Hope Against Hope

I didn’t know their language or their emotional pain...How could I connect with them? Thursday, February 22, 2024, is a day I will never forget. At 05:15 AM, along with several of my colleagues in Catholic Social Services, I awaited the arrival of 333 refugees from Ethiopia, Eritrea, Somalia, and Uganda. Egyptian Airlines was entrusted with flying them from Entebbe, Uganda, to Cairo, Egypt, and finally to their Canadian entry point, Edmonton. Suddenly, the doors at the other end opened and the passengers started walking toward us. Not knowing how to speak their languages, I felt extremely vulnerable. How would I, as one so privileged to be born in Canada, one who has never spent a moment in a refugee camp, be able to greet these exhausted, hopeful, apprehensive sisters and brothers in a way that would say: “Welcome to your new home”...? I asked one of my colleagues who speaks five languages: “What can I say?” “Just say, Salam, that will be enough”. Suddenly, the doors at the other end opened and the passengers started walking toward us. Not knowing how to speak their languages, I felt extremely vulnerable. How would I, as one so privileged to be born in Canada, one who has never spent a moment in a refugee camp, be able to greet these exhausted, hopeful, apprehensive sisters and brothers in a way that would say: “Welcome to your new home”...? I asked one of my colleagues who speaks five languages: “What can I say?” “Just say, Salam, that will be enough”. Extending a Hand After everyone was lined up in the Customs Hall, our team went downstairs and began passing out bottles of water, granola bars, and oranges. I noticed one older Muslim woman, perhaps 50-55 years of age, bent over her trolley, trying to push it. I went and greeted her with ‘Salam’ and smiled. With gestures, I tried to ask if I could help push her trolley. She shook her head: “No.” Six hours later, outside the Customs Hall, people were sitting in different cordoned-off areas; only 85 would be remaining in Edmonton and were waiting for family or friends to meet them and take them home. Some would be boarding a bus to be taken to other cities or towns, and still others would be overnighting in a hotel and would fly to their final destination the next day. For those who were being bussed to other cities in Alberta, a four to seven-hour trip awaited them. The elderly Muslim woman I had seen in the Customs Hall, I discovered, was to fly to Calgary the next day. I looked at her and smiled, and her whole face was radiant. As I approached her, she said in faltering English: “You love me.” I took her hands in mine, looked into her eyes, and said: “Yes, I love you and God/Allah loves you.” The young woman next to her, whom I discovered was her daughter, said to me: “Thank you. Now my Mom is happy.” With tears in my eyes, a heart full of joy, and very tired feet, I left the Edmonton International Airport, profoundly grateful for one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I may never encounter her again, but I know with absolute certainty that our God who is the embodiment of tender, compassionate love was made visible and tangible to me through my beautiful Muslim sister. In 2023, there were 36.4 million refugees seeking a new homeland and 110 million people displaced because of war, drought, climate change, and more. Day in and day out, we hear comments like: “Build walls,” “Close the borders,” and “They are stealing our jobs.” I hope that my story will, in some small way, help people understand the scene of Matthew 25 better. The righteous asked Jesus: “When Lord, God, did we do all these for you?” and He replied: “Whenever you did it to one of these little ones of Mine, you did it to Me.”

John Taylor was in his mid-50s when he came home one day from a game of golf and shared with his wife a strange pain he had begun to experience in his hands. He was soon diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a rare form of cancer that would slowly reduce his athletic body to mere skin and bones in a span of just 20 years. As the illness grew in strength, part of his tongue was removed; he couldn’t speak or eat, so he was fed directly through a tube. Though I had trouble understanding what he was saying, I enjoyed his company very much. He had a great sense of humor, and Anne was a beautiful cook, so I ended up spending many evenings with the family. In 2011, at the height of his illness, John, who belonged to the Church of Wales, expressed his desire to become a Catholic like his wife Anne! On Christmas Eve, a Mass was held for him in their living room. At the time of Holy Communion, I poured a little jug of the Precious Blood through his tube directly into his stomach so that he could celebrate his First Holy Communion. It was one of the most extraordinary First Holy Communions I've ever seen and one of the most beautiful Christmas Eve of my life. The memory of that day and that blessed couple still reminds me of what I am doing as a priest—bringing the Incarnation and the Precious Blood of Christ to the world. During his last days, John bled profusely every morning, so Anne had to repeatedly change his bedclothes. It was extraordinary—while John’s state reminded me of the crucified Christ, Anne was configured to the Virgin Mary who stood by and took care of Him in His passion. We buried Anne last year, more than a decade after John’s passing. Jesus said the Saints would shine like stars in the Kingdom of God; now, with two more, the night sky is brighter.

Why would the Mighty God become a wailing baby in a place that smells of dung? One of the stranger aspects of the Annunciation that precedes the Birth of Jesus is how the Archangel Gabriel addresses Mary as “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” (Luke 1:28) What will ensue is that she will be a teen mother, pregnant before her actual marriage to Joseph, and she will be destined to give birth in a cave or stable amongst barn animals. She might be forgiven if she suspected that Gabriel was engaging in some angelic sarcasm. Then fast-forward thirty-three years when she will be at the foot of the Cross and will watch her Son die an excruciating death among thieves before a jeering crowd. How is all of that being ‘favored?’ A Radical Statement The whole Christmas story is full of enigma and violates expectations. To begin with, the Creator of the entire cosmos, with its billions of galaxies, who is absolutely self-sufficient and doesn’t need anything from anyone, chooses to become a creature, a human being. The Alpha and the Omega is presented to us as a baby, delivered with all the messiness of childbirth without an attendant doctor or nurses, at a place smelling of dung. As Bishop Barron once described the Incarnation: “There is a Catholic joke here: you either get it or you don’t.” As we stand before this scene, if God can come here amidst utter deprivation and straw, He can come anywhere. He can come into the messiness of my life. If God came there at that stable in Bethlehem, He has come everywhere; there is no place or time that is God-forsaken. If we pull back from the scene, an odd perspective kicks in. The largest figures at that time—Caesar Augustus, Governor Quirinius, King Herod—have gotten smaller; indeed, they have disappeared. The smaller figures—Mary, Joseph, the random shepherds—loom large: Mary is the Queen of Heaven and Joseph is the patron of the Church, the mystical Body of his adopted Son, Jesus. Baby Jesus, the smallest and most helpless of figures, wrapped in protective swaddling clothes, will loom so large that He will blot out the sun and moon and fill the sky with the song: “Glory to God in the highest Heaven, and on earth peace among those whom He favors!” (Luke 2:14) The Nativity story is rich in theological meaning, but there’s more to it. A radical statement is being made. Jesus is given the name Immanuel, which means ‘God is with us.’ And that means Jesus is God in the flesh: He is much more than a prophet, a teacher, or a healer; He is the human face of God. The second Person of the Trinity has entered into human existence not because He needs something but for our sake—for our salvation. The implication is remarkable. As Saint Augustine reminds us: “If you were the only person on this earth, the Son of God would have done everything, including dying, for your sake.” It means that there are no insignificant or pointless lives. It means that Immanuel is with us every moment of our existence, which entails that the ordinary events and choices I make on an average day can carry eternal significance. Why? Saint Paul reminds us: “We move, live, and have our being” in Christ Jesus (Act 17:28). It means that our sacred story has meaning and purpose—a life that encourages courage and self-giving generosity, just like the Lord we worship in whatever desolate place we find ourselves. In Life or Death… The birth of Christ should be the source of hope, and this is not the same thing as optimism, which is more a genetic disposition rather than a foundation of life. Some of us, in contrast, have to deal with a genetic affliction of depression, which can bathe one’s life in darkness. But, even amid this dark cloud, we can find glimpses of purpose, beauty, and glory and this too can serve. Sometimes, we experience isolation and loneliness brought on by debilitating illnesses such as chronic pain and degenerative disease. God is there, God is with us. In a shattered relationship, betrayal, or a cancer diagnosis, God is with us. He doesn’t abandon us in a hospital or a mental ward. In life or death, Jesus will never leave us or abandon us because He is Immanuel. Faith in Jesus does not release us from suffering, but it can bring deliverance from fear because we have a container, a Person, who can integrate everything into our lives. The birth of Jesus means that every moment we are blessed to live, even in a difficult and shortened life, can be infused with God’s presence and ennobled by His calling. Our hope comes to fruition on Christmas Day, which shines like the star that guided the Magi and swells like a song chanted by monks and Gospel choirs throughout the centuries, filling churches, cathedrals, basilicas, and revival tents, but that song is most clear in our won hearts: “God is with us!”

Sarah’s superpower is her ability to spot miracles everywhere she looks; wish you had it too? When we think of miracles, our mind jumps to vivid scenarios of water turning into wine, the blind suddenly seeing, and the dead rising again. What we often fail to realize is that miracles happen every single day. They are not limited to the seemingly ancient stories of the Bible, nor are they limited to the rare, miraculous occurrences in the lives of Saints—something we think for sure could never happen to us. It was Albert Einstein who once said: “There are two ways to live—you can either live as if nothing is a miracle, or you can live as if everything is a miracle.” The key that lies in unlocking this way of life is within us. When we allow ourselves to see God in every little thing that occurs in our day, we open ourselves up to receive miracles. Forget it! One of the only homilies I recall clearly from my early childhood unlocked this mindset within me. I remember the story the priest told upon the altar. A woman had recounted a time when she was running late to a meeting and sought desperately for a parking place in a fully crowded parking lot. In desperation, she prayed to God and asked that he find her an open space. In return, she promised to donate large amounts of food to a local charity. As she finished her prayer, a car pulled out of a spot in front of her. Thinking she found a parking place herself, she instantly responded to God: “Forget it.” How quick are we to dismiss God’s intervention and the miracles which happen before us daily! My daily life is filled with miracles, but I am not any more blessed or special than anyone else. I simply find them every day. What you look for, you will find, and what you refuse to see, you will never discover. In my own life, there have been countless times I’ve encountered God’s grace and intercession in unexpected ways, ways that most people would write off and fail to notice. Where there is No Way… When I was just beginning to develop a much deeper faith, I went on a school trip to Quebec, Canada. That had been the first year I began going to Mass every single Sunday but being new to a more committed practice of my faith, it had not crossed my mind that I would not be able to attend Mass that weekend. The trip was fully guided with a strict itinerary and chaperones directing everything we would be doing. We toured the city, visited shops, and went hiking to a waterfall, all the typical activities to be expected on a secular French class trip. Yet on that Sunday, we unexpectedly stopped to tour a local Cathedral. When we walked in, as most students headed to the Church’s museum or admired the artwork, I realized that Mass had begun a bit before we had arrived. Not only was I able to attend Mass, but the timing was perfect as I even managed to receive Communion before we had to board our bus again and leave! Indeed, God creates a way when it seems there is none. Thornless Roses One of my favorite Novenas to pray is the one to Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower. Before her death, Saint Thérèse promised to send a shower of roses upon those who seek her intercession. The words of the Novena begin: “Saint Thérèse, the Little Flower, please pick me a rose from the Heavenly Garden and send it to me with a message of love, ask God to grant me the favor I thee implore and tell Him I will love Him each day more and more.” At the end of every Novena, the faithful are said to receive a rose as a sign from Saint Thérèse. Without fail, every single time, I have had an unexpected rose appear in my path, even in the middle of winter. On one occasion, I prayed a Novena to her, and on the last day, I was randomly given a gift of a rosary—the word “rosary” means “a chain of roses.” Two weeks in a row, I prayed the Novena for an important intention without telling anyone; both weeks, on the last day, I had two different people specifically pointing out a beautiful rose they saw in a garden. On another occasion, I was praying the Novena inr discernment if my brother should go to a new school or not; we got lost while driving, and our GPS took us to a complicated, out-of-the-way route which landed us right in front of a building with a huge wooden rose on the side of it! The Right Click When I injured my back and was losing my ballet career, I felt undirected. The secular world left me feeling that I was missing God’s purpose for my life altogether. I remember crying and praying to God one day, asking what I should be doing. I had just started taking photos for my brother’s football team; a few of his friends had asked and even enjoyed the photos so much. When I stopped and opened my phone, I saw a comment on an Instagram post featuring the photos of my brother and his friends: “These photos are amazing; just keep doing what you’re doing with your photography.” Those were the words I needed to hear—a perfectly worded answer to a question that only God knew I was asking. I kept taking photos which ended up meaning so much to the boys who received them. God loves us deeply. He wants to show us His love in ordinary, simple ways daily. Be open to receiving this love, and once we are, He reveals it in places we’d never thought to look before. See the miraculous in the ordinary moments. Expect beautiful things to cross your path. Rejoice in the flowers God plants so you’ll see them on your way to work. Appreciate the stranger He sends to help you whenever you need. Know that you are never left alone but that God walks with you daily. Just allow Him in.