 October 12th is the Feast of Blessed Carlo Acutis. Since he was beatified, I have learned more about him through various articles and videos. He is truly remarkable and an inspiration to young Catholics around the world! I was intrigued by his devotion to the Eucharist and his keen interest in computers and Eucharistic miracles. I recall one of his quotes: “The more Eucharist we receive, the more we will become like Jesus, so that on this earth we will have a foretaste of heaven.” This reminds me of the adage, “you are what you consume.” I think about that when consuming social media today and the challenge of finding good and inspiring news. When we encounter that news, what do we do with it? Do we scroll away once we read the headline? Do we bookmark it, say we will get to it later and never end up reading it? Considering Blessed Carlo, I think we are called to do something more! Just as Blessed Carlo shared the power of Eucharistic miracles, we can foster Eucharistic encounters through social media. Eucharistic encounters are transformative, calling us back to Christ. Through this encounter, our faith is deepened and renewed, and we are brought into a relationship with Christ. Below are three helpful ways to foster Eucharistic encounters through media: 1. Share something honest Posts are often tailored to show only the good sides of life, giving the illusion of a perfect life, when in reality life is not necessarily how it looks on social media. As a Catholic parent, the posts that I take to heart are those that are honest. I recall a friend who is a mother of two posting about her experience of raising two kids. She showed a picture of her cluttered home, commenting how it was late, the kids had yet to be put to bed, they were not following her directions, and she still had a laundry list of things to do. Despite that, she gave thanks to God for being able to raise a family with her husband and having two kids who genuinely care about their faith. These posts meet people where they are at, showing the mundaneness of human life where not everything has to be perfect or go to plan. 2. Root it in Christ and your faith Sacraments like the Eucharist have a visible and invisible reality. The visible reality is the outward expression, that is, the form they take and the way in which they are administered and received. The invisible reality is God’s grace. Fostering a Eucharistic encounter through social media means rooting what we share in Christ and our faith. What we choose to share may be good or inspiring news, but what does the news point to? Going back to my friend, despite the chaotic moment she shared about her family life, she took the opportunity to give thanks to God for her family and children. Gratitude is a powerful expression that builds human connection. What we share on social media are moments of life. In giving thanks to God for that moment, what we are sharing points to the invisible reality that these moments are gifts from God. 3. Consider a Call to Action The Roman Missal has various options for dismissal as part of the Mass: “Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord,” “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life” and “Go in peace.” In all options, the faithful are sent out to share the Gospel. Fostering a Eucharistic encounter through social media can have a similar effect, calling people to action. Posts like my friend’s that share a moment in their life that they are thankful to God for is a great opportunity to invite others to do the same. In this case, my friend invited others to think about one thing they were thankful for and share it with a family or friend. A call to action is a way for others to sow the seeds of the Gospel, a message which bears fruit over time as people continue to share it faithfully. Earlier this year in his message for the 58th World Day of Communication, Pope Francis focused on artificial intelligence, both its uses and challenges. He mentioned this regarding growing in humanity: “We are called to reflect carefully on the theoretical development and the practical use of these new instruments of communication and knowledge. Their great possibilities for good are accompanied by the risk of turning everything into abstract calculations that reduce individuals to data, thinking to a mechanical process, experience to isolated cases, goodness to profit, and, above all, a denial of the uniqueness of each individual and his or her story.” Despite advances in technology, human connection is something that should not be compromised nor forgotten. Social media is a tool which can be used for good such as evangelizing. Fostering Eucharistic encounters through social media is an opportunity to deepen realities to ultimately foster relationships with Christ. Like Blessed Carlo, let us share the Gospel through creative ways as we interact with others through social media.
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 As you may know, we are in the final phase of the National Eucharistic Revival, “a three-year initiative sponsored by the Bishops of the United States to inspire and prepare the People of God to be formed, healed, converted, united, and sent out to a hurting and hungry world through a renewed encounter with Jesus in the Eucharist – the source and summit of our Catholic faith”. This initiative is a response to the Holy Father’s call for a “pastoral and missionary conversion which cannot leave things as they presently are” so that the Church in the United States might be “permanently in a state of mission” (Evangelii Gaudium, 25). This final phase known as the “Year of Mission” is a response to the preceding stages of diocesan and parish revival as well as the National Eucharistic Congress that was held July 17-21, 2024. One beautiful expression of this missionary dimension of the Eucharistic Revival was the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage that took place leading up to the National Eucharistic Congress. The first of its kind, and one of the largest Eucharistic processions in history, consisted of four routes beginning at the northern, southern, eastern, and western parts of the United States. The routes formed the shape of a cross as pilgrims journeyed with the Blessed Sacrament across the whole country, blessing over 6,000 miles of our nation. Participants in the pilgrimage attended Mass every day of their journey and had regular evenings of reflection and adoration. After traveling for about two months, all four branches of the Pilgrimage met in Indianapolis for the National Eucharistic Congress. I was privileged to join a moment of the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage along the northern route, known as the Marian route, which began at the headwaters of the Mississippi and wound its way through the midwestern United States. As the pilgrimage passed through Notre Dame, IN over the course of a weekend, I was able to attend a couple of the specially planned events. One was a musical entitled “Behold God’s Love: A Eucharistic Musical,” which drew inspiration from mystery plays performed on the feast of Corpus Christi (the Body and Blood of Christ) in the Middle Ages. These plays presented moments from salvation history. The other special event was Sunday Mass in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart followed by a procession around the university’s campus, culminating in Benediction offered from the steps of the Main Building. It was such a gift to join pilgrims, some of whom had been part of the route from the beginning, in a tangible manifestation of our life as “the pilgrim Church on earth”, the people of God on their way to their heavenly homeland. It provided an opportunity to reflect in a special way on one of the many names with which we refer to the Eucharist, one that evokes a certain aspect of the “inexhaustible richness of this sacrament” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1328). Viaticum, a Latin word that means provision for the journey, is a particularly fitting name to contemplate in the context of this pilgrimage, as the Eucharist is the spiritual food which sustains and nourishes us. Certainly, it was the source of sustenance for those making the cross-country journey over the course of several weeks. Yet this pilgrimage (and all pilgrimages) was undertaken to call to mind our common human condition as those marching onward “ ‘following the narrow way of the cross,’ toward the heavenly banquet” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1344), when we can all be seated at the table of the Kingdom of God. The Eucharist as viaticum gives us the graces we need for each day as we advance along our earthly pilgrimage. Each step of the National Eucharistic Pilgrimage reminds us that our entire lives and every place in which we find ourselves can be holy, consecrated by the presence of our Lord. When we receive the Lord in the Eucharist and accept the call to be sent forth on mission to every part of the world, we experience “a foretaste of that heavenly liturgy which is celebrated in the Holy City of Jerusalem toward which we journey as pilgrims, where Christ is sitting at the right hand of God, Minister of the sanctuary and of the true tabernacle” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1090). The National Eucharistic Pilgrimage, whether or not you were able to join it, shows a visible bond of communion that assures “the unity of the pilgrim Church” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 815) and reminds us that we do not have to journey to far-off holy places to go on mission. Every place our feet touch can be holy ground if, as we tread it, we seek to draw ever closer to our Eucharistic Lord, who longs to make himself present to us and to all, not only in the Mass, but in every moment.
 I did not have a chance to attend the Eucharistic Congress last month. However, I did have the pleasure of reading the book For the Life of the World: Invited to Eucharistic Mission by Bishop Andrew Cozzens and Tim Glemkowski. The book outlines four essential pillars to being a Eucharistic missionary: Eucharistic encounter, Eucharistic identity, Eucharistic life, and Eucharistic mission. On the feast of St. Teresa of Calcutta, a great example of a Eucharistic missionary, let us seek her intercession to bear a Eucharistic presence in the world! Eucharistic Encounter The life of a Eucharistic missionary starts with an encounter. We are reminded of what Pope Benedict XVI said in his encyclical Deus Caritas Est (God is Love), “Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction,” (no. 1). Bishop Cozzens notes four essential elements to an encounter with Jesus: realizing that Jesus is God, experiencing one’s own unworthiness, discovery that one is intimately loved, and being invited to follow him in a new life. We see these elements unfold in St. Teresa’s own life when she encountered Jesus in the poor. Eucharistic Identity Our identity is essential to our mission. Bishop Cozzens noted that Jesus never had an identity crisis. Before Jesus began his public ministry, he submitted himself to God to be baptized. Bishop Cozzens highlights three essential principles to Eucharisic identity: relationship, identity, and mission. He writes, “This is the basic point: We were created by God to be in relationship, and from our relationship we know who we are — our identity. When we know who we are, then we know how we should act and what we should do — our mission,” (pg. 50). When St. Teresa encountered Jesus in the poor, she experienced a call within a call: to assume a new identity by leaving the Sisters of Loretto and founding the Missionaries of Charity. Eucharistic Life We are called to a Eucharistic life, to be in communion with Christ. Bishop Cozzens notes that this communion with Christ is how we mark ourselves as the Church. Fr. Roger Landry in a 2022 article in the National Catholic Register entitled, “The Eucharistic Life of St. Teresa of Calcutta,” noted how St. Teresa compared the Missionaries of Charity’s work to the Blessed Mother: “Every Holy Communion fills us with Jesus and we must, with our Lady, go in haste to give him to others. For her, it was on her first Holy Communion day that Jesus came into her life and so for all of us, also. He made himself the Bread of Life so that we too, like Mary, become full of Jesus. We too, like her, should be in haste to give him to others. We too, like her, serve others.” We receive Jesus in the Eucharist at Mass, and we are called to give him to others through a life of service. Bishop Cozzens explains that receiving Holy Communion is a covenantal act. “This is why we say ‘Amen,’ which is a covenantal act. To receive Holy Communion is to say: ‘I want to live in this covenant with you. I want to live in communion with you, Lord.’ This means I must also live in communion with the Church, Christ’s Body,” (pg. 62). Eucharistic Mission The Church, in her essence, is missionary. Bishop Cozzens notes that our mission was not invented or decided by us, rather given to us from Jesus. This mission is ad gentes or “to the nations”. The challenge today is that we no longer live in a Christian world. Pope Francis, in a 2019 address to the Roman Curia, said, “We are no longer living in a Christian world, because faith – especially in Europe, but also in a large part of the West – is no longer an evident presupposition of social life; indeed, faith is often rejected, derided, marginalized and ridiculed.” We, who have experienced an encounter with Christ, whose identity has been revealed through this encounter, and who have been called to share in this Eucharistic life, are to be a beacon of light to those who have fallen away from their faith or have never experienced Christ. St. Teresa once said, “We must know that we have been created for greater things, not just to be a number in the world, not just to go for diplomas and degrees, this work and that work. We have been created in order to love and to be loved.” This is what it means to be a Eucharistic missionary. St. Teresa of Calcutta, pray for us!
 The Eucharistic Revival (2022-2024), with the Eucharistic Congress this past July in Indianapolis, revived, expanded, and deepened my love for the Eucharist – and in some surprising ways. “The heart of the Eucharistic celebration are the bread and wine that, by the words of Christ and the invocation of the Holy Spirit, become Christ’s Body and Blood.” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 1333). We believe the “substance” of the bread and wine are changed into the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, of Jesus. And yet, the bread and the wine – the outward signs – “continue to signify the goodness of creation.” I want to share with you three outward signs of my revived love for the Eucharist. First, there is Adoration. I was 11 years old when Vatican II ended. I remember benediction and recall going to 40 hours in front of the Blessed Sacrament. As I grew in faith, I was drawn much more to Scripture. I would read, study, and pray with the Bible. Adoration was not an outward sign until the Eucharistic Revival. One day, over breakfast before a meeting, I was talking to my friend in mission, Diane. She shared her practice of Adoration. Once a week, she would go to adoration, where she listened to what the Lord had to say and journaled what she heard. It changed her life and paved the way for her dedication to mission. Previously, I was resistant to Adoration. My wife and I went to adoration during the March for Life and found it loud and off-putting. It felt more like a praise and worship service than adoring Jesus in the Eucharist. In the hour-plus we had committed to, there was less than 10 minutes of silence. But Diane’s simple, almost matter of fact, witness to the power of Adoration broke through my resistance. A few weeks after my conversation with Diane, I met missionaries for a weekday Mass. I arrived early and found myself sitting near the tabernacle. As I was praying, I “heard” a distinct invitation to “come closer.” As I approached, I noticed chairs before the tabernacle. I sat and pondered the simplicity, and the profundity, of the Eucharist. I love movies and images. Jesus of Nazareth, The Passion of Christ, and The Chosen are moving films on the life of Jesus. I have many images of Jesus that are like photos of a dear friend. And yet, with all the connection these evoke in me, they are nothing compared to the Eucharist. I may be deeply moved by the crucifix hanging above the altar – like the San Damiano Cross that sparked the conversion of St. Francis of Assisi – but it is nothing compared to the Eucharist. They all point to Jesus. The Eucharist is Jesus. Second, I prepare for Mass. I fast and pray with the Sunday Readings. I listen to Bishop Barron’s homily or other homilists. I review the past week – both highs and lows – and consider the week ahead. These prayers, along with our financial gift, become my offering. This is how I bring “all that I have” to the Lord and, joining with others, offer the simple gifts of bread and wine – fruit of the earth, and work of human hands. Third, I participate in Mass on a deeper level. Since I pray the Sunday Readings before Mass, I listen much better. The readings become like a Lectio Divina. What am I noticing while hearing this? What is the Lord saying to me, now, in this Mass about who I am and who he is calling me to become? Having heard other homilies, I am curious – and frequently surprised – at a totally different message as I listen closely to the homily. There is only one Word of God, but no number of words can exhaust him. I am also more attentive to the priest. He prays over the bread and wine – “send down your Spirit like the dewfall, so that they may become for us the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Through the “words of institution,” I join with Jesus and his apostles at the Last Supper doing what he commanded – take, eat, drink, remember. When Father elevates the Body of Christ, I pray with Saint Thomas the Apostle, “My Lord, and my God.” I do the same for the chalice. As he continues the Eucharistic prayer, I remember the cloud of witnesses – my parents, all the angels and saints, and especially Mary, the mother of Jesus – who join us in this perfect prayer of Thanksgiving. Adoration, preparation, and participation in Mass are three ways the Revival strengthened my love for the Eucharist. There will be more. I believe the bishops will continue to invite us to deepen our love for the Eucharist, so we, in turn, will go forth in mission. Revived and reviving!
 A month ago, I had the privilege to be one of the more than fifty thousand people who attended the National Eucharistic Congress in Indianapolis, Indiana. I was also one of over one hundred archdiocesan staff, priests, and parishioners from the Archdiocese of Baltimore who attended the Congress. I could wax poetically about the beauty of the liturgies, the depth that the speakers provided, or the awe-inspiring nature of Eucharistic Adoration with fifty thousand people in Lucas Oil Stadium. All these aspects of the Congress were amazing and worth noting, but I cannot focus on those aspects alone; we cannot focus on those aspects alone. If all we remember from the Congress is the Congress itself, and not how the Lord made our hearts burn within us on the road, then all we did was waste thousands of man hours and millions of dollars to throw Jesus the coolest party ever. I loved Matt Maher leading worship at Saturday night Adoration and running into friends in the expo hall, but the reason I am so convinced that revival has already begun is because of the events I attended before and after the Congress and the young people I spent time with throughout the duration of the Congress. Before the Congress, I spent three days with three hundred Asian Pacific Island Catholics from around the country at a national gathering hosted by the USCCB. Through the cultural presentations, bread broken, and keynotes, the moments of greatest impact were the Eucharistic Liturgies which gathered our group around the altar of sacrifice in common worship. Liturgies celebrated by bishops, planned by young people, and prayed by members of the API community of varying age ranges, geographical homes, and cultural families reminded us of the centrality of the Eucharist within our faith and that we are truly one in Christ who makes us one by our reception of Holy Communion. Immediately after the Congress ended, I traveled to Rome with my Center colleagues Fr. Frank Donio, S.A.C. and Sarah Scalfaro as we facilitated a gathering of Youth Coordinators from the Society of the Catholic Apostolate. How fitting to go from talking about Jesus in the Eucharist and the essential missionary dimension of the Christian life and Eucharistic faith to then leading youth ministers in reflection and planning to inspire the young people they serve in their home regions and provinces? Each day of the meeting was grounded in Mass and Eucharistic Adoration, a reminder that, without Jesus, none of our efforts would or could bear fruit in our individual realities. While these two events have convinced me that revival is afoot, I am most convinced by the young people I spent much of the Congress with. By God’s grace, a handful of my former students from The Catholic University of America were at the Congress, either assisting at the CatholicU booth or just attending for their own spiritual growth. This group of young people are, above all things, loved by God very much and they live out their faith in such a way that they show that love to all whom they encounter. Of these students, four continue their journeys at CatholicU, growing in faith and striving for virtue as they continue their collegiate journeys. One wants to pursue Law and has been growing in faith through ministry, another through leadership with the Campus Knights of Columbus Council, and another as he pursues business and seeks to bring the best of business to the ecclesial world. One of these students, who worked for me early in my tenure on staff at CatholicU, now prepares to head into the working world as a nurse, bringing the love and mercy of Christ to those in physical need. Three of the others embark on long-term service in one way or another, domestic and abroad. I think back to the moments I spent with these young missionary disciples; meals and moments in worship shared, jokes told, crowds wandered through, and in every moment, I find hope. I see a group of young people who love the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament and, in their own unique ways as ordained by God, are striving to bring Him to the world they find themselves in. Whethr serving in ministry at CatholicU, entering the workforce, or taking on opportunities for service to the poor and vulnerable, all of these young adults are fueled by the Eucharist, seek Him in Adoration, and share Him with the world through their lives of mercy and love. These events and these young people are what prove to me that revival has begun. Not the bright lights, big stage, and nice music. No, the proof is in the people who gather around the Eucharistic Table despite barriers in their way. The proof is in the priests and religious who gather with the aim of bringing youth closer to the Sacred Heart of Jesus around the world. The proof is in the young people who love and serve the Lord in all that they do, in the circumstances they find themselves in. This is renewal, this is revival. Let there be Eucharistic revival, and let it start in me.
 Like many of us, one of the prayers I learned growing up was the prayer to St. Anthony – “St. Anthony, St. Anthony, please come around. Something is lost and must be found.” I put St. Anthony on the back shelf through my teenage years and into adulthood, but as I aged, I realized more and more that I need help and guidance to live a good and faithful life. One day, while I was traveling, I left an expensive set of headphones on a plane. I did not realize it until later in the day when I was checking my briefcase in preparation for a meeting. It would be days before I could return to the airport. I trusted those earphones into St. Anthony’s capable hands. Three days later, I arrived late to the airport, went to my gate, remembered my prayer to St. Anthony, had time to go to the lost and found, and there were my headphones. Since then, I have relied on St. Anthony numerous times to find my phone, keys, or that elusive book. I must confess, I am a bit shy sharing my emerging devotion to St. Anthony. It borders on superstition, no? Superstition is when I believe that what I do – say a prayer – causes St. Anthony to act. The saints contemplate God, praise him, and “constantly care for those whom they have left on earth.” (CCC 2683) Evoking St. Anthony does not change God. It changes me. The more I learn about St. Anthony (1195-1231), the more I want to know. He was born into wealth and privilege, joined the Augustinians at a young age and, at 19, was ordained and served as the guest master. That is how he met the Franciscans. He was drawn to their life of mission to the poor. He immersed himself in scripture and, just by happenstance, was discovered to be a remarkable preacher. Eventually, St. Francis (1181-1226) himself entrusted the formation of the Franciscans in theological studies to Anthony – balancing the rigors of the academy with the simplicity of the Franciscan life. After the general chapter in 1226, he was made Provincial Superior of northern Italy and settled in the city of Padua. In 1228 he served as the Franciscan envoy to Pope Gregory IX. His preaching was so amazing, he was commissioned to produce a collection of his homilies. There are many miracles attributed to St. Anthony. There are two that I find particularly compelling. Anthony had a book of psalms that was very important to him. He wrote notes in it to help him instruct his students. A novice, who decided to leave the order, took it. St. Anthony prayed for its return. Not only did the thief return the book, but he also returned to the community. The Eucharistic miracle attributed to St. Anthony occurred when he was challenged by a heretic about the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. The heretic brought a hungry mule and showed him fresh fodder. St. Anthony brought a monstrance with the Blessed Sacrament. The mule ignored the fodder and bowed before the Blessed Sacrament. St. Anthony became ill with ergotism, a disease caused by a fungus found in rye and other cereals. He went to a woodland retreat to recover and died on his way back to Padua on June 13, 1231. More and more I am asking St. Anthony to “come around” to guide me in my own ministry within the church, my family life, and my daily life in these uncertain times. My prayer is that we will take the time to “come around” to St. Anthony and learn from this remarkable saint. He can guide us in rooting our lives in the scripture, cultivating a deep love for the Eucharist, and living a life spent in service to others. I will still ask St. Anthony to help me find my headphones – but I will also ask him to help me “hear” the word of God and act on it. **This photo is from: https://aleteia.org/2019/12/21/why-is-st-anthony-of-padua-depicted-holding-the-child-jesus**
 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 was originally published on April 13, 2021.**
In Advent, we are asked to keep two themes of the season in mind: the birth of the Christ child and preparation for his arrival to Earth again to end time. These great events, that of God descending in human form to Earth to save us from our sins by his death and resurrection, and the end of time with his arrival through the second coming, are powerful and mystical events. I often forget to focus my thoughts on this period from just before Thanksgiving until just before Christmas begins. One way over recent years that has helped me remember this awe-inspiring season of hope and repentance is through listening to one of my favorite Advent hymns: Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence.
As a brief refresher, it is a song whose lyrics are based on the Divine Liturgy of St. James and has been used as a hymn in Greek since around the third or fourth century. Speaking about the awesome power of Christ and his gift to us through the Eucharist in vanquishing the powers of hell and bringing eternal light, this hymn was revitalized during the Oxford Movement of the 19th Century and adapted to English. For Catholics, we believe in the Real Presence, so our understanding and awe hopefully go much deeper when sung with lyrics such as: “King of kings, yet born of Mary, As of old on earth He stood, Lord of lords, in human vesture, In the body and the blood; He will give to all the faithful His own self for heav'nly food.” For me, this song about Christ Jesus descending and giving of his own life and blood for us – simply because he loves us – is a powerful and calming reminder of what Advent is really about. It is not just about Christmas, and the gift giving, or even just the celebration of Christ’s birth. His birth is not what saved humanity. It was his sacrificial death and gift of the Eucharist that provides us that opportunity to join him in heaven for eternity as fulfillment of the covenant between God and his people. In a season with some of the darkest and coldest days for us in America, a song like this helps us remember that even in our darkest moments, Christ is there as a hopeful light. While the season of Advent is wrapping up, I invite you to take a few moments during your busy season to reflect on the power and awesome love of God’s gift to us, and the preparations we need to make for his return.
 As we enter into the second week of Advent, I am drawn to reflect on Mary’s advent 2000 years ago. This period of preparation can be difficult to enter wholly into, especially in a secular world that desires to skip straight to Christmas, but one way to more fully experience the anticipation of Advent is to look to Mary. We can observe how to live out her anticipatory advent of bringing Christ to others in silence every time we receive Our Lord in the Eucharist. When Mary gave her ‘fiat’ at the annunciation, the Christ-Child was made incarnate in her womb, and she spent nine months silently bearing Christ within her and bringing Him to every person she encountered. How radical that intimacy must have been, to be the only soul on earth who knew Christ, the only one to match heartbeats with Him, to be the source of life for the savior of the world. And yet, this time of intimacy was one of great silence and humility. The Christ-Child in the womb did not make a sound, for the first several months there was little sign that Our Lady could take consolation in His presence besides the promises given to her during the Annunciation. In that silence the only way Our Lady could know her Son and King was through allowing herself to become so silent as to hear the heartbeat they shared. This silence leads to the humility of Our Lady giving all of herself to Our Lord, and this humility of laying her life down fully leads to her willingly bearing the persecution of her advent. In the greatest humility, Mary walked around Nazareth bearing the King of the Universe, and allowed assumptions of her character to be made. She did not make a scene with those she encountered, announcing loudly that she was the Theotokos, but rather allowed Christ to work in the silence, as seen in the narrative of the Visitation, when the child within Elizabeth’s womb leaps for joy at an encounter with Christ. It is in all of these reflections that we as children of Mary learn how we are also supposed to live in advent. Like Mary, we hold the Christ-Child so intimately within our very bodies every time we receive the Eucharist. We get to experience our own advent each time Our Lord enters humbly into us – the simple veil of bread and wine mimicking the simple veil of infancy which hides, from those who do not hold Christ, the reality of His presence. We have nothing we could give our King that would be a worthy offering, so we offer Him our lives. We allow Him to transform us into living tabernacles, our breath becoming His breath, our steps becoming His steps. We carry Him in our hearts and through the silence of our witness, allow Him to encounter the people we meet. Through living our lives in recognition that we carry Christ in our hearts, we grow in desire to bring Him to those we encounter first before we bring ourselves, and we learn to live in a perpetual advent, like Our Lady, allowing Our Lord to become the source of life within us.
 A few weeks ago, the Pew Research Center released an article titled “Just one-third of U.S. Catholics agree with their church that Eucharist is body, blood of Christ.” Immediately after the study’s release, social media erupted with reactions of disbelief, shock, and anger, as well as theories of how to “fix this,” including greater catechesis and adjustments to our general liturgical practices. Despite the immediate reaction, there is no need for panic, as Christ assures the Church that “the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it,” (Matthew 16:18). Furthermore, jumping to such dire conclusions after one survey is not necessarily good pastoral or catechetical practice. As the Church examines the status of belief in the Real Presence and how to cultivate a greater understanding of that reality, she is also very aware of the need to deepen our encounter with Christ. As we ponder Christ’s presence in the Eucharist, we must ask ourselves if we have truly encountered him. In his encyclical letter Evangelii Gaudium, Pope Francis suggests that we “look at those first disciples, who, immediately after encountering the gaze of Jesus, went forth to proclaim him joyfully: ‘We have found the Messiah!’ (Jn 1:41).” In the end, how we catechize and what our liturgical practices are both require deeper reflection and greater discernment as to how God is calling us to use them as methods of ongoing conversion and evangelization. The doctrines and dogmas that we teach, how we celebrate the Mass, how we best serve our fellow man, are all likely to fall on deaf ears if they are not built on a deep and personal encounter with the Risen Christ. To examine this issue of Eucharistic belief, we should first look to chapter 4 of Christus Vivit, where Pope Francis reminds young people (and all of the people of God) that God is love, he saves us, he gives us life, and he is alive! If these four truths, which are expounded upon in good catechesis and experienced in their fullness in the Mass, are not understood deeply and intimately in the heart of every baptized Catholic, then moving forward will be extremely difficult. If I do not know Christ as the one who saves me, who walks with me through my life, as the one who gives me life, then why does it matter if it is truly his Body and Blood that I receive in its fullness at the Mass? Similarly, if we don’t understand the Kerygma—the mystery of the salvific work of God culminating in the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ—then how can we begin to understand the mystery of transubstantiation (CCC1376), especially when philosophical distinctions like matter and form aren’t in the everyday vocabulary of most Catholics? Pope Francis reminded pilgrims of this reality during a November 2017 General Audience when he said, “Every celebration of the Eucharist is a ray of light of the unsetting sun that is the Risen Jesus Christ. To participate in Mass, especially on Sunday, means entering in the victory of the Risen, being illuminated by his light, warmed by his warmth.” Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI famously wrote in his encyclical letter Deus Charitas Est, “Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction.” I certainly don’t have the “easy fix” answer as to how to increase belief in the real presence in the Eucharist, but I heartily believe that it begins with a renewed sense of the encounter Pope Benedict XVI was writing about. We use the word “renewed” because even those of us who profess our faith in the Risen Lord are invited “to a renewed personal encounter with Jesus Christ, or at least an openness to letting him encounter them; I [Pope Francis] ask all of you to do this unfailingly each day” (Evangelii Gaudium). We must witness to the encounter that has given our lives “a new horizon and a decisive direction,” and share that with those whom we meet. When we accompany our brothers and sisters on their journey to know Christ more fully, we help them to encounter him in the way that the Holy Spirit guides them. If that encounter is through theological and philosophical distinctions, through service, through the liturgy, etc. then praise God, because it is through him that those are effective and not because of their own merits. As we continue to wrestle with this recent study and its implications, may we meditate on this: if we believe that the Eucharist changes us, strengthens us, heals us, then we must show it, we must witness to it authentically and humbly in all circumstances. **This blog was originally published on August 29, 2019.**
I spent my high school years at an all-boys Jesuit school in downtown Cleveland. It was an excellent experience where I met some wonderful people, had lots of fun, and started to be formed into the man I am today. Amidst all the craziness that came with going to school with fifteen hundred teenage boys, some of my fondest memories come from my time spent in a little chapel hidden in the hallway of one of our main academic buildings. Every week during free period, the Jesuit priests celebrated daily Mass in this little chapel for our school community. It was a very small space, maybe fitting twenty people if it was really packed. Some days it was full of faculty, staff, and students, but there were a handful of times when it was just the priest and me.
There is something quite unique about celebrating the Eucharist in such an intimate setting, especially when it is just you and the priest. First, there is enormous pressure to get all the responses right, as there is no one to back you up if you forget a line in the Penitential Act. Additionally, it feels like you are right up close to the action, not only seeing what the priest does, but even hearing some of the extra prayers that priests usually say to themselves in a larger setting. Looking back on these memories, these Masses are a reminder that the Mass is not just a nice occasion for Catholics to gather for an hour to pray together. The Mass is the eternal worship of the Son to the Father; through the priest, Jesus’s Paschal Mystery is made present, and the perfect love of the Trinity is on full display. In this sense, the Eucharist is not about us just eating a little piece of bread we believe to be Jesus’ body; it is about the Father and Son’s perfect love for one another, which does not depend on whether there’s one person or one thousand in the pews. While these small, intimate Masses hold a special place in my heart, something about them felt incomplete. There was no one to shake hands with at the Sign of Peace. Mine was the only voice responding as the Holy Scriptures were being proclaimed, and receiving Communion took about fifteen seconds. This reveals the mysterious truth that while the Mass is primarily the eternal worship of the Son to the Father, because of the Incarnation and Paschal Mystery we are destined to be united with Christ in His worship of the Father and the love of the Holy Spirit. When we go to Mass, we are brought into this divine mystery not just as individuals, but as a community. The Eucharist is the Body of Christ, and it brings us members of the Church (also the Body of Christ) into deeper communion with God and with one another. Considering this, I’d like to suggest three different levels on which we might view the Mass. At the end of the day, these are all describing the same Eucharistic mystery, but it may help us to truly appreciate what is going on when we go to Church. First, we witness up close the eternal worship of the Son given to the Father through the Holy Spirit. The powerful, mysterious, life-giving love of the Trinity is on display, which is quite simply mind-blowing. The God who spoke the stars into existence and took on flesh to save us has come close to show us His inner life. Secondly, we don’t simply watch all of this happen, but we actually get to receive it. This happens through the proclamation of the Scriptures, where we receive God’s word, and then through the reception of the Eucharist, where Jesus’s flesh and blood mingle with ours, and we receive the very life, love, and peace which we witness in the Trinity. Thirdly, we are gifted with the ability to experience all of this not just on our own, but alongside our brothers and sisters. Jesus came not just to reconcile humanity with God, but also to reconcile us with one another and with ourselves. So there is a level where God is relating to God, a level where God is relating to me, and finally a level where God is relating to all of us together, and we relate to one another. So next time you go to Mass, ask the Holy Spirit for the grace to truly see the different layers of divine activity at play in the Eucharistic celebration. Ask for the grace to see that Mass is more than just a gathering of believers. Ask for the grace to see God’s jealous love poured out for you as an individual in the Eucharist. Ask for the grace to see how the Eucharist unites us as the Church. The Eucharist is not about us, but it also is. God desperately desires to draw us into His love and communion as one Church, and in the Eucharist, He has given us an incredible gift which does just that. May we let Him draw us in.
“Dear young people, the happiness you are seeking, the happiness you have a right to enjoy has a name and a face: it is Jesus of Nazareth, hidden in the Eucharist. Only He gives the fullness of life to humanity!” – Pope Benedict XVI, Address to Young People, Apostolic Journey to Cologne on the Occasion of the 20th World Youth Day
Growing up as a cradle Catholic, it was always easy to take the Eucharist for granted. Even though I recognized the true presence, it was tempting to see Holy Communion, adoration, and Jesus being present in the tabernacle as a bonus to the faith and not the foundation of the way I lived my life. Now that I serve in youth ministry, I see that this line of thinking too often becomes the norm for young Catholics. But what happens when young Catholics live a life centered around the Eucharist, when they allow themselves to be consumed by Christ, finding complete freedom in complete surrender? They begin to live in their identity as beloved sons and daughters. I got to witness this transformation firsthand this summer serving as a missionary with Catholic Youth Summer Camp. Every week, I watched middle school and high school students meet Jesus in the Eucharist for the first time, experiencing His love and feeling the truth of their identity in a real, tangible way. And every week after these experiences, there was a shift in the way these kids lived their lives. It was as if they were no longer afraid of being judged or not accepted by the teenagers around them; instead, they were confident in the sufficiency of the love they felt from God. When the campers started to recognize and feel the truth of their identity as sons and daughters, when they realized that they can look into Jesus in the Eucharist and physically see that truth, they no longer cared about the opinions of the people around them and would do whatever brought them joy. This often looked like the small but life-changing steps of fully entering into the Mass and worship, taking times of prayer seriously, and having childlike fun and joy throughout the day. Throughout the summer, I began to realize that the experience that these teenagers had in their first moment of encounter with Jesus, the childlike joy and freedom they experienced, is not an experience for them—or for children—alone. All of us, including You and I, are all seen by the Father as His beloved daughters and sons, and He desires to show us that truth and the love He holds for us in a real, tangible way through the Eucharist. Every time we receive Jesus into our bodies, every time we spend time gazing into His face in adoration, we give Him the opportunity to remind us of how unconditionally loved we are, how we belong with Him and nothing else. These truths give us the freedom to not fear what waits in the world, nor fear the chains of sin or worldliness. They help us recognize that there is no fear in the perfect love we experience living in Jesus Christ, and the only thing we have to worry about is following His will. When the world is not something to fear, we can recognize creation as the gift that it is and receive what the Lord has waiting for us. The next time you go to Mass or adoration, recognize that Love Incarnate is entering you in order to prove just how far He’ll go to show that you belong with Him. Allow that truth of His unconditional love and your belonging in it to shape the way you live your life, embracing the freedom He has won and given to us.
 This October, as summer turns to fall and the days start getting shorter, we sometimes find ourselves with opportunities to reflect on some of life’s bigger questions. I often find myself this season asking deep questions on a nice walk outside while admiring the beauty of nature. A lot of times, these big life questions usually involve prayer, discernment, and looking to role models. When I sat down to look at the saints whom we celebrate this October, I realized that many of them had to face similarly tough life questions. The popes, young people in the Church, and martyrs we celebrate this October can help us grow in our own faith journey. Pope Saints Next week, we will celebrate two saints who were popes, albeit at vastly different times. On October 14th, we will celebrate the feast of St. Callistus I (also know as Callixtus I). For many, he is probably one of the lesser-known pope saints. He was the 16th pope and had to deal with great division in the Church. He was able to navigate the Church through many doctrinal controversies through these turbulent times and was martyred around the year 222. Similarly, St. John XXIII navigated through many challenging questions in the Church when he opened the Second Vatican Council in 1962. It was through much prayer and discernment that both popes were able to guide the Church out of murky waters. Later this month, we will celebrate Pope St. John Paul II. One of my favorite John Paul II quotes epitomizes the courage he calls all of us to in living out our faith: “Do not be afraid. Do not be satisfied with mediocrity. Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.” Saints who had an impact in their youth Already this month, we have celebrated two saints who had a major impact on the Church while in their youth: St. Thérèse of Lisieux and St. Francis of Assisi. St. Thérèse, who died at 24, was known for her life of fervent prayer. She was a cloistered Carmelite nun whose prayer was not focused on herself, but on the whole world. She is known as one of the patron saints of missionaries even though she lived as a cloistered nun. St. Francis of Assisi also had a huge impact on the Church while still young. St. Francis was in his 20s when he heard God’s call in the chapel at San Damiano, but it took him time and further prayer to realize God’s true calling for him. St. Francis’ perseverance in the faith and continual discernment of God’s call, even in times of confusion, inspire me. Bl. Carlo Acutis, beatified just last year, also positively impacted the Church in his youth. Bl. Carlo was an amateur computer programmer who died in 2006 at the age of 15. He used his passion for computers to create a website documenting Eucharistic miracles across the world. Martyrs from all ages Throughout the rest of the month, we will celebrate the feast days of martyrs from all time periods in the Church. This includes the memorial of two Apostles: Sts. Simon and Jude. While not much is known about the lives of Sts. Simon and Jude, it is known that they both were killed for their faith. Also martyred in the time of the early Church was St. Ignatius of Antioch. He is known for his incredible writings on Christology. St. Denis was also a martyr in the time of the early Church. Many portrayals of St. Denis will show him holding his head in his arms because after his was martyred, legend has it that he held his head and shared Christ with those who killed him. On October 19th we will celebrate Sts. John de Brebuf and Isaac Jogues, the patron saints of North America. They were killed in the 17th century while ministering to the Iroquois. Even though they had previously been captured and knew that they could be killed, they placed all of their trust in God and continued their missionary work. Throughout the rest of this October, let us pray for the intercession of these saints in helping us be courageous in prayer and discerning God’s continuing will for us. To learn more about the saints, visit our Catholic Feast Days Website by clicking here. To view a calendar of the feast days in October, and each month, click here.
When the COVID-19 pandemic began and so much seemed outside of my control, I turned to prayer as a source of comfort, nourishment, and stability. Favorite Catholic podcasts, powerful homilies, Gospel-inspired music, Scripture reading, and devotions like the Rosary kept me grounded in a higher reality than the confusing, dark, and humbling one I faced. Perhaps I felt the need to overcompensate in a time when I couldn’t physically receive the Eucharist. The lack of physical Communion meant I searched for spiritual, mental, and emotional communion with the Lord in other ways I found fruitful. In this way, times of trial can bear much fruit—suffering sharpens our eyes to the eternal and true. It is sobering. Surrendered to God, suffering can be the most direct path of conversion and redemption. As the pandemic continued and I was able to adjust to my new “normal,” my sense of emergency slowly began to fade. I found ways to be comfortable and to continue meeting needs like friendship, worship, and rest. No, everything was not as it had been. Life was still a shadow of its former glory. And yet, I had found ways to cope. As this trajectory continues with the reopening of society in many ways, I have begrudgingly found that my deep prayer life has slowly faded. Becoming more of a checklist than a time of renewal, my prayer time is filled with distraction and noise. I’ve come to realize that I would rather fill my time with the noise—albeit good noise—of a Catholic podcast or homily instead of turning everything off and filling my time with God Himself. I’m more comfortable hearing others talk about God and their spiritual insights than talking to God. I’m also more comfortable talking AT God than WITH Him. I have a lot to say, but am not spending time listening or receiving. Finally, once I do settle down to pray, my tasks, chores, and rambling thoughts bombard me. My prayer time is filled with noise and distraction. Why is it easier for me to scroll through a newsfeed of beautiful images and consumer goods than to thumb through my Rosary meditatively? Why is it easier to respond at all moments to the latest texts in a never-ending group thread than it is to respond at all moments to the promptings of the Holy Spirit? Why is my heart more easily captured by the words of the media than by the Word of God? For perhaps the millionth time, I must face again a thorn in my side that prevents me from greater holiness: noise. “Noise, the grand dynamism, the audible expression of all that is exultant, ruthless, and virile—Noise which alone defends us from silly qualms, despairing scruples, and impossible desires,” says the demon Screwtape in C.S. Lewis’ classic, The Screwtape Letters. He continues, “We will make the whole universe a noise in the end. We have already made great strides in this direction as regards the Earth. The melodies and silences of Heaven will be shouted down in the end.” Lately in my life, it seems like Screwtape and his friends are succeeding. I’m having trouble hearing the melodies of Heaven amidst all the noise. And can’t we all admit to knowing this deep down—that much of our lives is an endless stream of noise and distraction threatening to drown out the still small voice inside? I reflect on these things once again while reading a powerful book and meeting virtually with other women--This Present Paradise: A Spiritual Journey with St. Elizabeth of the Trinity. Elizabeth, through the author Claire Dwyer, is shaking me from my complacency and passing through the distractions to help resurrect my heart. This young French Carmelite nun who lived over a hundred years ago mastered the interior life of prayer and encourages all to do the same—regardless of their vocation in life. I know I am called to more than what I’m filling myself up with; an hour of scrolling through items on sale or watching a home renovation show will never compare to fifteen minutes of virtual Adoration or a few decades of the Rosary. Any time consecrated to God is not returned unsanctified. In times of greater stability, comfort, or complacency, I’m also reminded of the Scripture passage about the wise virgins at the gate. We are called to fill our lanterns with oil as we await the Bridegroom so that we will be prepped and ready for His return. I have personally found that my preference for news feeds, shows, or internet browsing fills my lantern with something akin to water rather than oil, and so I am using this season of Ordinary Time to recommit to a quieter, more fruitful prayer life. Below are a few things I have found helpful for overcoming spiritual distraction and ensuring daily prayer:
As the world continues to reopen in ways that give us hope, I invite you to reflect on your prayer life throughout the pandemic months and set goals for yourself during this season of Ordinary Time. In the end, may we find that the melodies and silences of Heaven triumph over the noise of the world.
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.
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