to spend time with him. St. Anselm reminds us that all of our prayers should begin with an interior recognition of who God is and who we are. We can only find him if he reveals himself; we can only seek him if he teaches us to do so. We are completely at his disposal in our prayer. Yet, if we humbly open our hearts to his work, our quest to find God in our prayer can become a quest of love and joy, whereby the mere act of seeking God is an opportunity to grow to love him more, and, upon finding him, our joy may be made complete. Sometimes, we must quiet our hearts to do this, put aside our supplications or grand desires for our prayers, and retreat into ourselves to find God dwelling there already. I strongly encourage anyone, whether they are interested in medieval theology or just simply want to learn more about the saints, to read the Proslogion of St. Anselm to see where his quest for God in the silence of his heart led him. May we learn to have a humble heart and to place our trust completely in God from the example of St. Anselm. St. Anselm, pray for us!
 It’s the middle of April, and Easter Sunday has come and gone; we are officially in the “Easter slump.” That’s right, no more candy and dyed eggs, decorations have disappeared, laundry and chores are piling up, and kids are back at school - or even on spring break! Don’t forget though, Easter is a 50-day season leading us to Pentecost. So how do we keep up that holiday spirit all season long? Lucky for us, God knows exactly how quickly our bubbly happiness goes away after a big holiday on the calendar and wants us to realize that Easter joy lasts much longer than a day. Easter is a daily discipline that can be lived in the ordinary moments of our lives. Easter is for the tired and busy. Easter is for the overworked and underpaid. Easter is for the grieving and sick. Easter is not just one happy day when things go well. Here are some practical things to tweak during these 50 days to help keep the true joy going:
Queen of heaven, rejoice, alleluia. The Son whom you merited to bear, alleluia, has risen as he said, alleluia. Pray for us to God, alleluia. V. Rejoice and be glad, O Virgin Mary, alleluia. R. For the Lord has truly risen, alleluia. Let us pray. O God, who have been pleased to gladden the world by the Resurrection of your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, grant, we pray, that through his Mother, the Virgin Mary, we may receive the joys of everlasting life. Through Christ our Lord. Amen. So keep going! I urge you to be intentional about your joy and consider one or more of these ways to remain celebrating all the way to Pentecost - and beyond! We are able to live out the hope of the risen Lord, so how will you rejoice this season?
 In October, my husband and I welcomed a little boy. Our son is a master napper—and his favorite place to nap is most definitely in his parents’ arms. He has a way of passing out with his mouth wide open (a trait of my side of the family) and arms sort of flailed. Since he was born, and more recently, our 6-month-old has been teaching me about trust. When Benjamin is passed out in my arms and begins to stir in his sleep, he opens his mouth in a quivering “O” manner, as if to say, “Put my pacifier back in my mouth, please.” He does not open his eyes. He does not make a noise. It is a simple gesture. He has a desire for his pacifier to be back in his mouth, and trusts that I will, in fact, return the fallen pacifier. He trusts that he is loved, that he is provided for. He does not even need to wake up—he stays in a state of rest despite his request. This image of my son, asking to be cared for and trusting that I will fulfill his needs, makes me think of the prayer at the bottom of the Divine Mercy Image: Jesus I Trust in You. The message of Divine Mercy was given to St. Faustina, a Polish nun. Through revelation and prayer, Jesus communicated to St. Faustina the need for the whole world to understand His love and goodness as evidenced by one of his greatest attributes: mercy. This understanding begs us to trust that His mercies are bigger than our sin, and ultimately, that we are summoned to trust in the love and mercy that the Lord has for us. Jesus says to Faustina and she records in her diary, “‘I am love and Mercy Itself…The soul that trusts in My mercy is most fortunate, because I Myself take care of it.’” (1273) Benjamin’s trust in my love is the personification of belief in Divine Mercy. We are called to radically trust in Our Lord’s mercy and love in the same childlike way that Benjamin trusts me without any sign of doubt. The Divine Mercy message, to which the Church calls the faithful, is to accept our role as children—to have the faith that He will give us what we need. We too must trust in the goodness of Our Father to give us what we need. Is my trust as radical as my son’s? Am I able to completely rest knowing that our Lord desires to shower His grace and mercy upon me? Do I ask for His graces, trusting that He wants my good? On this Divine Mercy Sunday, ask yourself if you believe in the goodness of the Father. Ask for His grace for more trust in His mercy. Ask for more mercy! Reflect on the trust of children as they live in trust, knowing their parents will fulfill their every need. This Easter season, how can we become more childlike and embrace the message of Divine Mercy? Eternal God, in whom mercy is endless and the treasury of compassion — inexhaustible, look kindly upon us and increase Your mercy in us, that in difficult moments we might not despair nor become despondent, but with great confidence submit ourselves to Your holy will, which is Love and Mercy itself. -Closing prayer of the Divine Mercy Chaplet *This blog is reposted and was originally published April 25, 2019.* AuthorElizabeth Bigelow received her Master's in Leadership for the New Evangelization at the Augustine Institute in Denver, Colorado.
 A few weeks ago, DC had one of its first truly warm days of the year. I knew the weather was just a glimpse of the warmth of spring that was yet to settle in, which perhaps motivated my desire to soak up every ounce of sun that I could. I wore shorts and went for a long walk. I set up my hammock and read in the park. I reveled in the warmth and the joy it brought me after the darker, colder days of winter. Some signs of spring, like these warm, sunny days, will still ebb and flow until winter is fully behind us. But one of the surest, and one of my favorite, signs that spring is really on the way, is the flowers that begin to bloom. A few minutes into my walk on the warm day, something caught my eye. I gasped, shook my boyfriend’s arm, and pointed, excitedly exclaiming, “Crocuses!!” There is something that just delights me about seeing the flowers begin to pop up each spring. It seems that once I’ve noticed one small patch of flowers, new blooms are continually catching my eye. On my drive to work a few weeks ago, I noticed a patch of daffodils on the side of the road. And in that moment, an even deeper revelation came to me: “That’s how it should be with God’s work in our lives.” Once we begin to attune ourselves to God’s presence, to the big and small works He does in our lives, we often begin to notice Him more and more. This could be in big acts, but it can also be in the subtlest of ways. The flowers of spring remind me to keep an eye out for God and the ways He delights me every day. Even though we know that spring will return year after year, the long days of winter can sometimes feel unending. The bleakness of winter can make us want to hunker down and cozy up, and for some of us, may be a source of even deeper sadness or despair. In the midst of this, the blooms of springtime can be a symbol of hope, not just in creation, but in our own lives, too. A quote from the book, Hinds Feet on High Places (1955) by Hannah Hurnard, which follows a young shepherdess journeying to the “High Places,” captures this well. After a long traverse through the desert, she finally enters a verdant forest: She walked through the wood almost forgetting for a little that Sorrow and her sister [Sadness] also walked with her. Everywhere she looked it seemed that the unfurling green on the trees and the nesting birds and the leaping squirrels and the blossoming flowers were all saying the same thing, greeting one another in their own special language with a sort of ecstasy and calling cheerfully, 'You see, the winter has gone at last. The delay was not unto death but for the glory of God. Never was there a fairer spring than this. All things have become new. The old things have passed away.' I also can’t help but love the way that spring (at least in the Eastern Hemisphere) aligns with Easter time. We begin Lent with the trees still barren and the sun rising late in the morning. As Easter approaches, spring begins to put out her own decorations. These exterior signs carry their own meanings. In a similar way, I think about how the Church uses physical signs and symbols to draw us into worship and direct our attention to the changes of the seasons. In Lent, the priests wear purple and the church sanctuary may be sparsely decorated. When Easter comes, the altars are adorned with countless spring flowers. The liturgies are marked by joyous, triumphant music and the return of the Gloria and Alleluia. In a similar way, in my own little apartment, I try not to set up my Easter decorations until Holy Saturday. I know that not everyone makes this choice, but I like the small exterior reminders of Lent's call to simplicity and Easter’s joyful extravagance. As Christians, a necessary part of our spiritual lives is to embrace both joy and sorrow, peace and struggle, along with countless other juxtapositions. Our lives will have days of winter and days of spring. We know that Jesus rises on Easter morning, that he remains triumphant, and yet we still must journey through the forty days of Lent. As we enter into spring and the joyful 50 days of Easter, I pray that you will be able to notice and delight in God’s work, allowing each symbol of his love to draw you closer to him. AuthorErin Donn is a campus minister at an all-girls Catholic high school and lives in Washington, DC.
 Holy Week is one of the most meaningful times in the Catholic liturgical year. It invites us to slow down, reflect, and walk step by step through the final days of Jesus’ life. Even if you’re not deeply familiar with every reading, the rhythm of this week tells a powerful story. A story that moves from celebration to sorrow, and ultimately to hope. The week begins with Palm Sunday, which holds a bit of a paradox. At Mass, we hear about Jesus entering Jerusalem to cheers and praise. People wave palm branches and welcome Him as a king. It feels joyful, almost triumphant. But in the same liturgy, we also hear the Passion narrative - the story of His suffering and death. That shift can feel abrupt, but it’s intentional. It reminds us how quickly things can change, and it sets the tone for everything that follows. As the week continues, the daily readings become more intimate and reflective. We hear about betrayal, misunderstanding, and quiet moments between Jesus and His disciples. One theme that stands out is how “human” the people around Jesus are. Judas struggles with his choices. Peter insists he will be faithful but later denies even knowing Jesus. The other disciples are confused and afraid. It’s not hard to see ourselves in them. These readings gently invite us to reflect on our own moments of weakness, doubt, or hesitation. Even the apostles were human and made mistakes! Holy Thursday marks a turning point. The readings focus on the Last Supper, where Jesus shares a final meal with His disciples. This is where we see the institution of the Eucharist, which is central to our Catholic life. But just as important is the act of service that happens during this meal. Jesus washes the feet of His disciples, taking on the role of a servant. It’s a simple but powerful reminder that love is meant to be lived out in humility and action, not just words. Then comes Good Friday, the most solemn day of the week. The readings recount the Passion in full detail. There’s no attempt to soften the story, it’s raw and heavy. Jesus is betrayed, abandoned, mocked, and ultimately crucified. It can be difficult to sit with, especially in a world where we often try to avoid discomfort. But Good Friday invites us to stay present in that sorrow. It’s a moment to reflect on sacrifice, injustice, and the depth of love that chooses to endure suffering for others. What’s striking about Good Friday is the silence that surrounds it. There’s no Mass celebrated that day. The Church feels still, almost suspended in time. That quiet can be uncomfortable, but it also creates space. Space to think, to pray, or simply to sit with the reality of what the day represents. Holy Saturday continues that sense of waiting. The readings often recall the long history of salvation, reminding us that God has been at work across generations, even when it wasn’t obvious. It’s a day that doesn’t get as much attention, but it carries an important message: not every moment of faith is dramatic or clear. Sometimes, it’s about waiting in trust, even when we don’t yet see the outcome. Then, finally, we reach the Easter Vigil and Easter Sunday. The tone shifts completely. The readings proclaim that the tomb is empty and that death does not have the final word. After everything we’ve walked through during the week - the praise, the betrayal, the suffering–this moment feels earned. It’s not just a return to joy, but a deeper, more grounded kind of hope. What makes Holy Week so powerful isn’t just the events themselves, but how they mirror real life. There are moments of celebration, moments of failure, times of deep sorrow, and periods of waiting. But woven through all of it is the reminder that hope is never lost, even when it feels distant. You don’t have to be a biblical scholar to enter Holy Week. Simply paying attention to the readings, even in a small way, can open up new insights. Maybe it’s noticing a detail you hadn’t before or recognizing a part of yourself in one of the readings. Or maybe it’s just allowing yourself to sit with the emotions each day brings. At its heart, Holy Week is an invitation to reflect, to be honest, and to remember that even in the most difficult moments, there is the promise of renewal. That is a message that goes beyond any single week, offering something we can carry with us long after it ends.
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