The Church has organized the liturgy—seasons, feasts, readings, prayers, sacramental rites, et cetera—in a way to instruct the faithful, helping them to enter more deeply into the mysteries of the faith present within the sacraments. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches, the liturgy is “the privileged place for catechizing the People of God” (Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) 1074). A liturgy professor of mine would often spend the first fifteen minutes (at least) of class discussing the liturgical celebration of the day—the saint or event commemorated, the prayers and readings—or the upcoming Sunday’s prayers and readings. This professor would even point out to us how the names and titles of certain celebrations are a source of instruction for the People of God.
Yesterday, August 29, we celebrated the Memorial of the Passion of Saint John the Baptist. The deaths of all martyrs can be spoken of as a “passion,” but there are only two passions which are given that title in the Church’s liturgical calendar—John the Baptist and Jesus Christ. Why? We can first consider that these deaths are the only passions recorded in the Gospel accounts. Also, we should take note of how the death of John the Baptist prefigures the death of Christ. As John led others to follow Jesus and proclaimed the truth without fear—even to a high-ranking official—he was arrested and put in prison. Jesus was arrested on account of the Gospel message he taught and the works he performed, which challenged and called out the religious leaders of the time. Others sought to kill John, and King Herod conceded to this death despite his distress. The religious leaders sought the death of Jesus, and Pontius Pilate conceded to this death despite finding the man innocent. In whole, the life of John the Baptist—his birth, ministry, and death—is so closely connected to the life of Christ and mysteries of the faith that we commemorate his death as a passion. We recognize his death as a model of the summit of Christian witness: participating in the passion of Christ and thus in the work of salvation. In the memorial of John the Baptist’s passion, we hear prayers and readings which point us to this truth. This can be seen if we reflect upon the collect (opening prayer) of this feast: “O God, who willed that Saint John the Baptist should go ahead of your Son both in his birth and in his death, grant that, as he died a martyr for truth and justice, we, too, may fight hard for the confession of what you teach.” The liturgy teaches us the faith, and in being taught by the liturgy, we enter more deeply into the great mystery that guides our lives as Christians. Do not let the feasts we celebrate and the prayers and readings we pray pass you by; draw truth and life from them. “It is this mystery of Christ [the Paschal Mystery and work of salvation] that the Church proclaims and celebrates in her liturgy so that the faithful may live from it and bear witness to it in the world” (CCC 1068).
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On this day we memorialize the death of John the Baptist, the man who introduced Jesus’s ministry to the world and whom Jesus said was the greatest man born among women (Matt 11:11). Yet, despite this accolade from the Son of Man himself, the Gospels tell us that John the Baptist also seems to have wrestled with something that many of us are still wrestling with today: doubt. Yes, even the Baptist, the camel-shirt-wearing, desert dwelling, locust-crunching prophet who calls the crowds that come to him a “brood of vipers,” sat in prison and wondered about whether the “nobody” carpenter from Nazareth was who he said he was. The Gospels suggest that part of John’s doubt seems to have come from his expectations for Jesus. When John is called by God out of the desert, he announces the coming of the Messiah with metaphors of destruction: “Even now the ax lies at the root of the trees. Therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire. I am baptizing you with water, for repentance, but the one who is coming after me is mightier than I. I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fan is in his hand. He will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” (Matt 3:10-12) John’s expectation for the Messiah is that he will cleanse through destruction; that he will rid the world of sin, but in a grandiose, violent way. His metaphors and proclamations are laced with references to fire and culling, suggesting that John envisions Jesus the way we tend to envision John—full of passion, intensity, even a little frightening. When Christ comes to John for baptism, Christ does not condemn John’s vision, but rather Jesus’ ministry adds to the story. Rather than cutting the root from the tree, Jesus invites sinners to dine with him. Rather than shaking his fists from the river, Jesus sits on the mountain top and declares the poor blessed. Later, when John is imprisoned for publicly condemning the unlawful marriage of Herod, he receives word of Jesus’ latest miracles: the healing of a Centurion’s slave and raising of a widow’s dead son. The Gospels paint an interesting portrait of John’s response. When John heard in prison of the works of the Messiah, he sent his disciples to him with this question, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?” (Matt 11:2-3) I can imagine John sitting in the corner of his cell, hearing of these miracles and wondering whether everything he thought about the Carpenter had been wrong. In the darkness of his cell, alone, surely knowing he would soon die, John doubts whether this man who heals is actually the ax he had been expecting. There are two things that stand out about John’s moment of doubt: First, John’s response to his doubt is to go to the source himself. John does not sit frustrated and angry, allowing his doubt to grow into resentment or apathy like so many of us do today. He sends his disciples to Jesus directly. John’s response should serve as a model for our own inquiries. Prayer, direct communication with Christ, is necessary to knowing the truth about his identity. Imagine it in terms of a marriage. What if a husband and wife never communicated with one another when they were concerned with the actions of the other? Not only does a potentially problematic action go unaddressed, but the spouse who desires to know the mind of her lover cannot. She risks constructing a faulty image in her head, one that further drives a wedge between herself and her husband. So too do we drive a wedge between ourselves and the Lord when we doubt and leave those doubts untethered by prayer. When we question Christ, when we question our faith, when we question what is right or how to respond to injustice with charity, we should take those questions to prayer and ask for understanding. We should ask to see God as he truly is, not as we want him to be. The second important thing to note about John’s moment of doubt is Jesus’ response. Matthew reports it this way: Jesus said to them in reply, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them. And blessed is the one who takes no offense at me.” As they were going off, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John, “What did you go out to the desert to see? A reed swayed by the wind? Then what did you go out to see? Someone dressed in fine clothing? Those who wear fine clothing are in royal palaces. Then why did you go out? To see a prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written: ‘Behold, I am sending my messenger ahead of you; he will prepare your way before you.’ Amen, I say to you, among those born of women there has been none greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. (Matt 11:7-10). In his response to John and the crowds, Jesus first reaffirms his own actions, for these are the actions foretold in Scripture of the coming of the Messiah. He does not answer with words, but with deeds, highlighting the truth that “by their fruit will you know them.” Jesus then also seems to chastise the crowd for their judgment of John. “What did you go out to the desert to see? A reed swayed by the wind?” Jesus says that John’s vision of Christ is admirable, as it comes from place of virtue and strength. Although John initially sees Jesus only through his own eyes, Jesus recognizes that those eyes earnestly desire the truth and have been well formed. Jesus rewards John for his faith, even if it is imperfect. He does not allow John to remain misguided, but he recognizes John’s effort to know Christ as well as he can and rewards him with the accolade “no greater than.” On the memorial of his death, let us try to be a little more like John the Baptist. Let us yearn for the Lord. Let us know him in prayer and the sacraments. Let us have the humility to open ourselves and our expectations to revision. Let us place our doubts before the Cross and allow John’s words to guide our prayers: “He must increase; I must decrease.” Questions for Reflection: How can moments of doubt make your faith stronger? Is Jesus inviting you to “go to the source” – to come to him in prayer? **This post was originally published on 8/29/2017** 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 In the Gospel reading on August 14, Jesus says to his disciples: “I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing!” (Lk 12:49). It is hard to see the flames of Jesus’ love in today’s world. It is easy to focus on the negativity, which can become a hurricane rather than a blazing fire of faith. Rather than trying to recreate a great fire, we can take things one step at a time and make a singular flame. To do this, we must live life as Jesus intended: not by practicing our faith in hiding or in private. Instead, by showing our Catholic faith through our actions, our flame can spread to others. All these tiny fires can grow to create a community to showcase to the world that we are united in the one Body of Christ. On the Easter Vigil, the church is dark. This can be symbolic of our faith. Sometimes our life can feel like an ongoing season of Lent, dark and full of challenges. The Easter candle is lit at the beginning of the Easter Vigil Mass, and a singular flame enters the church. This slowly spreads from person to person, and from the back to the front of the church, a singular flame becomes a whole community’s. When you feel like you have no fire within you, an excellent way to reignite it is through prayer. One’s prayer life can have many ups and downs. When it is up, one is on cloud nine, and one has no struggle telling God their worries, the things they are grateful for, and sitting in silence to hear God. However, it can be hard to even try to pray when one is down. this is when something more powerful - like lighter fuel - is needed. Talking to others or trying a different type of prayer can help. Instead of praying alone, praying with friends and family can tremendously help. This way, one can share their flame as the church does during the Easter Vigil. Creating a group of people to depend on can create a whole group of people willing to share their flame. Another way to create an earth full of the flame of our faith is to join a volunteer group that you are passionate about. This can be directly doing something that can be thought of as faith-related—such as reading the Bible, prayer, and going to Mass—these are all ways of living out our faith. Living out Catholic social teaching can also be fruitful because you actively share your life with others. Personally, I am teaching CCD in order not only to teach about God to the future generation but also to interact with them. You never know what is going on in a child’s life, and just talking and being friendly can ignite their passion for the faith. Other easy things to do are to smile at others when passing them on the sidewalk and take time to listen when someone is having a bad day. While not directly praying over the person, being present is a way to share your flame. Slowly but surely, the Earth will be set ablaze. By sharing Jesus’ love with one another, the whole world can become a community, with all sharing our light. On November 1, 1950, Pope Pius XII issued the Apostolic Constitution Munificentissimus Deus (The Most Bountiful God) which declared “the Immaculate Mother of God, the ever Virgin Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.” In doing so, Pope Pius defined for all time that the Assumption is a belief of the Catholic faith (cf. CCC, 966). And though the decree itself is only sixty-four years old, it succinctly shows that the belief spans all the way back to the beginnings of the Christian tradition. But what are the implication of this teaching and its feast day for the everyday faithful? First of all, it further illustrates Mary’s importance not only for Catholics but also for all mankind. This feast is but another way in which the Church honors the vessel that brought the Messiah into the world. It is through Mary that the human race received its savior. Therefore, one can see her Assumption into Heaven as a beautiful gift given to her by God. After living a truly exemplary life of faithfulness and love, God saw fit to bring her body and soul into paradise where, as PopePius puts it, “as Queen, she sits in splendor at the right hand of her Son, the immortal King of the Ages.” The Virgin’s Assumption, however, is also a gift to the faithful.The Holy Father writes, “while the illusory teachings of materialism and the corruption of morals…threaten to extinguish the light of virtue and to ruin the lives of men by exciting discord among them, in this magnificent way all may see clearly to what a lofty goal our bodies and souls are destined.” Mary was the first disciple of Jesus; she was the perfect disciple of Jesus. At the Wedding at Cana, she tells the servers, “Do whatever He tells you.” This is the same kind of trust all the faithful should try and emulate. And, after living a model life, she was gifted with her body and soul being brought up to Heaven. That is exactly the same hope that all Catholics (should) share. The Nicene Creed sums it up quite well: “He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead and his kingdom will have no end…I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.” Catholics believe that at the end of time itself, when Christ comes to “render to each man according to his works, and according to his acceptance or refusal of grace,” all the dead will be resurrected (cf. CCC, 682). Those who enter Heaven will be restored, body and soul, to the gloried beings they were always meant to be before the Fall. Thus, the Assumption of Mary is not just a one-time occurrence, but rather a foretaste of what will happen at the end of days. It was not only a gift to the Blessed Mother, but also a gift to mankind. Humanity received a glimpse into what lies ahead for those who follow the example of a woman who put her whole heart, her whole faith, and her whole being into the care of a man she knew as her son and the Son of God. **This post was originally published on 8/14/2014** AuthorVictor David is a Collaborator with the Catholic Apostolate Center and is a staff member at The Catholic University of America, his alma mater, in Washington, D.C. He is a member of the Catholic University Knights of Columbus.
No banquet in Scripture would be complete without wine. More than a drink, it is a symbol of hospitality and festive joy, the fruit of the vine and work of human hands, which gladdens the heart (cf Psalm 104:15).
Imagine, then, running out of wine during a wedding feast! If Jesus had not intervened and supplied wine when it ran short, what would the newlyweds at Cana (John 2:1-11) have done? As I look back on the ten years of marriage my husband and I celebrate today, this image of Jesus coming to the aid of the bride and groom with the gift of good wine seems especially fitting. Overjoyed at finally getting to be together after two years of long-distance dating, our first year of marriage was exciting and fun, filled with adventure and plenty of questions about what the next year and beyond might bring. In our second year of marriage, my husband began his studies for a doctoral degree, we moved across the country back to our college town, and we bought our first home. The wine of gladness was plentiful in our first years of marriage. In the years that followed, we experienced many other joys, but not without some very real challenges. We came to know the heartache of infertility, the joys and hardships of parenthood, the stress of financial uncertainty, yet another cross-country move, the sorrow of pregnancy loss, the isolation and anxiety of the pandemic, and the strain of evolving job responsibilities. In many moments of difficulty, I wondered about our supply of wine. Was it enough? If our marriage depended solely on my abilities and choices, surely the wine would have run out long ago. Thankfully, not only do I have an incredible and selfless husband, but Christian marriage “is supported by the continuing presence of Christ in the life of the spouses as he pours into their hearts the gift of love through the Holy Spirit” (United States Catholic Catechism for Adults, p. 286). Through all the hardships, Christ has always poured out the grace we needed. When I wondered how we would have the fortitude to endure difficulties, the wisdom to discern a job opportunity, the patience to deal with interrupted sleep, endless laundry, potty training and more, we have had the unfailing support of family and friends and prayer and the sacraments to sustain us. The wine of grace flowed in unexpected moments of forgiveness, kindness, and understanding amid disagreements or miscommunications. I don’t know where it came from sometimes, but it certainly didn’t come from me! When we were first married, I couldn’t have anticipated all that would await us. We came together out of a love and attraction that has been a great gift. We remain together out of a love made firm in Christ. The United States Catholic Catechism for Adults describes how a couple is “challenged to unite their personal love with Christ’s love. Their human love will survive more effectively the cultural challenges they face, as well as the psychological and economic ones, when it is merged with the powerful love of Christ, who wants them to succeed and whose divine grace is ever at their service” (p. 286). As beautiful and wonderful as they are, the excitement and exhilaration of newly wedded bliss is not enough for a lifetime. The choice to love “for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health” presents itself time and time again, and many times, it is far from easy. With God’s overflowing and abundant grace, the enduring love of marriage is made possible. Without it, the moment a difficulty arises, the wine runs short. Yet, just as Jesus provided the couple at Cana with far superior wine in greater quantities than they could have possibly needed, God has blessed my husband and me in ways that exceed my wildest imaginings. Ten years in, we share a richer, deeper, and wider life in common than when we were first married. I am filled with gratitude for the good wine of joy and fruitfulness we now savor. Though I don’t know what the next ten years will hold, I pray the wine of God’s grace will continue to flow freely! “Laugh and grow strong.” -St. Ignatius It’s 10pm and the limbs are flowing. Arm circles, head bobs, tapping feet. I clean the kitchen counter like Mr. Miyagi – wax on, wax off--and jam out to my favorite song after an exhausting day. The sheer ridiculousness of my dance moves makes me smile. But I don’t care. I realize life doesn’t always need to be taken so seriously. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. I walk home on a Tuesday evening from the playground with my three children. My four-year-old turns back to look at me only to collide into this older brother. The two fall to the ground, crumpled together like a terrible game of Twister, and an eruption of wailing ensues. The chaos startles my eight-month-old daughter, who decides to join in on the chorus. The sheer ridiculousness of the incident currently occurring on the main avenue of our neighborhood causes me to chuckle. We must look like a pitiful sight to the cars zooming up and down the street. I soothe my daughter and stoop down to hug my boys and offer to race them home. As our limbs fly down the sidewalk, I think to myself, what a wonderful world. I stretch my leg out over the strawberry patch, my daughter strapped closely to my chest, and find myself practically doing the splits in the mud. Thankfully, my shorts are unharmed. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. What a wonderful world indeed. It’s a sentiment not many might feel while watching the news or scrolling on their social media feeds. In fact, many things have occurred lately in life that evidence the very opposite. I’m not belittling the world’s or my own suffering, nor am I ignoring it or living naively. But lately in my life and in my motherhood, the Lord has given me the gift of a sense of humor. I have been swimming in my sheer helplessness and finding out everything will be okay if I let the Lord be my current. I do not need to have my act together to be infinitely loved and cared for by my heavenly Father. I do not have to bemoan my littleness or earn God’s mercy. I just have to ask Him for help. Every day, I am Peter flailing in the water. All God is asking me to do is to reach back for the hand that’s always been extended. So I reach and then bow down my head to pray: “Dear Lord, please help me not be a nincompoop today.” So much of my life and motherhood is serious business. Sneaking in as many vegetables as possible into my children’s diets. Teaching them how to scrub their teeth diligently. Choosing books and music and television that reflects truth and beauty. Modeling (or attempting to model) virtue. Practicing superhuman patience. Answering and acknowledging 1,000 pieces of information (mainly in the form of random questions) a day. But so much of it is silly and joyful too. Pretending to be a pirate with my sons and collecting buried treasure. Responding to the incessant demand to “get us!!” at the playground and becoming incredibly adept at climbing play structures. Reading books using all the voices. Having dance parties. Ooing and ahhing at their latest insect find or screaming that a fire truck is coming and pointing wildly to where it is. Watching my daughter shove food into her mouth with delightful noises and finding half of it on her lap. Seeing her crawl for the first time. Having a deep conversation with her using babbling noises. I can choose to view my life through so many lenses. But what I’m being reminded of most recently is to choose the lens of the good, true, and beautiful. Of the silly and the miraculous. The lens of joy and gratitude. Why do we take life SO seriously all the time? When did we stop dreaming or doing awkward dance moves in the kitchen by ourselves? When was the last time you laughed until the tears streamed down your cheeks? After having three children, I guess I’ve realized how fleeting it all is. How quickly this growing up business happens without my permission. And so even though motherhood and raising a family are incredibly hard and stretching (re: strawberry patch), I can’t help but pause for a moment and relish this time in all its sheer ridiculousness and glory. Having entered into my third decade of life, I’ve experienced a decent share of hardship, loss, suffering, and death. I’ve attended many funerals, prayed for many sick people, and heard many tragic stories. Lately, it feels as though the accumulation of these events and stories has become stronger and more prevalent. It seems that many people within my network are experiencing the loss of friends or family members: the death of a parent, young people battling cancer, tragic childhood accidents. Tragedy and losses like this have re-opened my eyes to the reality of how fleeting life is and helping me more deeply appreciate the hidden blessings all around. I’ve often mused recently that my biggest issue these days is likely poop-related or has to do with a lack of sharing. My problems can generally be solved with hugs, eye contact, a fresh diaper, sleep, or a snack. The checkerboard of crumbs on my dining room floor that normally seems like a mountain now feels surmountable. I stop and thank God that these are my issues and annoyances. So I dance, mostly by myself, in the kitchen. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
In my Bible study, we are reading through the Second Letter to the Corinthians from St. Paul. The last session covered Chapter Five. It deals with the current and future destiny of our bodies. For we know that if our earthly dwelling, a tent, should be destroyed, we have a building from God, a dwelling not made with hands, eternal in heaven. In verse one, Paul says our earthly dwelling is a tent. What is the tent? Even in his day, most people didn't live in tents. They had stone or wood houses. Clearly that can't be what Paul meant. In fact, he is referring to the earthly body as a tent, and the heavenly body as a building. In the Old Testament, the Israelites traveled with the Holy of Holies, the place where the Presence of God was pleased to dwell in a special and unique way, in the form of a tent structure. It's portable, appropriate for a sojourning people. When they finally reached the Promised Land, King Solomon built the Temple out of stone and precious metals. It was a structure of permanence and stability; it declared this is where God is and He isn't moving. A tent is a much flimsier home than a stone building. Yes, they are both dwelling places, but stone is harder to destroy than cloth, and more secure. There is, to borrow a phrase from Alice in Wonderland, a muchness to stone, a weight and solidity that tents don't have. In the Transfiguration scene in Luke 9: 28-36, Jesus' face and clothing are changed. Scholars take this to mean that we will have our same bodies, the one the soul is united with right now as you read these words, for all eternity. For better or worse. In Heaven, the body shall be glorified and refined, receiving a muchness that we don't have now. In Hell, the body shall be as damned as the soul, in anguish just as fitting. In the ancient world, this concept of retaining your physical body after death would have been flabbergasting. Most philosophical traditions saw the body as something other than the true self. It was something to be punished, or used for mere pleasure, but importantly gotten rid of, so the spirit-self could be free. Christianity says otherwise. We, human beings, are body-soul composites. Matter and spirit united into one creature. And that is good. If we were pure matter, we would be like the inanimate universe, or at best like animals. If we were pure spirit, we would be angels. We are neither. We are a unity of the two most opposite things in the universe, and God looks at us and says we are good. There is a reversion of thought in our modern world that reflects the ancients: either the body doesn't matter at all and I just need to get rid of it because it's not really me, or it's all that matters because there is nothing else to me. It's sneaks into Christian minds as well. Which is devastating, on the psychological and spiritual levels. We should have a sense of home-ness in our bodies. Have you ever met someone who just seemed uncomfortable in their own skin? As if they didn't know what to do with themselves? Have you ever been that person? We're often expected to get our act together. Be confident. Act normal. Own yourself. But you can't own selves, yours or anyone else's. That is a mask. And a mask is not a home. Think now of the people whom you've met who were so solid and real and, in a word, themselves, that you felt comfortable enough to be yourself. Think of the people whose houses you walk into and sigh with peace and the knowledge that you are loved. Think of those whose arms embrace you and tell you it is good to be alive. One of the best ways to love others is to love yourself. Treat yourself with dignity and respect. The Christian is commanded to love as Christ loved, and thus has the duty to be a holistically integrated human being more so than the rest of society. Be at home in your own skin, and allow others to be home in their own existence. We want visitors and guests to feel welcome in our homes, don’t we? Well, they can't unless we do; stability and hospitality begin in the heart. These virtues start to grow when we allow ourselves to become integrated and united, when all of our being is directed and following one Way with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your strength, and with all your soul. **This post was originally published on 7/19/2016**
We walk amidst the shadows and call them life. We’re so accustomed to the dimness of this world that light is too abrasive. It burns rather than warms, offends rather than illuminates. We stumble around in the fog, thinking we are dancing. It’s like looking in the mirror and confusing the reflection with the person. Many things prevent us from truly seeing ourselves—from knowing who we are, from where we’ve come and where we are going. We’ve convinced ourselves that we are comfortable. “Comfortable” is our best friend. It doesn’t demand much of us, doesn't pry, doesn’t ask us to change. It leaves us quite alone, minds its own business. Comfortable—a makeshift refuge amidst the vast discomfort of the world we face each day. Comfortable—the often elusive goal of our lives. Comfortable—a concession to a fate that is not our true end.
Peter, James and John were comfortable in their lives before a rabbi from Nazareth invited them to drop everything and follow him. Their lives were not inherently sinful; their occupations were worthy. Life seemed good. These men were comfortable until they met the Christ who called them to something more. While the high calling Christ invited these men into was glimpsed throughout Jesus’ entire ministry, it is most fully revealed on earth in an apocalyptic way in the Transfiguration of Christ. As the Gospel tells us, soon after Peter’s profession of Jesus as the Messiah, Jesus takes Peter, James and John to the top of Mt. Tabor. Once there, Jesus is transfigured before them, “his clothes became dazzling white. Then Elijah appeared to them along with Moses, and they were conversing with Jesus (Mk 9: 3-4). His apostles are terrified. They have seen something almost greater than they could physically behold. Next, they hear the words of God the Father, “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him” (9:7). They have been confronted by light, the Eternal Light of God himself, and are roused out of any makeshift comfort they had created for themselves. The apostles were uncomfortable, puzzled, amazed. What does the Transfiguration tell us? First, that this luminous state is our destiny. As baptized Christians, we are called to be fully transfigured into Christ himself, shedding anything in our being that does not reflect his light and love. This capacity is already within us, though we diminish it with sin. Second, the Transfiguration shows us that comfortable is not enough. It is neither the goal of the Christian life, nor what we were made for. The Transfiguration instead shows us that we were made for greatness and excellence even amidst the discomfort of our world. We were never made to settle, just as we were never made for the fog, darkness or failure many people accept as daily life. Instead, Christ invites us to love. The Transfiguration is a testament to this love, for this transfigured destiny is only made possible because of his sacrifice of love on the cross. The Transfiguration is pure gift and mercy. And we can begin to be transfigured now, today. To be transfigured, we are called to imitate Christ’s love. This is an uncomfortable love that demands all of who we are. It is love that evaporates our egotism, that hurts, that pushes us out of ourselves and into the lives and well-being of others. Love that we have to practice, and will fail at, again and again. Love that is, and will be, crucified. But love that is worth it. Love that reminds us who we are and why we’re here. Love that takes us from the shadows and actually calls us to dance. Love that breaks through the fog and never diminishes. Love that is the true light. Love that transfigures. As today’s reflection from Magnificat says, “The Savior begs: ‘Become what you behold!’” **This post was originally published on 8/6/2015**
“Let us not lose the memory preserved by the elderly, for we are children of that history, and without roots, we will wither. They protected us as we grew, and now it is up to us to protect their lives, to alleviate their difficulties, to attend to their needs and to ensure that they are helped in daily life and not feel alone.” The Holy Father gave us these words last year on the inaugural World Day for Grandparents and the Elderly, inviting us to care for and journey with the elderly people we know. As our grandparents, parents, and older relatives grow older and approach the end of their lives, we take on the responsibility of caring for those who cared for us and raised us.
While there is justice in this act of caring for our elderly, it is not something cold and calculated (like our understanding of legal justice). It is founded upon the unconditional love of God the Father. Our grandparents, parents, and older relatives raised us, provided for us, and loved us without counting the cost, without expecting anything in return. In their old age, we as their children and once dependents return love for love as they now depend on us. We are called to care and provide for them and to love them unconditionally. My grandmother was pivotal in the upbringing of my sisters and I as she helped to care for us when we were young. She taught us to pray and to love others through both the example of her gentleness and sweetness and through her instructions and corrections. She would give us treats, money, and gifts all the time. She would take us out, both individually and as a group, on little dates to the movies and for lunch. I have very fond memories of volunteering at tennis tournaments with her, and an entire summer break we spent together housesitting for my great uncle in rural Northwest Virginia. When I was in seminary, she would send me gifts and notes, addressing me on the phone or in writing as “our favorite seminarian.” Signs of my grandmother’s disease that accelerated her aging came in years prior to 2020. Things took a turn for the worse that year–both before and after she was diagnosed. My mother made the difficult but beautiful decision to keep her at our family home and provide for her, and we have continued to do so. As things progressively become more difficult and she seems to be near the end, she is entirely dependent on others for her basic human needs. I have watched my mom and older sister grow in love by providing for her daily. I have been given the same opportunity when I moved back home. Although my grandmother is sometimes still reluctant to receive help and cannot always be fully present or say thank you, we give her our love unconditionally, and we know in various ways that she is grateful for our time and attention. If you have someone in your life who is elderly, especially a grandparent, parent, or relative that helped to raise you, I invite you to recognize the importance of remaining connected to them. Provide for them in the ways you are able to and give them the gift of your time and attention, regularly and intentionally. The care which our grandparents, parents, and relatives gave us in our upbringing warrants our care in return, especially when they are in need. They made a sacrifice and gift of themselves to us when we were dependent on them, and we are called to do the same. As Pope Francis reminds us, “May we never regret that we were insufficiently attentive to those who loved us and gave us life.” Watching my parents and in-laws become grandparents has been one of the greatest joys that has accompanied my having nieces and nephews and becoming a parent. I appreciate the relationship I have with my parents and in-laws in many ways, but I truly delight in seeing the relationship they have with my 3- and 4-year-old. The love and affection they demonstrate to my kids is tender, unique, and boundless. I am constantly amazed by their generosity and patience as they kindly agree to read book after book after book, go to the park, build an elaborate block structure, or watch my kids’ favorite show. Their hospitality and thoughtfulness shines through when they bring out the stash of toys they keep on hand just for them or plan special meals, always taking care to include all my kids’ favorite menu items. Not only do my parents and in-laws make my kids feel deeply loved in these day-to-day activities, but I can also tell how they are helping form them into the people I hope my kids will be. On occasions where I feel the need to discipline or scold my children, their grandparents are able to offer gentle correction and kind guidance. They don’t resort to force or bribery; they simply offer heartfelt advice and wisdom from their own experience. By praying with and for them, they serve as witnesses of deep faith. By sharing family stories, they preserve our shared memories, history, and roots. By offering to watch the kids so that my husband and I can get away for a bit, they provide much-appreciated support. As I muse over the time my kids spend with their grandparents, it makes me wonder what Jesus’ relationship with his grandparents was like. That is one of the many reasons I enjoy celebrating today’s feast of Saints Joachim and Anne, parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary and grandparents of Jesus. (Another reason is that my daughter, Ana, was named both for St. Anne and for my husband’s grandmother, who was born on this day). My imagination sets a scene of Jesus enjoying some of his grandmother’s home baked goods in the kitchen or out for a walk on the hilly countryside with his grandfather. Surely, they enjoyed quality time with their beloved grandson, caring for him with watchful eyes, holding him as he sat on their knees, and soothing his hurts or anxieties as only a grandparent’s unique perspective and calm can. In a World Youth Day message, Pope Francis describes how, “Saints Joachim and Anne were part of a long chain of people who had transmitted their faith and love for God, expressed in the warmth and love of family life, down to Mary, who received the Son of God in her womb and who gave him to the world, to us. How precious is the family as the privileged place for transmitting the faith! ... How important grandparents are for family life, for passing on the human and religious heritage which is so essential for each and every society! How important it is to have intergenerational exchanges and dialogue, especially within the context of the family…This relationship and this dialogue between generations is a treasure to be preserved and strengthened!” (Angelus, XXVIII World Youth Day, July 26, 2013). I have come to appreciate this treasure more and more as I try to respond to the Holy Father’s invitation to prioritize time with grandparents and the elderly. Besides speaking on several occasions of his own close relationship with his own grandmother, Pope Francis just last year established the celebration of the World Day for Grandparents and Elderly on the fourth Sunday of July, near today’s feast. In his message for this second occasion of its celebration, Pope Francis extols the virtues of grandparents and the elderly as “teachers of a way of life that is peaceful and attentive to those in greatest need”, “artisans of the revolution of tenderness in our world”, and “poets of prayer”. I recognize and admire these and many other qualities in my parents and in-laws. On this feast, my prayer is filled with joy and gratitude for the great gift my children have in their grandparents. I hope that they cherish the time they spend with their grandparents and value their example of love and witness of faith as I do. And I pray for the intercession of Saints Anne and Joachim, that my family will continue to be filled with this great love that spans generations. During my formative years, I had the distinct privilege of spending time with my grandads and even one great-grandad. In the late 1950’s and ‘60’s, our pace of life and activities was very different from today. We attended school and church, but a lot of our time was centered around our home. Even more unique were our regular visits with extended family on a weekly basis. This afforded me time to be in the company of my grandparents frequently. I listened to their talk about work and how they solved problems and the things that occupied their time. I enjoyed accompanying my dad’s dad on outings to pick blackberries and then had the pleasure of helping in the process to make wine in his cellar. My Grandpop was a nuts-and-bolts kind of man, always busy with his work as caretaker of the cemetery, keeping their only vehicle (an old Ford truck) running, and maintaining the house where he and my grandmom raised thirteen children. It was fascinating learning things from him. I would follow him around and help load coal into their furnace and collect items from the cool cellar that housed their canned vegetables and held Grandpop’s workbench. He liked to show any of us grandkids the things he did for work, as well as the projects he worked on, such as building cedar benches for anyone who wanted one and making wine from the fruits he picked. They lived a hop, skip and a jump from the monastery church and school where they walked to 6am daily Mass. By society’s standards, Pop was minimally educated and made a meager wage that kept them in the lower economic level their entire lives. The gifts we received were hand-made and simple, but lots of time was invested in being family together. I loved being in Grandpop’s shadow and considered the cemetery near their house to be the most magical place in my world with its little streams and bridges and huge fir trees and rolling hills. Amongst those resting in peace, my dad and his twelve siblings grew up under the tutelage of my grandpop’s calloused hands and the soft-spoken voice of my grandmom. My grandmom’s parents lived just three blocks away, and my great-granddad was a successful stone mason with a shop full of heavy, rough-hewn tools that carved important information into big pieces of granite for the deceased. As an adult, I realize how fortunate I was to have enjoyed weekly visits to my great-grandparents. Great-granddad was a tall, polite, and loving man. He would sit me atop a piece of stone and include me in the conversations with my dad and other family. He had two framed pictures over the desk in his shop – the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. As a kid, I always felt that they were watching me. These images hanging in a prominent place in his shop spoke volumes about the faith my great-granddad had. No matter how busy he was, he had a way of making me feel cherished when we came by. And a visit never ended until he sent us up to the house to get a drink and a slice of cake from great-grandmom. My mom’s dad was another wonderful grandfather with whom I spent much time while growing up. (I never met my grandmom because she died suddenly only three months after my parents were married.) Pop was a tall, handsome man who always wore a suit, and I mean always! He was retired from the phone company and had raised five children through the Depression era. His parents and aunt lived with them in a small but comfortable row home. Most of my time spent with Pop was at our house where he would come most days in the afternoons and stay through dinner. Sometimes we would pick him up at his apartment and I loved seeing his stuff. He was an avid follower of the Baltimore City Fire Department and had a squawk box to hear all the fire calls. He had boxes with index cards full of information on the different fire houses, calls, and each fireman. When my mom was growing up, he would pile the kids in his car and they would go watch the firemen fight fires. He supported the firemen with visits and gifts and had a deep respect for what they did for the community. I loved sitting at his feet in our living room listening to him tell stories of growing up in Baltimore and of his family. He was a regular member at our dinner table in his later years and always took an interest in my studies and in the things I was doing. When my parents would go away on their annual business trip, Pop would come take charge of our household. He made flapjacks for breakfast, walked me to the school bus stop and would meet me there each afternoon. I didn’t need an escort, but it was his way of sending me off. He played cards with us and told stories and made the best stew I’ve ever eaten! He made sure to remind me to say my prayers and he took us to church. Pop was present for all the holidays throughout the years, along with a lot of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Our house was the typical gathering place for my mom’s siblings and so I guess that’s why Pop always came over. In his later years when he could no longer drive, my parents wanted him to move in with us, but he insisted on his own independence and lived out his days, until he died at 89, in his apartment. As a kid, I never thought twice about Pop always being at our home. As an adult, I look back and see the treasure I had in being loved by a man who had all the time in the world to talk. It impacted me more than I realized. Mom and dad took care of the needs of the family, but Pop took the time to share himself with me and take an interest in what I was thinking as a young girl trying to figure out what was important in life. A generation removed, Pop made it abundantly clear how important each member of the family was to him, which instilled in me a strong desire for continued close family bonds in my adult life. I then watched how my dad became granddad to my six children. He was busy seven days a week and lots of nights running his business and providing for our family when I was a child, but as a granddad, he learned how to switch gears and devote attention to his grandchildren through time spent together. He took his role as grand patriarch seriously and lived out sharing the gospel of Jesus with all his grands in very simple but tangible ways. He was a great encourager of all the pursuits of each one and never hesitated to share his testimony of how God helped him on a daily basis to do what he was supposed to do. He shared prayers and taught them the power of talking with God all day long. And when my parents visited for two to three weeks each Christmas season, everyone could see how he laid out his days. He would be seen in a quiet chair early in the mornings with his well-worn prayer book praying his prayers. Then he and mom would attend morning Mass with any of us who would accompany them. He joined in our family prayer time and nightly Rosary. I have also enjoyed witnessing my husband embrace the role of Pops to our sweet grandchildren. He rejoices in the gift of each one and prays daily for them to always hear and respond to God’s call on their lives. He loves playing with them and particularly sharing his love of music with them. The treasure of knowing my granddads and being so loved by them has been a gift in my life that I know has helped me understand the love God our Father has for me. The beauty of the continuous bond from great-grandfather to grandfather to father is powerful and assures me of my heritage. The greatest lesson I learned from these loving men was to invest yourself in others and especially to build up and encourage each member. It doesn’t seem mighty or grand, but it strengthens the foundation of our lives and nurtures deep, holy growth in our specific God-ordained purpose. The richness of a grandfather’s love and care is a gift in the family. Their patriarchal leadership and security are God’s design for how families are enjoined together through the generations and meant to relate. I have had the privilege of this delightful heritage and my prayer is that it will continue to be nourished by the fathers to come in our family. For more resources on Marriage and Family, please click here. To learn more about the Year of St. Joseph, please click here. **This post was originally published on 7/27/2021** “At times family life is challenged by the death of a loved one. We cannot fail to offer the light of faith as a support to families going through this experience. To turn our backs on a grieving family would show a lack of mercy, mean the loss of a pastoral opportunity, and close the door to other efforts of evangelization.” - Pope Francis (Amoris Laetitia, 253) Each life includes death. This is obvious, but lack of consideration of the topic is part of the culture of some parts of the world, particularly the United States. Yet, death occurs. Living with an eye on our eternity is something people of faith are called to do. When we do in the light of faith, we can see clearly what is important in life. Much of our time is spent in all sorts of activities. Are these helping us grow in holiness? Do they cause us to love God and love neighbor in deeper and more profound ways? If our answer is no, then as apostles of Christ, it is time for us to reevaluate where and how we use our time on this side of life. The other side of life, eternity, will come very soon. Pope Francis also invites people of faith to assist families who have experienced death. It is a prime pastoral and evangelization opportunity, not in a heavy-handed way, but in one that accompanies people in their time of grief and beyond. If they are distant from the community of faith, the death of someone in their family offers a space for compassion, love, and care by missionary disciples of Christ. Doing it right at the time of death is good but walking with families long beyond that time is true spiritual accompaniment. May the Charity of Christ urge us on! In God, the Infinite Love, Fr. Frank
I’d like to use this opportunity to talk a bit about my husband, who may be wildly embarrassed that I’m using him as my muse for this post. My husband works hard. He is a very predictable man, sure of himself, and resolute in his decisions. He uses humor to make light of situations and balances out my whimsical optimism with his reality-based thinking most days. But an admirable quality that he’s had since before we met is that he has an intrinsic motivation toward duty. He is a man of purpose. I love him for it all and am proud of all he’s done in service to others. Plus, I’m certain I don’t tell him that enough. So here it is, publicly acknowledged and acclaimed!
When I reflect on the men I know, I often see a sense of duty and purpose driving many of their decisions and commitments. Not only men are often dutiful, but many take pride in what they do. I’d like to reflect on this sense of purpose through the lens of the saints and Scripture. We find men of God in Scripture who did great things and were called for a purpose like Abraham and Saul. We find holy men among the saints who were called to a sense of duty like St. Peter and Blessed Father Michael McGivney. These men were each very different, lived at different times, and were challenged by God in different ways. Each one was called with a duty to serve and be faithful, too. They were men of purpose. We know the stories from the Old Testament about Abraham and how he was chosen by God to be the “Father of Many Nations,” how he was blessed in his old age with a child, and how he was faithful to the point of sacrificing his son. God chose him to make a covenant with, and he will forever be remembered for his steadfast obedience to the Lord. We also know the story of Saul, who persecuted Christians, endorsing stoning and doing terrible things in God’s name. Then one day, a bright light knocked him down and he was blind until he converted and believed in Christ. On that day, his name was changed to Paul, and he became a missionary who traveled all over bringing with him the Word of God. Both men were called by God and were given a purpose. There are two other holy men I’d like to consider as well, the first being St. Peter. I like to think about his example because every time I read about Peter in Scripture, he seems to lack purpose until Jesus speaks to him. At the Transfiguration, Peter’s first thought is “let’s build tents” when he sees Moses and Elijah with the Lord and he hears God’s voice in a cloud that says, “This is my Son…Listen to Him!” (Matthew 17: 1-9). Later, in the Garden of Gethsemane when Jesus is arrested, Peter acts on impulse and cuts off the ear of a servant until Christ tells him, ‘Put your sword away!” (John 18:10). Throughout the Gospels, Peter seems so relatable. Although well-intentioned, he often says or does things out of turn. It is after the Resurrection when Jesus forgives him and tells him to, “Feed My Lambs…Tend My Sheep…Feed My Sheep” (John 21: 15-17), that he is entrusted to be the first pope with the help of the Holy Spirit. He was taught by and learned from Jesus, and now he is ready to be the leader he was intended to be. Jesus gave purpose. The fourth man of purpose I’d like to consider has a bit of significance to our family: Blessed Father Michael McGivney. Fr. McGivney was born in Waterbury, CT in 1852 and grew up in an immigrant Catholic household. Later, he became a seminarian and then a beloved parish priest at St. Mary’s in New Haven where he walked with people in their daily lives. A man of purpose himself, he recognized the hardworking men in his community and started the Knights of Columbus in 1882 as a fraternal organization of Catholic men. He knew that, united in faith, these Catholic men could be invigorated to help their communities and the order grew. Fast forward over a century, and lay men both young and old are still pining for purpose and the Knights of Columbus has provided that for so many. Most importantly in my life, my husband has found faith, fraternity, and unity in his work through this organization and I’m proud that he’s found such a calling for service as a Knight. Blessed Father Michael McGivney provided him and countless other men with purpose. At a time when so many things seem to be challenging our Catholic faith, there are ways we can keep on persevering and people who we can rely on for help. Look to those who are resolute. Look to the ones who have never wavered, to those with faith. Faith provides this duty and purpose. It comes out in a variety of ways, as shown in the examples of the many men I’ve reflected on here. We all are looking for purpose--whether it’s a small child finding purpose in helping around the house or a new member of the Knights of Columbus hoping to find purpose in fraternity and service. I challenge you to reflect on the examples of men of purpose I shared and consider what Christ is asking of you today. Where do you find purpose? “Be a Person for Others” - St. Ignatius of Loyola. “Seek God and you will find God. Seek God in all things and you will find God in all things. Seek God always and you will find God always.” - St. Vincent Pallotti And the greatest purpose of all: “Love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:12) A few weeks ago, I wrote about Bl. Pier Georgio Frassati. In reading about him, I also came across St. Kateri Tekawitha as another patron saint of World Youth Day (WYD). I quickly delved into her fascinating life. A woman who defied others to remain true to her beliefs, St. Kateri Tekakwitha has become known as the “Lily of the Mohawks.”
St. Kateri Tekakwitha was born in 1656 to a Mohawk father and a Christian Algonquin mother in what is now upstate New York, near Albany. While a young girl, Kateri contracted smallpox. Although she survived the disease, she was left with poor eyesight and scars on her face and eyes. Because of this, she was given the name "Tekakwitha," which in Mohawk means, "She bumps into things." When she was 8 years old, her foster family arranged for Kateri to be betrothed, as per Iroquois tradition. Kateri refused to marry, stating that she wanted to dedicate her life to God. At the age of 18, she started to learn more about the Christian faith through Jesuit missionary Father Jacques de Lamberville. Her uncle eventually gave her permission to become a Christian as long as she did not leave the village. Kateri began incorporating aboriginal concepts into her understanding of Christianity, such as the presence of God in nature. At the age of 21, Kateri was baptized and received First Holy Communion on Christmas Day in 1677. After being rejected by her community for her conversion, she walked to the St. Francis Xavier Mission near Montreal, Canada, to join a community of Native American women who had also converted to Christianity. Kateri, who attributed her name to Catherine of Siena at the time of her baptism, died on April 17th, 1680. Tradition holds that her dying words were "Jesus, I love you” and that after her death, the scars on Kateri’s body began to heal—restoring the radiant appearance of her face. She was canonized on October 21st, 2012 by Pope Benedict XVI in Rome. She has been named the Protectress of Canada and patroness of the environment, environmentalists, Native Americans, and several diocese, to name a few. As someone who is interested in Native American culture and the environment, I enjoyed learning about Kateri and her dedication to the natural world and her faith. I was also surprised to learn that she was the first Native American saint in the Catholic Church. It was interesting to learn about her dedication and devotion to her faith, even when it meant rejection from her community. Kateri bravely stayed firm to her belief in Christ when she was pressured to reject her faith in Christ and adhere to the traditional native beliefs. She knew that her faith in Jesus was not misplaced, so these demands only reaffirmed her beliefs. Kateri blended her faith in Christ with a respect for nature. She maintained a deep devotion to nature and its beauty after her conversion. In his second encyclical, Laudato Si, Pope Francis emphasized the imminent need of protecting the environment. I also invite you to imitate Kateri’s respect of nature. I have personally found this greater call of environmentalism to be reinvigorating. As the world’s young people prepare to gather in Poland for WYD, we realize in a special way that we are all on this planet together. We are called to see how our actions affect the world, and that we can work together for a stronger response to protect God’s great gift of creation. The air, water, trees, birds, plants, and other animals are not confined to national borders and neither should our approach to protecting the earth. Kateri inspires me to take action to protect the environment. If we each do our part by recycling, taking public transportation, and keeping vigilant about our energy consumption, then we have a greater chance of protecting our world. In addition, we are called to educate ourselves by reading more about environmental issues. I recommend starting with Laudato Si. As we pass down our faith from generation to generation, so do we also pass down our responsibility towards this Earth. It can be hard to keep in mind that this is the same Earth that Jesus Christ walked on. Kateri, “Lily of the Mohawks,” combines this love of nature and Christ. It is my hope, as we approach WYD later this month, that we will also consider how we are protecting the environment. May we be inspired by this phenomenal saint. To learn more about St. Kateri Tekakwitha, click here. For more information on World Youth Day 2016, click here. **This post was originally published on 7/14/2016** |
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