 Moral conscience, present at the heart of a person, enjoins him at the appropriate moment to do good and to avoid evil (CCC 1777). When it comes to the human heart, does a sentimental, biological, or Catholic image come to mind? My trusty Merriam-Webster Dictionary offered six definitions for the word “heart.” The first was the biological definition - the muscular organ that pumps blood. A more sentimental image could be a passing emotion, like a heart emoji on a social media post (my sister-in-law is all about beagle puppies), romantic love celebrated on Valentine's Day, or even a “sensitive” personality. The Catholic image for the heart, “the heart of the person,” is the “central or innermost part” of the human person. This definition points to a more older understanding of “heart.” Our ancestors in faith saw the human heart as the center of one’s being that encompasses intellect, will, emotions, and moral character. They believed the heart, not the brain, was the place where one reasoned, understood, and made judgements. Pope Francis, in his recent letter Dilexit Nos, noted that the heart is “the locus of sincerity, where deceit and disguise have no place. It usually indicates our true intentions, what we really think, believe and desire, the “secrets” that we tell no one: in a word, the naked truth about ourselves (para 5).” I have always been drawn to the story of Joseph, the youngest son of Jacob, who was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. Joseph: King of Dreams, the 2000 animated film by Dreamworks, beautifully portrayed his anguish, and the “naked truth” he had to confront deep within his own heart. Would he make his brothers suffer, as they made him suffer, or will he forgive them and reunite with his father? As Dion, the American musician and songwriter said, “My definition of the blues is the naked cry of the human heart longing to be in union with God.” There are three other Scripture passages that illuminate the heart as our “innermost being” where we are in relationship with God as we discern the good we are to choose and the evil we are to avoid. In Jeremiah 31:31-34, God establishes a new covenant with his people: “I will place my law within them, and write it upon their hearts; I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” As our innermost center, free of deceit and disguise, our hearts already know the good, however frightening, and evil, however enticing. This is truly a sanctuary, a holy place, because God trusts the human heart. Pope Francis, in his letter Fratelli Tutti, on fraternity and social friendship, reflects on the parable of the Good Samaritan: “Jesus trusts in the best of the human spirit; with this parable, he encourages us to persevere in love, to restore dignity to the suffering and to build a society worthy of the name.” Jesus can trust us because he is the Word of God that is written on our hearts, or, as Saint John Henry Newman says, “conscience is the aboriginal Vicar of Christ” (CCC 1778). Finally, on Easter Sunday, Luke describes an encounter between the Risen Lord and two disciples on the Road to Emmaus. They are perplexed by all the events in Jerusalem resulting in the death of Jesus and hearing that Jesus had been raised from the dead. Jesus listens to them, and then explains all the ways Sacred Scripture points to him. They entreat him to stay with them as the day ends. During their meal, the two disciples finally recognized him in the breaking of the bread:“Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way and opened the scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:32). Our conscience is present in our innermost being: in our hearts, where we are most truly ourselves before God. God has written his law on our hearts, as he trusts “the best of the human spirit,” and he fills us up so we can empty ourselves out in love. The paradox of conscience is that the more attune we are to the promptings of our hearts, the more selfless we become. Lent is a time for purification, for self-emptying, so we are less distracted and more attune to the “Vicar of Christ.”
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 Every day, I get to experience the joy of teaching Kindergarten, a time when the minds of young children are at a crucial point developmentally. Part of my job as their teacher is to form them into becoming a “person for others,” a term we use often in our classroom. There are days when showing them and teaching them about Christ’s mission of love and mercy turns into a lofty concept that is difficult for them to grasp. Toys fly across the room and children chase each other with plastic carrots, and teaching them to be a “person for others” seems difficult. Being a person for others is someone who does the work of Jesus Christ: loving others unconditionally and helping those who need help. Being with these children every day made me think more closely about unconditionally loving everyone we come into contact with. An example of this love and sacrifice is Our Holy Father, Pope Francis. This Pope has taught the world to take chances, get messy, and make mistakes for Christ. His merciful methods, when speaking about teachings of the Church, show Catholics and the world that he believes each person can truly be an evangelizer to all people. He has reminded us that while it is one thing to write a check to a food drive, it is another thing entirely to truly be with the poor and suffering. He has shown us that we are all brothers and sisters in this journey of faith, and we are on the road together. We all need to be a “person for others.” There is so much to distract us from the people around us. We often turn a blind eye to all kinds of problems. We rarely stop to think about how our actions can affect others. As a way to be more reflective, I like to pray the Examen. The Examen is a short prayer by St. Ignatius of Loyola, which is usually reflected upon in a quiet space: First, find a moment of gratitude from the day. Next, ask for freedom of something that has been weighting you down. Then, review the day in all of its parts both good and bad. Finally, talk to God about anything on your mind or heart. Finish the Examen with a short prayer, and you are ready to begin a new day filled with grace. When we take the time to reflect on our lives and ourselves, we can become aware of the kind of person we want to be. Jesus came to the world with a selfless mission to encourage and share His love and compassion. When we are merciful, loving, and caring with other members of the Church, face-to-face and shoulder-to-shoulder, we can evangelize and change the world. It begins with you; be a person for others! *This is reposted and was originally published October 23, 2014*
 As we begin this season of Lent, let us open our hearts and minds to the transformation that can occur during this time. Lent is the forty days of waiting for the death and resurrection of Jesus. The forty days allow ourselves to reflect on ourselves and our relationship with Christ. These forty days are known as a fast. Some people take that in a literal sense, abstaining from sweets, soda, or some other unhealthy habit. Others may fast from social media or other activities. We also can take this time to deepen our sense of faith and look to Jesus for how we can better ourselves during this Lenten season. In the reading for the Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time, the week before Lent, the Gospel gives us some inspiration of how we can reflect this Lenten season. It reads “Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?” (Luke 6:39-45). Why is it that we are so quick to pass judgement onto others but do not reflect on our own actions? Often, we are quick to critique a small flaw in others while turning a blind eye to a large issue within ourselves. Do we see the wooden beam in our eye and choose not to notice it, or are we blind to our faults? Either way, we are called to do some searching into the intentions within our own hearts during Lent. In the Gospel reading for Ash Wednesday, Jesus gives us advice on how we can look at ourselves during Lent and examine if we are being humble. He says, “When you give alms, do not blow a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win the praise of others” (Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18). When we are doing a good deed, are we doing so from the goodness in our hearts, or are we doing so for the glory and praise of others? If it is the latter, then we should reframe our thinking around our actions. Later in the same reading, Jesus gives us guidance on how we can pray better during this Lenten season: "When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you” (Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18). Here, Jesus is asking us if we are living out our faith for him, or are we living out our faith for others? What are the intentions of our hearts in prayer? Is it to seem like the most holy to our peers, or is it wanting to actually strive for holiness? Our intentions should be pure and the opinions of our peers should not matter, as the only opinion of our holiness is that of the Lord. In these readings, right before Lent, we are given the opportunity to examine ourselves as we enter into this season. We can ask ourselves, “Am I ready for Lent? Is my heart ready to enter this season of waiting, or am I being passive to the change that is needed within my own heart?” I encourage us all to do some self-reflection as we enter into Lent and allow this season to transform our hearts to strive for holiness.
 For most of my day when I am not in a chapel or church, I struggle to keep in touch with God. While praying in a chapel is the anchor of our spiritual lives, for many of us, our day is mostly spent being “sent out” from these places of prayer. Yet, God is present everywhere, and he is always present to listen to our prayers. Unfortunately, I often let myself be swept up in classes, work, friendships, stacking to-do’s, trivial matters – all things that are not God – and neglect to reach to my Heavenly Father. The Church, fortunately, has a response to the tendency of forgetting to pray. She has given us many wonderful daily prayers to combat this, and a personal favorite of mine is the Angelus. Traditionally, the Angelus is prayed at six a.m., noon, and six p.m.. It only takes a minute or two to pray, but those couple of minutes remind us of the greatest thing to ever happen to us: Christ becoming man in the Incarnation in order to save us. I first heard the Angelus just a year and a half ago when I attended a noontime daily Mass a couple of times a week. Before the Mass would begin, the celebrant would invite everyone to recite the prayer. The prayer felt unfamiliar at first besides for the three Hail Mary’s, especially because everyone else in the congregation would say it so quickly while I scrambled to follow along. After a while, I learned the words, and their significance began to penetrate. The prayers in between the Hail Mary’s are short but powerful Scripture verses related to the Annunciation and birth of Jesus. The last verse comes from the beginning of the Gospel of John: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). Everyone at this point either kneels or bows their heads in reverence for Christ. It feels insufficient that one sentence sums up the greatest moment in human history, and, seconds later, we progress to the final Hail Mary. Yet, the significance of the singular verse has substantial impacts in all of our lives. Taking a moment to recite the Word dwelling among us serves as a powerful reminder of the ever-present reality that often escapes the way we live our daily lives. Throughout the year, I noticed other people stopping what they were doing at the proper time to pray the Angelus, whether it would be at the dinner table at six or after a class was dismissed at noon. I admired their instinct to pray when they heard the church bells or saw what time it was. Their inherent turn towards the Lord, despite the noise of life around them, was inspiring for me. I had to imitate that by praying the Angelus whenever I would remember to. While I have struggled to remember to pray every time the clock struck noon or six, the moments that I did centered what I was doing around the Lord. I remember especially praying the Angelus at my summer job as a server. I would be rushing around the restaurant, silently praying, even if my prayer would be interrupted by assisting customers or running food to patrons’ tables. After I finished, I felt more at peace with what I needed to complete for the day. St. Paul tells us to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thes 5:17), whether it be through sacred liturgy in an ornate chapel, works of charity, or meditative prayers. As we journey through Lent, here are a couple of other prayers, along with the Angelus, to pray throughout the day to keep us centered on the Lord:
 Catholics believe conscience “is man’s most secret core and his sanctuary. There he is alone with God whose voice echoes in his depths” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 1776). Do you remember entering a sanctuary for the first time? For me, it was years ago, around 1964, when I was learning how to be an altar server. It was in the middle of a school day, in school clothes, learning the prayers (in Latin) and the movements from the priest, in an empty and silent church. It was like being on stage without lights, costumes, or audience. A deserted place. The dictionary defines sanctuary as “a consecrated place” for worship but it is also a place of refuge and protection. I found the synonyms interesting - “haven,” “shelter,” “harbor,” and “retreat.” We Catholics see the sanctuary as the center of the Church. It is where the altar is and where the “sacred mysteries” are celebrated. Some of my Protestant friends see the whole of their church as “sanctuary.” For both Catholics and Protestants, sanctuary is a holy place. We need such a place. Remember when Jesus tells his disciples to “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest awhile” (Mark 6:31). They were busy. In this chapter of Mark, Jesus is rejected at Nazareth, “his native place,” the apostles are sent on mission two by two, the story of John the Baptist’s death is told, Jesus has the attention of King Herod, the apostles return triumphant from their missions, the crowd presses in so they “had no opportunity to eat,” Jesus feeds the five thousand, calms a storm at sea, and heals many in the land of Gennesaret. Conscience as a sanctuary, a “deserted place,” has four characteristics. Place. We must intentionally enter conscience. It is an internal place - just like our thoughts, memories, fantasies - and it is a holy place. It is like having the sanctuary of the Church inside of us. It is easy to enter - just like prayer. Externals help. Some people, like me, have a special prayer chair at home. Others go to an empty Church. Some find a secluded place in nature. Alone. Conscience is where we are alone, in our “most secret core.” This is more difficult than it sounds. We need to take off any and all pretense and free ourselves of distractions. It is easy to turn off our phones, or the TV. It is harder to quiet the ongoing “feed” that clutters and fills our minds. To quiet our calendar with its clatter of appointments and projects. In many ways, we must empty ourselves to enter conscience. In a day and age of overlapping and conflicting identities, we claim one identity here. I am human. God. While we are totally alone in our conscience, we are not completely alone because God is with us. Not only is God with us, as one subject to another. God is also “within” us. We become aware of the divine spark, the breath of God that brought us into being, the image in which we were fashioned. There is a delightful scene in The Lion King when Simba must make a life changing decision: confront his past and return to the pride or stay with his friends “with no worries.” With Rafiki’s help, Simba sees his father who rebukes him, “Simba, you have forgotten me.” Simba protests, “No! How could I?” Mufasa pleads, “You must take your place in the circle of life. Remember who you are. You are my son, and the one true king. Remember who you are.” In conscience we remember who - and whose - we are. Isaiah (43:1) admonishes us, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name: you are mine.” Conversation. Sometimes people will talk about a “come to Jesus” moment. While incomplete, this sentiment points in the right direction. Conscience is a place for conversation with God. Saint John Paul II wrote “The importance of this interior dialogue of man with himself can never be adequately appreciated. But it is also a dialogue of man with God, the author of the law, the primordial image and final end of man” (Veritatis Splendor, paragraph 58). The conversation is always about who I am and how I can do good and avoid evil. The conversation can range from the minuscule - what will I eat today - to one’s life’s work. In and through this conversation, we grow closer to God, begin to see ourselves as God sees us, and form our understanding of good and evil as well as the virtues that aid us with the countless decisions we make everyday. God is not a stern judge who yells at us. God is like a light helping us see what to turn towards and when to turn away. It can be painful. There are acts that I should not do any more. But there is also liberation - freedom to grow and love in life giving ways. Let us remember who we are as beloved children of God and embrace our conscience - daily if possible - becoming our true selves through dialogue with God about what is good and loving.
I am scared of Lent. There: I said it. This cradle Catholic, with plenty of Lents under her belt, is scared of one of the most sacred liturgical seasons in the Church. I’m not saying I don’t love it. I do. I loved when my favorite priest buried the “Hallelujah,” and then emptied our Church of decoration, only adding more as we got further into Lent and into spring. I love (well, love/hate) fasting, and the way my mind is automatically drawn toward my dependence on God and solidarity with others. And my favorite color is purple. So, yeah, Lent is my season. But I’m scared of it. Truth be told, I feel like I’m bad at Lent – never repentant enough, never serious enough, never sacrificing or doing enough. When I was little, I made charts to track my progress through the 40 days free of candy, or Facebook, or whatever I gave up. When I got older, I got smarter and started adding to my Lenten routine. More Scripture, more prayer, more almsgiving. Usually I do okay striking a balance between sacrificing for God and building toward God, but this year…all bets are off. This year, away from home, family, and friends, I’ve been feeling so restless. Isn’t this season a time to rest in God, and prepare our hearts for that life-changing Resurrection? Part of me feels like, “God, haven’t I given up enough? I’ve followed you into this desert that is rural Kentucky!” But part of me (and I’m sure this is the part the Holy Spirit is dealing with) knows there is always more. We can always remove more that stands in our way to the fullness of God. Yet, as Lent draws to an end, I still feel like I am figuring out what I’m doing. My housemates have all dutifully prayed; they have gracefully denied sweets and coffee and swear words. All I’ve managed to do is plod along through Merton’s Seven Storey Mountain, because hey – third time’s a charm, right? In the meantime, I thumb through my notebook still rewriting different versions of my Lenten plan. And there lies my problem; I am still trying to plan Lent. I have turned it into some Christian New Year’s Resolutions/Get-Right Plan for Lent 2013. If I “do” A, B, and C, then the Resurrection will surely come! If I “do” Lent with enough sacrifice, enough Bible study, enough whatever, then I’m sure to feel the Resurrection like never before. But maybe that’s not the way to do it. The Rev. William Bradley, in a sermon given on the first Sunday of Lent, said, “The difference between us and Jesus is that he doesn’t run from…insecurity, rather he embraces, inhabits it as part of his life with God. Rather than trying to fill it with people, things, drugs, and busyness, he sits with his emptiness to see if God will show up.” I haven’t quite figured out what I’m “doing” this Lenten season, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe I need to simply take my restlessness to God in prayer and sit with it, until I’m no longer with the restlessness but with the peace and grace that is God. Only once I can settle into being this Lent, can I start to actually do the life-giving practices of this holy season and rejoice in His resurrection that lies ahead. *This blog was originally published March 21, 2013* AuthorKatherine Biegner graduated from Assumption College and served as a tutor and mentor in the Christian Appalachian Project in rural Kentucky.
 A foundational truth in the life of a Christian is that we are loved–particularly and passionately–by God. It is through this love that the creator of the universe brought each of us into being: God, infinitely perfect and blessed in himself, in a plan of sheer goodness freely created man to make him share in his own blessed life (CCC 1). From the beginning of time, God fully knew and loved each of us and furthermore wanted to bring us into the fullness of his family through baptism as his beloved children. However, in an age of constant connection and access to behind-the-scenes looks into other people's lives, it can be easy to slip into a mindset of criticalness or comparison. We can forget or neglect the core truth of our belovedness. The voice of the world or the Evil One may creep in to prey on our weaknesses and doubts. We may question who we are and why things are happening as they are. For the moments or seasons where our relationship with God feels like it is on less solid ground, or just the times when we want to help ourselves remain rooted in Christ, I would like to propose a few simple practices we can bring into our daily lives. Gratitude I am a high school campus minister and one of my more frequent student interactions is when they wander into my office to ask for a snack. The cost of one of these snacks is sharing a “God moment” from their day. This simple activity gives my girls a moment to take a small step back and consider a place they have seen or encountered God in the midst of their ordinary days. A smattering of responses on any given day might include getting to school safely, doing well on an exam they were worried about, or a good lunchtime conversation with a friend. In his book New Seeds of Contemplation, twentieth century Trappist monk Thomas Merton wrote, “To be grateful is to recognize the love of God in everything he has given us -- and he has given us everything” (1961). How often in our day-to-day lives do we overlook these simple things and take them for granted when they could each be an opportunity to give thanks to God? Practice of the Presence of God One of the blessings of working in a Catholic school is that (when I remember) I can take a moment during my work day to pray before Jesus in the tabernacle. While many of us don’t have this access, we can all still take moments of repose with God during work or throughout our days. As Brother Lawrence reminds us in his little gem The Practice of the Presence of God, “Lift up your heart to him during your meals and in company; the least little remembrance will always be the most pleasing to him. One need not cry out very loudly; he is nearer to us than we think” (1692). It might be making a request of God, such as asking for the Holy Spirit to be with us for a difficult conversation or calling God’s blessing on our travels or a project we’re undertaking. Or, it may simply be closing our eyes while we sit at our desk to just remind ourselves that God is with us in each moment of our days and lives. Abiding in Community One of the greatest traps the Evil One can catch us in is to feel like we are alone or that we are the only ones struggling. I recently found myself stressed out about a particular situation and noticed myself turning inwards and getting caught in a cycle of overthinking. I decided one simple step I could take was to text a friend and ask for her prayers. Much to my surprise–and consolation–her reply was that she had been inspired to pray for this exact intention during Mass the day before. Now our prayers might not always be anticipated quite so providentially, but God nonetheless desires us to turn to others for strength in our faith and relationship with him: “Where one alone may be overcome, two together can resist. A three-ply cord is not easily broken” (Ecclesiastes 4:12). Christian fellowship can put flesh and voice to the realities of God’s nearness that might be hard to otherwise see at times. Our community of friends can speak the realities of faith to us, help us bring our needs to God, and accompany us on the path of virtue and sanctity. Whether you find yourself today feeling close or far from God, he is indeed near. I pray that these little tricks–gratitude, the practice of the presence of God, and abiding in community–might help you encounter him today and embrace his personal, gratuitous love for you. AuthorErin Donn is a campus minister at an all-girls Catholic high school and lives in Washington, DC.
 “What do you seek?” (John 1:38). Jesus once asked this question to some of His first disciples, and the Church, through her saints, has responded to this question time and time again throughout history. Today, the Church celebrates the feast of one of her most famous intellectuals, St. Thomas Aquinas. St. Thomas is perhaps most well known for his contribution to theology in his Summa Theologiae. However, great mind though he was, he was first and foremost a son of God by his baptism. St. Thomas knew that everything throughout his life was entirely secondary to fostering this relationship and growing in deeper love for the Lord. As a student in college, it can be very easy to lose sight of this. There is a real temptation to put academics, extracurriculars, and friends before God and the relationship that I am called to have with Him. When I find myself putting God second, I turn to the example of St. Thomas Aquinas to see how things should be properly ordered. He could never have written his great Summa, or anything for that matter, if he did not first have prayer. For St. Thomas, time spent before the Lord in the Eucharist was of infinitely greater value than time spent writing or studying within his cell, because everything first had to flow out of prayer. From St. Thomas, I know that if I am going to be a better student, or a better man at all, I must first begin with prayer; I must first adore the Lord. Here again the example of St. Thomas Aquinas shines forth. As much as he was a great theologian, he was also a great poet, composing great the Eucharistic hymns which the Church still treasures. At adoration, when the Holy Hour begins and ends, I know that the O Salutaris Hostia and the Tantum Ergo are from St. Thomas. And like St. Thomas, I know that I should remain focused on the Eucharistic Lord, more than the words I sing. God is the end that we must pursue, not only in worship, but in all areas of our lives. Apart from God, nothing really seems important at all. While his great Summa was still unfinished, St. Thomas Aquinas had a vision, a great mystical experience. Afterwards, he refused to write anything further, and he claimed that all of his writings were now only straw. This does not mean that his theology was bad or of no use to the Church, but rather that everything he wrote and accomplished was entirely insignificant to the full glory of God. The idea that the things we work for in life, everything we love, is insignificant when compared to God can seem paralyzing. After all, what is the point of all our work if it is just straw? On the contrary, rather than paralyzing, I find this to be extremely motivating. Knowing where everything in our lives stands in relation to God makes us realize how everything we do can be a means to greater sanctification and holiness, pursuing the ultimate goal of God Himself in heaven. Once St. Thomas Aquinas had gotten a glorious taste of that end in this life, how could everything not seem like straw? This life of prayer, adoration, sacred study, and growth in holiness can be perfectly summed up in the words of St. Thomas Aquinas himself. In another vision, it is recorded that he saw the crucified Christ and heard him say “You have written well of me, Thomas. What reward will you receive from me for your labor?” And St. Thomas simply responded, “Lord, nothing but you.” My devotion to St. Thomas Aquinas has grown greatly during my time in college, not only because I attribute my philosophy papers to his intercession, but also because his whole life was focused solely on nothing but the Lord. And this life was lived to the fullest. Many still speak of his virtue, thousands across the world pray for his intercession every day, and the Church still rejoices in the fruits of his labor. With such an example to celebrate today, we can only wonder about what fruits can come from all of us seeking nothing but the Lord.
 There are a few guarantees in this life. Some say it is death and taxes. Purdue basketball fans, such as myself, will add Matt Painter. But there is another guarantee in life, and it is one that is as uncomfortable and taboo as death: suffering. Death, taxes, Matt Painter, and suffering. The suffering we think of most often is typically connected to death - the suffering of a cancer patient or of someone who has been in a tragic accident. This suffering is very real, but also extraordinary. I do not mean that this suffering is somehow alien to the human experience; it is deeply real and personal to those who experience it and their loved ones, but that it is truly extra (outside of the) ordinary. Ordinary suffering comes in many forms: the lack of sleep felt by new parents, the inability to pay one’s bills after being laid off, the end of a relationship that seemed to be perfect, the inexplicable change in direction from the Lord after following a path that seemed ordained by that same God. These, and countless other examples, are the suffering of the day-to-day life of the human person. There is a human tendency to compare suffering. “Well, their suffering seems so much worse than mine, so mine must be insignificant, and my response to my suffering is somehow overblown or distorted.” But this reaction is what is distorted. Suffering is, as I said at the start of this blog, guaranteed in life. That is a pretty undesirable guarantee. All we have to do is look out into the world, or just rewatch the movie of our own lives to find some sort of suffering, whether great or “small.” The question is not if we will suffer, but how we handle suffering and what it does in our lives. I am personally unable to understand how one can endure suffering without some sort of conception of God, and more specifically a personal relationship with the God who became man and who suffered and died for us. It is just that relationship that has gotten me through the traumatic death of my father just over five years ago and the daily suffering that is thrown my way. Suffering can easily make a strong person crumble, so the first thing we should do is realize that we are not strong, but weak. We are the sick that Jesus professes need a physician in the Gospel of Matthew. The physician is the only one who can prescribe the medication of grace needed to help us through our suffering. The grace is dispensed to us not through pills or syringes but through prayer. It is only through constant prayer, which is the reception of the transformative love of God, that suffering has meaning and can be endured. Sr. Ruth Burrows says in her book Essence of Prayer that God’s touch in our lives, “however lightly, means I suffer,” (Burrow, 38). Prayer opens us up to the fact that we are nothing, we are weak, we are in great need and, “it is then that I really experience that I need Jesus and everything depends on my living this out, letting go of the controls, handing them over to him and accepting to have no holiness, no achievement of my own, to be before God as nothing,” (ibid, 39). This is the bottom line of suffering. It is not gratuitous, meaningless, or completely nonsensical; it is the process of being stripped of all of our egotistical and self-seeking tendencies that leave us closed off to God’s healing touch. Patient endurance of the suffering we experience is the way that we are prepared for life with God. How do we know this? Because Jesus Christ took on human form and lived in perfect obedience as the Apostle to the Eternal Father. Jesus’ life found its highest fulfillment in obedient suffering and sacrifice in the Garden of Gethsemane, at the Pillar, on the road to Calvary, and on the Cross. In his suffering, Christ took on all of ours - from the suffering of a broken heart to the suffering of death - and brought them meaning. In fact, it was the signs of his suffering that he kept after his resurrection as trophies of his victory over death. It was these same signs of suffering, Jesus’ wounds, that proved the resurrection to Thomas. Our wounds, our suffering, participate in the suffering and wounds of Christ. Thomas experienced the Risen Christ in His wounds, and we too experience Him in our wounds. Suffering is a guarantee, but it does not end as pain- it leads us to victory, to intimacy with God, and brings us to God as empty vessels for him to fill with his glory.
The Catholic Church in the United States finds itself in the midst of a multi-year process of Eucharistic Revival. I’ve written before on the sense of urgency surrounding eucharistic belief, and again, I don’t claim to have the answers, but I think it is worth reflecting on the words of the Anima Christi. This prayer dates back to the fourteenth century, and there are many translations, but I’d like to spend time with this translation:
Soul of Christ, sanctify me Body of Christ, save me Blood of Christ, inebriate me Water from the side of Christ, wash me Passion of Christ, strengthen me O good Jesus, hear me Within Thy wounds hide me Suffer me not to be separated from Thee From the malignant enemy defend me At the hour of my death call me And bid me come unto Thee That I may praise Thee with Thy Angels And Thy Saints Forever and ever. Amen. It was a priest friend of mine from my time in undergrad who first introduced me to this beautiful prayer. He would lead the congregation in reciting the Anima Christi after Communion at Mass. I was immediately taken by its poetic nature and the depth that exists within its short text. When we receive the Eucharist, we receive the graces we need to become more like Christ, more holy, and to become more of our true selves—distant from sin and in communion with God. Our reception of the Bread of Angels is meant to sanctify us, to be our viaticum—our bread for the journey—as we strive for that holiness which only He can provide. In our reception of Christ’s Precious Body, we plead for salvation, to know eternity in His presence. I find the third line to be beautifully perplexing. While we are called to avoid drunkenness in our daily lives, we turn to the Blood of Christ to inebriate us. We seek for His blood to fill our veins and impact and affect our every thought, word, and action. When the priest washes his hands after preparing the altar, a ceremony called the lavabo, he recites this prayer, “Lord, wash away my inequities and cleanse me from my sins.” In the same way, upon our reception of Holy Communion, we ask the Lord to wash us, to make us clean as we were in Baptism. Beautifully, our reception of the Eucharist also cleanses us of our venial sins. We pray for the Lord’s Passion—His willful suffering and humiliation—to be our strength. The great Christian paradox is that it is humility and suffering which bring strength, not power and might. We ask that same Lord to hear our prayers and supplications. Christ, be our protection within your wounds, which have been glorified after your Resurrection. In them, we are reminded that our own wounds, if we are granted eternal life with God, will be glorified as well. To use the words of St. Padre Pio, we implore the Lord, “Stay with me!” By the graces we receive in the Eucharist, let us never depart from you, Jesus, despite our every effort to do just that. Our reception of the Eucharist as our strength and food for the journey is that which helps to keep us strong against the Devil, the malignant enemy. The Great Tempter desires nothing more than our separation from God, the Infinite Love, and Christ, the Apostle of the Eternal Father, but the Eucharist gives us strength to resist him. Finally, we implore the Lord to grant us eternity with Him when it is our time. We seek the Heavenly Banquet, to hear the trumpets sounding, to sing songs of praise to God forever and ever. And we are reminded that it is the Eucharist which is our strength and protection in this life, so we may love Him in the next. As we continue to focus on Jesus in the Eucharist and try to come to know our eucharistic Lord more intimately, may this prayer be a guide for our devotion and love of Him so that we may praise Him with His Angels and Saints forever and ever. Amen.
 Prayer can be challenging. One of the beautiful things about Catholicism is the variety of ways in which we can pray. That variety can be daunting at times. Where does one start? The important thing to recall is that prayer is our dialogue with God. We are called not only to speak, but also to listen. Will we have a voice from above telling us what to do? Probably not. We need to still ourselves to listen for the “tiny whispering sound” (1 Kings 19:12).
We adore and thank God in prayer. We petition God for our needs and offer contrition for the times when we have sinned. We worship Christin community, most especially at Mass, and in the solitude of our “inner room” (Matthew 6:6). In all these ways, we are in a privileged conversation with God. We need to remind ourselves that we cannot fool Christ. He knows us better than we know ourselves. He knows what is best for us and what we need to be the disciple we are called to be. Prayer offers us an opportunity to come to realize more fully the ways Christ gives us to live more deeply for him and less for ourselves. The fruit of prayer is greater love of God and neighbor. As the saints show us, people of authentic prayer show their holiness through acts of goodness, truth, justice, and charity toward their neighbor. Of course, we can start to make distinctions about who our neighbor is, but in the parable of the Good Samaritan, Christ clearly tells his listeners and us that everyone is our neighbor (Luke 10:15-37).We witness our life of prayer through our words and our deeds! May the Charity of Christ urge us on! In God, the Infinite Love, Fr. Frank 
“Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access [by faith] to this grace in which we stand, and we boast in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we even boast of our afflictions, knowing that affliction produces endurance, and endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope, and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the holy Spirit that has been given to us.”--Romans 5:1-5
Many of us are taught from a young age that Jesus loves us, stands with us, and listens to our prayers. This reality is easy to accept intellectually but hard to know in one’s heart. As one matures through adolescence and adulthood, troubles seem to build and anxieties can begin to overwhelm. Despite our faith and love in Christ, a deafening silence and perceived sense of loneliness can invade one’s spiritual life. This can occur in a myriad of situations, but I have noticed it is especially common when people experience some sort of transition in their life. By its very nature, dramatic change disrupts routines and occupies the mind with a million more questions than on more “typical” days. Being worried and focused on other aspects of life makes it harder to see and know Jesus in these day-to-day moments. In addition, world events like natural disasters or instances of social or political upheaval can push many members of the faithful into periods of doubt and questioning. The key to getting through these “gray” moments in our spiritual life is through perseverance in the face of doubt, questions, and anxiety. One must dive deep into the moments of grayness in order to come to a better realization of who Jesus is and what true love and faith looks like. Before I continue, however, I want to say that this perseverance is not a perfect problem solver. Instead, taking one step at a time in the spiritual life despite a gray cloud or pall that seems to be hovering over you can be the means to continuing your faith and deepening your relationship with Christ. It is not a quick fix that will make you feel better in a day or two. Rather, perseverance is a method of faith development that looks different for each person. The key to all of this is consistency. Many saints experienced periods of spiritual drought, doubting, and dark nights of the soul (a term coined by St. John of the Cross). Most famously, St. Mother Teresa of Calcutta experienced decades of “hunger for God,” and “the terrible feeling of being ‘unwanted’ by Him.” St. Teresa arguably saw some of the ugliest facets of human life and society, and any person who was ministering to the poorest of the poor would feel some form of burnout and depression. Many Christians today experience these same emotions in their own faith journeys, and instead of giving up and letting go, one must do the counter-intuitive action and cling to Christ more. Although I understand that this sounds cliché, bringing one’s raw questions, emotions, fears, and doubts to Jesus—whether at Mass, Adoration, or even in the car—can help one come to resolutions. Prayer is defined in the Catechism as “the raising of one's mind and heart to God,” and since our hearts are all unique, our prayers to Jesus in “grey” moments look different (CCC 2559). You must find a form of prayer that helps you draw as close to Christ as possible. This prayer can be Adoration with journaling, a Rosary with meditation, talking with friends or a spiritual mentor, or even venting to God aloud when you are home alone. The most crucial part of these moments is that you are praying and talking to God. Lastly, these hard times are normal in the spiritual life. Countless saints have experienced them, and thousands of Catholics are in the midst of them every day. When one enters into these dark nights, one must cling to Christ in the hope that comes from afflictions as St. Paul says in his Letter to the Romans. As St. John of the Cross also says, trust that “in the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.”
 The best thing about being a parent is finding joy in the moments that your child is laughing, playing, and having fun. It’s joyous and fulfilling; and there is no greater feeling. There are other times when parenting is hard--full of so many sacrifices and tough decisions that make it feel like the farthest thing from a perfect scenario. My toddler is two years old and pretty expressive about what he wants and needs. His favorite phrases right now are: “I want fruit snacks” and “New truck show.” Depending on the answer to his requests, he’s either overjoyed or devastated. He will curl into a ball with his head on the floor at my feet or just burst out into a shrieking scream of anger. I think for most parents, it’s hard to see your child struggle. While it’s important for him to learn lessons like “not-right-now,” teaching him and working through these times of struggle are not fun parts of the vocation. I’d like to think that God, our very compassionate, perfect Father, watches over us in our many struggles and is the kind of parent beside us in our tantrums, too. The weight of parenthood doesn’t affect our Father. Instead, he is the one who strengthens us, the stressed-out parents, when we ask for his help in prayer and let him in. Jesus is the Son of the Father. When he taught his disciples to pray, he gave us the Our Father prayer. In each of these lines, we can find solace in praying to our Father in heaven. There is such beauty in the words from Christ that capture every essence of our Gospel. Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy Will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen. Let’s go through the prayer and break it down a little more:
By the end of the Lord’s Prayer, I see a loving, forgiving, and omnipotent parent. I feel like God is supporting me and guiding me. He is inviting me to have faith in what he wants for me and my life. The Our Father also reminds me to be grateful each day, to forgive others, and to allow myself to be forgiven, most importantly in Confession. A parent’s life is sometimes consumed by their child or children. With God’s help, we can live out our vocations as parents by looking to his example of Fatherhood. God in His Wisdom created us to be His. He made us unique, with a capacity to love and with Free Will. He made us to be thinkers and creators. He loves us so much that he brought his Son into the world to die for our sins and then be able to live with him eternally. I can’t imagine a more perfect parent than that.
It’s that time of year where students set off for college, some for the first time and some going far away from home. These students take on the challenge of continuing towards adulthood and the process of making their faith their own. This can be a difficult road filled with numerous temptations, stresses, and other challenges. As someone who attended Catholic school for most of my life, I found the transition to college difficult, especially when it came to my faith. I attended a large public university where few practiced Catholicism, and I felt very isolated. The people who I attended Mass with at the beginning of the year began to slowly drift away – going to other churches or becoming too busy with academic commitments. With my class schedule it was hard to make it to the Catholic Student Union events and join the camaraderie. While I adjusted well to college life, I felt alone in my faith. Everyone has different experiences when it comes to the transition into colleges. Whether you are entering college for the first time, a current student wanting to get more in tune with your faith, or even a parent or relative of a college student(s), I’ve compiled some tips about keeping up with your faith life that can be helpful: 1. Make friends who challenge you to be your best self Make friends wherever you go on campus, but remain close friends with those who continually challenge you to be your best. Many of my closest friends at college weren’t Catholic, yet they held me to remain true to my faith and myself without peer pressure. Just as a spouse is to help his or her partner grow in faith, so too should your friends. 2. Get Involved Whether you join the Catholic Student Union or other groups on campus, make sure you are busy. Becoming involved lessens homesickness and other temptations. Enjoy your college experience! 3. Go to Mass every Sunday Mark it on your agenda. Make sticky notes. Do whatever you need to do so that you attend Mass each week. Experiencing Christ every week in the Eucharist renews us and gives us strength. Fortunately, as Catholics we usually have a variety of Mass times to attend, so take advantage of that! 4. Challenge yourself and set goals Regularly make short-term and long-term goals, and then try to stick to them. These can be anything from attending adoration regularly, going to daily Mass, setting aside prayer or Bible-reading time, or even studying abroad, trying new foods, and accomplishing a certain academic achievement. 5. Find time every day to pray and appreciate the beauty around you Doing this helps strengthen your personal relationship with God. Plus, you gain a better appreciation for life and develop practices that will stay with you after college. It’s not easy, but it matters that you try. 6. Call your family and your close friends one or more times a week These people are important foundations in your life. Keep them updated on your life in college and be honest with them. Your family and friends are a support system when things aren’t easy. 7. Find a Mentor Your mentor(s) can be an academic, club advisor, older student, or religious. These individuals in your life can help you navigate college, your future, and strengthen your faith. (Plus letters of recommendation and internship/job advice are certainly helpful!) 8. Talk to people at your local church and get involved in the Mass  Become a part of your new parish community at college. Get to know others around you to have that “home away from home.” This will help you make good life-long friends. Plus, getting involved in the Mass helps you become ingrained in the community while deepening your faith. 9. Search for a church you feel most comfortable going to Feeling at home in your college parish is important. Find a church that makes you want to go to Mass. The nearest church may not be your favorite – so explore! My favorite parish in my college town was about 15 minutes away and felt just like my home parish. 10. Find people to go to church with you  Having someone to go to church with incentivizes you to go to Mass. Plus, it’s always fun having a buddy. Keep each other accountable! Make it a group event and have brunch or dinner after Mass, too! *This post was originally published on September 8, 2014.
 “Stay with me, Lord, for I desire to love You very much, and always be in Your company. Stay with me, Lord, if You wish me to be faithful to You. Stay with me, Lord, for as poor as my soul is, I want it to be a place of consolation for You, a nest of love.” These are words taken from the prayer of St. Padre Pio of Pietrelcina after Holy Communion. Padre Pio is known for many supernatural things, including the ability to fly, the ability to bilocate, and having the stigmata of Christ. Those who have taken the time to look into the holy life of Padre Pio will acknowledge his piety, his love for the Holy Eucharist and the Blessed Mother, his great ability to heal people, and his devotion to the Sacrament of Confession. Born in 1887 in Pietrelcina, Italy, Padre Pio entered the novitiate with the Capuchin Franciscans in 1903. Only five years after his ordination, Padre Pio was called into military service with the Italian Army Medical Corps in 1915. Shortly after, the wounds of Christ, the Stigmata, appeared on Padre Pio’s body. The presence of these wounds drew great intrigue and criticism. In the attempts to discover an answer, “Countless experts and doctors looked at his wounds with no clear explanation.” The stigmata, as well as Padre Pio’s great holiness and renown as a confessor, drew pilgrims from all over to visit with him. It is said that Padre Pio was such a prolific confessor that the waiting time for confession with him could stretch for over a week, and he would spend over fifteen hours in the confessional on any given day. Padre Pio is not a holy man who should inspire our lives of faith because he could levitate, bilocate, or see people’s guardian angels. No, Padre Pio is venerated and beloved because of how much he loved the Lord. The Lord granted his servant these graces and gave him these charisms to witness more fully to Christ. It is easy for us to get discouraged because our lives of faith do not include these grand displays of God’s favor. We worry because the saints have such remarkable stories and attributes that we read about while our own lives are so ordinary. But if Padre Pio were still on this earth with us, it is most likely that he would draw your attention away from those miraculous actions and towards our Blessed Mother, the mercy of God in the confessional, and our Lord Jesus Christ in the Eucharist. When my Dad had a serious accident in December 2018, I immediately prayed for St. Padre Pio’s intercession for a miraculous healing. One of my best friends had told me how great Padre Pio’s healing power was, I’d acquired a relic of his, and my devotion was growing. Almost every day, I would pray Padre Pio’s prayer after receiving Holy Communion in the chapel of the hospital or in my Dad’s room. I was drawn to the beauty of the prayer, how it reads like a great ballad, building in intensity and truth. At the same time, the prayer is so simple at its heart: Stay with me, Jesus. Padre Pio knew of his own weakness, the weakness of the human condition, and simply asked our Lord to remain close to him. May this simple yet beautiful prayer be ours today. May, in every situation we find ourselves in, we turn to Jesus as Padre Pio did and with our whole heart implore him, “Stay with me, Lord.” Click here to learn more about St. Padre Pio.
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